Page 83 of Lillian

“What? The thirty-seven voicemails I have in my phone weren't you asking me to? Did I read the signs wrong?” He throws a hand over his chest as if I’ve physically hurt him.

“Frasier, I already cleaned out three drawers for you. If you think I’m not taking advantage of your sarcastic ass showing up with half your closet, you’re mistaken.” My mouth pops open at the challenge in his words. He’s serious… “In fact, I’m going to go fill those drawers. Make yourself comfortable.” He taps my suitcase to show me exactly what he’s filling the drawers with and then wheels it down the hall.

So, there I am, standing in Lincoln’s entryway by myself after showing up completely unannounced and wondering if I really did just agree to move in.

But also wondering if I care. It might be nice to start fresh, and I love him. It may seem soon to everyone else, but itfeelsright to me.

The apartment is quiet except for a low hum of music from down the hall. I follow the noise and stop right outside Becca’s closed bedroom door. Curiosity getting the better of me, I knock, making sure to be loud so it can be heard over the music.

A few seconds later, the music gets turned down and the door swings in as Becca’s bubbly face appears. “No way the food got here that fast,” she says, but she doesn’t appear to actually be annoyed at the interruption.

“No,” I agree, “I just smelled the paint and wanted to be nosy.”

“Oh. Come in then!” She grabs my hand and pulls me into her room, shutting the door back again. When I look at her with a question in my eyes, she says, “I’m trying to keep the whole place from smelling like every addict's wet dream.”

I laugh. “I guess that’s fair,” I say as I take in her space. It’s dark as hell, Lincoln wasn’t lying about that. Every wall is black. But one wall—the one Becca seems to have started on—does paint a picture of how the room will look when she’s done. No pun intended.

Becca started with a large white outline of different tropical-looking flowers. A few of them have already begun to get painted in various shades of neon pinks, purples, and a pretty coral color.

It’s going to be gorgeous, if not a little eclectic for my own tastes. None of the flowers on the wall are the same shape, size, or design. There are no stencils lying around anywhere, so everything on there is freehand.

It is immediately apparent that Becca is incredibly talented.

“This is beautiful,” I tell her honestly and walk deeper into the room until I’m perched on the edge of her bed, watching her work.

When she smiles at me, it’s genuine, if not a little shy. Either she is very humble about her work, or she’s never been told how good it is. Probably a little of both, even.

“Thanks. I told Linc I could paint Grace’s too if she want–” Her eyes bug out, and she looks at me, already shaking her head in apology. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t even thinking.”

My smile is sad but hopefully reassuring. “It’s okay. She would have loved that.”

Becca twirls the paintbrush in her hands, a nervous gesture. The song switches from something upbeat pop song I’ve never heard to a slow, sad song.

Of course.

A nervous chuckle slips from Becca before she shuts the music off. “Well, maybe I’ll paint her room anyway. For when she gets back. She likes princesses right?” Becca turns around and starts re-tracing a white outline in neon pink.

“Yeah,” I agree, but then I start to wonder how long it’ll be before I get to see her again. Will she like something new by then? Before I start to spiral, I move the conversation along. “How have you been adjusting here? Is Lincoln being an annoying big brother yet?”

Half of her face is turned to me as she continues to paint, but I see a little bit of a smirk stretching across her lips.

“The most annoying,” she quips, and we both laugh. I follow her hand as she finishes off a long, sweeping stroke and then moves to coloring the inside of the flower. “No, it’s been great. I like being here with him.”

The love between them warms my heart and reinforces how great of a guy Lincoln is. Which I already knew, but seeing the evidence has an almost embarrassing amount of pride for himgrowing in me. “Does that mean you’re staying?” I ask, and she gives me a look that has me backtracking. With a nervous laugh, I continue. “Wow, that sounded bad. What I meant was, you have all this freedom now. Is there anything you want to do? College, maybe? Travel?”

Her shoulders loosen as she relaxes at my clarification. “I haven’t really thought about it.” She shrugs, nonchalant.

And I don’t believe a second of it. When your whole life is chosen for you, when you don’t get to make any decisions for yourself, it would be impossible not to dream of something else. At my look of disbelief, she huffs out a laugh.

“Fine. I think college would be nice. Art school, maybe. I’ve never really had the travel bug, but I think I’d like to keep learning.” She turns her face completely away from me as she says it, but I see the redness creeping up her neck, and her ears turn pink.

“I think that’s great,” I say with complete sincerity. She deserves to be happy. “Have you talked to Lincoln about it?”

“Not yet,” she admits, stops painting, and moves from her crouched position to sit on the floor facing me.

“You should. He just wants you to be happy.”

She smiles. “You’re right. Let’s see what he thinks.” I nod and go to stand, but she calls out just a little louder than we were already talking. “What do you think, big brother?”

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