Page 8 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

She calls it “our building” as if she’s got some kind of equity stake in the place.

She does not.

Try telling her though, when she strolls through the lobby in sweatpants and demands the concierge carry her grocery bags.

Brat.

It wasn’t entirely selfless, buying her the apartment. Sure, I wanted to make sure she had somewhere safe and comfortable to live—but it came with the added bonus of keeping her close.

Too close since she can storm into my life unannounced with a key and food and zero respect for my boundaries.

Me: Go home. I DO NOT WANT COMPANY.

I am not in the mood.

Nova: You never want company.

Me: Yeah but this time I mean it.

She’s impossible. Guess this is what happens though when you lose your parents as teenagers and only have your sibling for support. You learn to lean on each other,sometimes a little too much. Nova has always been the one to show up, whether I wanted her to or not, with unyielding energy and the annoying ability to make me feel better without actually solvinganyof my problems.

When Mom and Dad died, it was the two of us.

Nova dealt with the loss by pretending nothing could touch her—bulldozing through life like she was invincible. I dealt with it by throwing myself into hockey. Practice. Games. Working out.

She says I use the game to avoid using emotions. She’s probably not wrong. But she avoids her emotions by pretending everything’s hunky-dory, so who’s winning here?

Neither of us.

When the elevator dings I hear the faint sound of her sneakers squeaking across the cold, marble tile of the hallway. She’s not in a hurry—she never is—but there’s something deliberate in her stride, like she’s preparing to pounce on me.

“Open up, loser!” she calls out cheerfully. Knocks a few times. “I brought snacks!”

Nothing says‘Sorry you’re failing at life’like a bag of chips, gummy bears—and unsolicited advice.

I take my time walking to the door, letting her knock again, harder this time—cause that’s what brothers do. Live to irritate their sisters…

“Come on! It’s freezing out here! Don’t make me eat all these snacks myself!”

Snacks?

I love those.

Still, when I yank the door open, it’s with a scowl. “You do realize it’s not actually freezing, right? You’re in a hallway and live three floors down.”

She ignores me and breezes past, heading straight for the kitchen.

“No hello?” I complain. “No ‘How are you, Gio?’” I close the door behind her.

“You look like crap, by the way,” she says, glancing over her shoulder with a grin.

“Thanks,” I deadpan, following her. “Exactly what I needed to hear.”

She ignores me, of course, wandering to the fridge like she’s searching for something to critique. “Ooh, nice. You bought the fancy sparkling water again.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s water.”

“Correction: it’s rich-people water,” she says, twisting off the cap and taking a long swig. “Ahhh. So refreshing.” Nova plops down at a barstool and surveys my giant kitchen. “Seriously, you could use some plants or something. It’s like a robot lives here.”

---