Page 90 of Betting on the Brainiac

“He says no. He’s too busy.”

“Maybe you should tell him to take me out.”

I stare at her.

“What? He’s cute.” She takes another bite.

I want to grab the peach out of her hand and dunk it in the trash can. “I can get behind the idea of a rebound but not with Oliver.”

There’s a knock at the door before she can respond, and I get up to answer it so I don’t give into the peach-throwing urge.

I open it to find my sister standing there. “Kaitlyn?”

She’s in a tailored mint green suit with black leather lapels. I recognize it from the Zoë runway, and it costs more than six months of rent.

She gives me a cool look. “Hey. Mom and Dad got your delivery.”

“Ah.” It had been delivered yesterday with large photos of the wedding nonsense and the marriage certificate. I’d topped it all with a note on stationery I’d had made especially for my message, lined paper with a pastel print of the block where the Dhaka factory had once stood. Thank you, Google Earth.

The note was my favorite part. I’d written out the first two paragraphs of the Declaration of Independence, substituting “parents” for “government” in a few key places, then finished with two short sentences. “Married a guy who checks all your boxes for a one-year-and-one-day term. It’s legal, so here’s my wire transfer info and my lawyer’s number.”

“Can I come in?” Kaitlyn asks.

“I didn’t know you even knew my address.” She’s never come over. I sort of know where her townhouse is. Maybe?

“It was in the paperwork.”

I shrug and step back to let her in. “Have a seat.”

She settles in the center of the sofa. A power move.

I curl up in an armchair to show her I’m relaxed and I don’t care. “I’m surprised to see you here. Anything they need to know should have been in that packet.”

“Strangely, they seem to think you’re trying to put something over on them.”

“Are you here to warn me?”

Her eyelids flicker, and a muted wave of acid floods my stomach and disappears. Disappointment, but disappointment that never lingers because I’ve conditioned myself to expect and dismiss it when it comes to my family.

“I see. You’re here to check on me. For them.”

She glances around, taking in the feminine touches we’ve all added over the years, from the fluffy blankets to Ava’s flowery smart-aleck cross-stitches. “According to the terms, you’re supposed to live with your husband.”

Ruby walks in. “Hey, Kaitlyn.”

Kaitlyn nods. Bag of laughs, my sister.

“Oliver and I both live at 1598 Lynn.” I draw a careless checkmark in the air.

“You’re in number twenty-one. Does Oliver live here?”

“I just told you. Oliver also lives at 1598 Lynn.”

“In number twenty-one?” she presses.

Politely and evenly, I repeat, “Oliver lives at 1598 Lynn.”

“I didn’t think it would be this easy, but there you go. That’s not going to qualify as living as husband and wife unless you’re in the same unit.” She stands. “I’m sure their attorney will reach out.”

---