Page 48 of Never Say Yes To Your Brother's Best Friend

“I’m not five years old. I’ve already lived most of my life.”

“Pshaw to that!” I jerk my head up. He’s got his usualI’m so bored with life, and I find nothing interesting, evermask in place, but it’s starting to get frayed and worn pretty thin. It’s starting to be just a little bit see-through. “You’re probably ten years older than me if that. I’m not even going to tell you not to say it because some people don’t get to live out their lives, and they are actually over. That would sound like guilt, and this isn’tguilt. This is supposed to be finding your stride and learning what it takes to make your soul sing.”

“Some souls don’t sing,” he argues.

“At least you didn’t say some people don’t have souls.”

“Some souls are too dirty to—”

“Dirt! Yes!” If we have to talk about that, then I have a great idea. “You should go to school and study dirt. Apparently, it’s super fascinating. All the stuff that goes on in soil! It’s an entire world and a science in its own right. You’re a little bit obsessed, so it might be just what you’re looking for.”

He rolls his eyes. There’s no undoing it, though. I’m not going to let him undo it. “Perhaps that was a tad bit sarcastic as well.”

“Maybe, but I do think it would be so neat. You could learn how bacteria really work. Worms, ants, and centipedes too.”

“Aspen,” he groans.

“Yes! And trees and plants. Geez, now I kind of want to go back to school and take microbiology or ecology or whatever it would be under.”

“I’m not going to go to school to study soil.”

“You could just join a gardening club then.”

He looks like he’s just seen a ten-foot-tall spider coming toward the house, and no, he doesn’t want to tongue-bath it. “Have you forgotten that I hate gardens enough to let the one outside die out?”

“That’s just because it belonged to a farty old man who chose money and power and position over you. He was clearly wrong in that. Clearly. I don’t agree with taking it out on the garden, but cleaning out the house and starting fresh? It’s probably a good thing not to have so many bad memories picking away at you.”

“Aspen.”

“What?”

“This conversation is over,” he says resolutely.

“Oh, so it’s like that, is it?” I respond.

“Yeah, it’s like that.” He points to the window, and excuse or not, I now remember there’s a world out there. “Those poor pool people out there have probably been done for ages, and they’re just too polite to come banging down the door.”

“Riiiiight. Shit. I kind of forgot about that. Maybe they’ve already left. I’ll go check.” I scramble off his lap and walk to the window, where I peek through the blinds. “There’s no one out there.”

“Fuck,” Rick curses.

“I’m sure they’ll call or stop by again to discuss. Or maybe they’ll just email you a number of plans and mockups to choose from. I’m sure most people need a visual, so they probably have tons of renderings. That would make the most sense.”

“Perhaps.”

“If they’re gone, then we don’t need to stop talking. We can discuss so much more about—”

He stalks across the room in a feverish way and kisses me before I can continue. He kisses me until I just about forget everything, which I think is the point. He doesn’t want to keep talking. He clearly had a plan and a strategy coming over here.

“We could go to the library and find some books on dirt. Maybe make out between the shelves,” I say.

“No.” He backs me up to the wall and studies my lips with major heat and want written all over his face. I’m dead here. So dead.

“You know an expiration date is really just a suggestion, right? It’s a best-before kind of deal, not a total termination, except in the case of bread. Don’t eat moldy bread again. In fact, you might need me to move down here just to cook for you.”

Silence. Dead. Hard. Silence. Not even a cricket would dare to break this total void of nothingness. It bogs down around us, and I can feel my heart grinding to slow nothingness as well.

“Rick?” I say his name when he doesn’t reply.

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