Page 26 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

“Logaaannnn!” he roars as he walks in, surveying my apartment.

“How did you find me?” I ask.

“Ha! Good one! Mom gave me your address, of course.”

“Ah. Good.”

I couldn’t exactly tell Mom not to give my brother my new address, though the thought did occur to me. At least the front door to the building locks, and I have the only key to my actual apartment.

“How did you get up here?” I ask.

“Some guy was walking in, I just walked in behind him like I live here. Worked like a charm.”

So much for the locked front door.

“So, how’s life being back in Serendipity Springs?” Jacob asks.

He plops down on the sofa and kicks his feet up on the coffee table.

“Feet,” I say.

“Seriously, man?”

I look him in the eye.

“Okay. Okay. But, dude. This is your bachelor pad. You don’t need to keep things so neat and tidy as if you’re the next stop on a home tour.”

“I happen to like neat and tidy. That way you know where everything is, and you don’t have to spend money replacing things ahead of their time.”

Jacob shrugs. Then, as quickly as he plopped down, he stands, walks into my kitchen, opens the fridge, and sticks his head in.

“Whatcha got to eat around here?”

“Nothing interesting.”

“Right. Just protein drinks, meat, vegetables. Some fruit.” He inventories the contents of my refrigerator, shouting out his findings over his shoulder.

“Dude, you’re like a grandpa. Or a personal trainer. Where’s the fun?”

I shouldn’t answer. “I’m fun.”

Jacob removes his head from the fridge, snagging a yogurt on his way out. He surveys my apartment.

“I’m sorry, what part of your life screams fun? You work. You come home to your dog and a bunch of healthy food. You go to sleep at a decent hour. You wake and take your well-calculated run. I’m not feeling the fun factor here. You should come out with me and my friends next weekend. That’s fun. The nightlife here isn’t what it is in NYC, but there are some places. I can show you around. Maybe you’d meet a girl. You do like girls?”

“I like girls … women.”

Jacob pulls open three drawers before he locates my silverware. He opens the yogurt, leaves the plastic lid and foil inner covering on the counter, and sticks the spoon in to scoop out a big bite.

“Good yogurt,” he says around the mouthful.

“Glad you like it. So … did you just come by to eat my yogurt?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. No. I was just here to welcome you back to the lucky little town of Serendipity Springs. And … I have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition?”

I should have been prepared for this, but I always think my brother’s going to somehow change—eventually grow up and become self-sufficient like the rest of us.

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