Page 43 of Chubs

I nod my head, not because I believe her, but because I don’t want to argue about it. I didn’t explain, though, that Lucy and I may never get the chance to work things out because I don’t expect to live that long. Les and I had agreed earlier to not go into too much detail about my plans. No sense in worrying the women after having “died” once already. I wonder now if I should have even let them know I was alive because if I don’t survive this, then they’ll have to go through all that pain again. Les vehemently disagreed, saying they deserved to know, and I went along with his opinion.

“How old was I when I fell out of my bedroom window, and you caught me by the shirt and pulled me back inside?” Aria asks suddenly from the doorway.

“Les was seven when he fell, and I caught him. You were sitting on the bed, ripping the heads off your Barbies because they were all blond, and you had decided to hate on blonds that week. He fell because he lunged to catch the heads because he knew you’d change your mind and be upset that you only had headless Barbies after that,” I answer without looking in her direction.

“Okay, that’s right. You could have been told that, though. How many stitches did Les get when you were teaching him to skateboard?” she continues in a defiant tone.

“You got eight in the back of your head because you were too stubborn to wear a helmet. Les never tried skateboarding. He stuck to bikes. Les broke his left arm in second grade because you dared him to jump his bike on a ramp you made. It collapsed, he wiped out, and we all got to go to the hospital while he got it set and cast. You broke your right arm when you were 10 when you fell off a horse at your friend’s house. You backed your car into Dad’s the day after you got your driver’s license, then tried claiming it was a mechanical failure. You also received three tickets for speeding the first month you had your license,” I explain while turning my head to look at her.

“Three? You only told me about one!” Mom exclaims.

“What was the name of our Pug?” Aria asks, completely ignoring Mom.

“Never had one. We had an English Bulldog, and his name was Mr. Smith. And I still think that was the stupidest name ever, but you insisted. Les and I gave in because we, along with our parents, spoiled you. Les wanted to name him Winston, and I wanted to call him Diesel. You got your way, and I think it damaged his soul because that dog was definitely a few fries short of a happy meal.”

“How come Les and I got injured as kids, but you never did?” she questions.

“Because I’m smarter than you two put together,” I answer, using the exact words I used many times when we were kids.

“And because he was usually inside emptying the fridge,” Les mutters with a grin.

“Oh, that brings up a great question. What’s your all-time favorite meal?” Aria asks with raised eyebrows.

“Whatever is being served at that moment.”

“What’s the one food you absolutely won’t eat?”

“Haven’t found one yet.”

“What was my first boyfriend’s name?”

“Toby, and he was a punk. Probably still is. You refused to listen to me and Les about how he wasn’t good enough for you, but you dumped him instantly when he called me fat.”

“Where did Les hide his pot from Mom and Dad?”

“Hey! Don’t throw me under the bus!” Les shouts when Mom’s head swings in his direction.

“At the bottom of your tampon box. He kept his bong in the hole in the wall he made at the back of his closet.”

“I hate both of you!” Les barks then groans when Mom slaps his leg.

“Who was my favorite band?”

“The Eagles, but you secretly loved the Bee Gees more.”

“What’s Les allergic to?”

“Bananas and penicillin.”

“Me?”

“Nothing but good behavior,” I answer and smile at Les and Mom’s laugh. “Any more questions, Aria, or am I your brother?”

My beautiful sister continues to stand in the kitchen doorway, staring hard at me for another moment.

“You might be.”

“I am, and I’m sorry for leaving you. I’m so sorry, honey. I get you’re mad, but please, don’t hate me forever. For a while, yeah, I’m okay with that. But not forever. Please, Aria. I can explain.”

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