Page 28 of Over the Edge

Evelyn

“Mom said that you’re on vacation.” The upper half of my brother’s body fills my phone screen. I have the device propped between my knees as I sit with my back pressed to the bed's carved headboard. Drew is a big guy, not just tall but also broad. Black ink tattoos clutter his arms. He also religiously uses his home gym. But he’s a big softy. And while we both have green eyes and brown hair; he inherited all the introverted genes from our parents.

Jazz plays in the background as he cooks, not quite covering the sound of Garrett on the piano downstairs. I meant what I said. It should be illegal to look that good doing something traditionally done by bespectacled older men.

“You mean she managed to makemyvacationyourproblem,” I say. It’s classic Mom. I bet she called him the moment I told her about my trip and then a second time when I arrived. It’s another reason I let her put her hands all over my life.

It’s our natural order. I “mess up.” They call Drew. And we get to pretend we’re healthy communicators. I think sometimes I do things just so they will call him, just so we have to all talk.

“Just asking if you actually were where you said you are.” His eyes, framed by thick eyebrows, flick up to the camera.

“I go to London one time and it ruins everything!” I throw my arms up, rocking my body so my back hits the carved headboard. It’s a mistake because it causes my head to throb. No more tequila for the next month at least.

Okay, maybe for the next week.

“I think it was the food poisoning that ruined everything.”

The trip I took at eighteen with Quinn and Oliver during the spring break of our freshman year would have been fine if I didn’t get food poisoning. We were still getting to know each other and when I said I felt like I was dying they panicked and called my family.

“My body is a traitor,” I say. “Can I ask something?”

“Only if you take off the sunglasses.”

“Fine,” I grumble. If I had it my way, I wouldn’t have to look him in the eye while I asked this. “Do you ever miss music?” I wish it was a sisterly question instead of something sparked from my own desire for self-preservation. To be Lyla, or to walk away. Those are my options and neither of them feels right. When I consider my possible futures a pit forms in my stomach.

“Where did that come from?” he asks, thankfully without a hint of hurt.

“I ran into Garrett and it got me thinking,” I explain. A handy distortion of the truth.

“Yeah, I do. All the time. But I’m not in my twenties anymore. I kinda miss it the same way you wish you could watch your favorite show for the first time. You know?” He shrugs.

“I guess,” I say. I do my best to act like his answer doesn’t affect me, but a wave of nerves threatens to pull me under.

“It’s not that bad, anymore.”

“But you’re ok?” I ask. I always want to. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I wake up and type out a text before I know what I’m doing then end up deleting it, only to send it in the morning.

His expression softens as he indulges my question. “Yeah. I am.”

The words set something in the back of my mind at ease.He’s ok.

We talk a while longer until he’s finished cooking. His girlfriend, Lacey, pops into the kitchen and says hello. Right now, she’s helping him run his bar but she’s also a brilliant sports photographer and frankly a bit of a badass. When they hang up, I start scrolling through my phone going back through old headlines, reminding myself exactly what’s at stake.

A knock sounds at the door, followed by a rough, “Hey. I’m finished.”

“Thank you!” I call out.

“Come downstairs and play to check the piano.”

“I bet it’s fine.” I’m going to be stuck with him anyway, we might as well get a break from each other while we still can.

“I don’t want you to have another reason to hold a grudge against me.”

“My grudge is completely justified!” Though, with everything else going on I don’t really care about the move anymore.

“If you’re too hungover just admit it.”

His goading gets me. “Fine. I’m getting up, but only because if it’s still out of tune I want to see what your face looks like when Mr. Perfect didn’t do it right.”

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