Page 34 of The Retreat

“Out, you need to eat.”

He grumbles and moans but slides out and follows me from the bedroom.

“Okay, the cook left–”

“Sushi.”

I glance around the pristine fridge with clearly labeled containers but don’t see anything that is sushi.

“She didn’t leave sushi.”

“No, order sushi. I don’t want whatever is in there.”

“You haven’t looked, how do you know?”

“Because I want sushi.” He slumps onto a stool at the island and lies across the counter. “Oliver knows what to get and where.”

I roll my eyes. Of course he does.

Oliver comes into the kitchen, ignoring my existence, and looks over at Owen. He stops, looks him up and down, then turns to me.

“Have you been setting out his clothes?”

“What?”

“He’s been wearing that for three days.” Oliver motions to his brother. Owen lifts his arm and smells his armpit, then shrugs. “Have you bought him comfort sushi? It’s in the notebook.”

I drag in a long slow breath. The way Oliver micromanages Owen is not healthy for either of them. Does Owen’s mental health suck? One hundred percent, but that doesn’t mean Oliver can treat him like a literal child.

“I was just getting ready to order sushi for him,” I say with forced calm.

“And the last time he left this apartment and went for a walk?” Oliver demands.

“That’s it!” I yell, slamming my palms on the counter. “We’re signing something tomorrow. You,” I point to Owen. “Go shower!”

“He’s hiding shit from me. He’s never hidden shit from me before. What have you done?” Oliver demands.

“What have I done? Maybe you should ask yourself what you’ve done. You’re the one who changed things. You got married and left, remember? Don’t fucking blame me for all your choices.”

Surprise flickers over Oliver’s expression for maybe the first time ever. I feel like I’ve won, even if it is a tiny victory.

THIRTEEN

Owen

“Your phone is ringing,” Colin calls from the kitchen.

“I doubt it. Only Oliver calls me, and he’s still annoyed at us for moving, even though he asked us to.” Maybe I’m still annoyed by the entire thing.

“It’s yours.” Colin walks in, holding out my phone.

“Who is it?” I ask, wrinkling my nose at it. I hate answering the phone.

“I don’t know.” Colin flips it around, looking at the screen. “Looks like an unknown number.”

“I’ll have to tell Oliver. He pays for a service that screens all our phone calls for spam before they even come to us.”

We still weren’t used to living with each other’s boundaries, and routines, which made every interaction a bit stiff. I can only imagine it’s like moving into a dorm freshman year with a stranger for a roommate. How did people live like this?

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