Page 49 of We Can't Be Friends

Chloe opens a drawer, pulling out two forks and knives. “Do you want coffee? I can make a pot, or I have espresso for lattes.”

“Do you have tea?”

Chloe doesn’t respond. Spinning to face me, she hands over the utensils. I get out of her way, finding a seat on the other side of the island. On a step stool, she rummages through the cabinet over the fridge. Seconds later, she turns back around, with a plastic container in hand.

Eyes glazed over and her jaw clenched, I can tell she’s fighting off a memory. It is the same expression I’ve worn before. “This is all I have.”

The container is slid across the island to me, lid removed. Green and herbal gray. “It’s perfect.” Chloe reaches for the pouch. “I can make it.”

“Okay,” she says reservedly.

I walk around the counter, coming to stand next to where she’s gripping the edge. “Hey, you okay, Daisy?” The nickname slips out.

“I’m fine,” she responds, trying to take a step around me. My arm juts out to stop her.

“Are you sure?”

Her head dips to her fuzzy socks. Coffee brown hair falls forward around her sharp jaw and high cheekbones. Chloe takes a deep breath, the exhale too loud to be fine.

I reach out, lightly taking her chin between my fingers, lifting her head back up. “What just happened? Where did you go?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing. I promise it’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t feel like nothing. You can talk to me.”

“We are talking and we can talk about something else. I’m fine.” Her hand circles my wrist, pulling it away from her chin and returning it to my side. “Let me make the tea, you made breakfast.”

“I can make it. Just because I do something for you, doesn’t mean you have to do something for me.” I nod in the direction of the pancakes that are getting cold. “Go sit. Eat.”

Chloe points to a floating shelf behind me. “Mugs are right there.”

13

CHLOE

“Miller,” I say as I hurry to the table he is sitting at. I throw my purse over the chair that is designated for me.

My twin brother gets up from the table and opens his arms to me.

“Chloe.”

I step into his embrace, honestly surprised he’s hugging me. Miller Henry doesn’t enjoy affection, especially from me.

We never grew out of that sibling feud phase. Sure, we were two peas in a pod, but that was because of our other brother, Aaron. He was the silly putty that kept us together.

“Alright, that’s enough.” The pressure of his hug squeezes all the oxygen out of me. Miller drops his arms, stepping back to his high-top bar stool. “You smell.” Another reason not to be hugging him.

“Practice ran over, and I needed to pick up—” he can barely get out before a six-year-old sprints toward our table.

“Auntie! You’re here!” my favorite little man in the world says.

Kneeling, I open my arms, catching his uncoordinated limbs. Riley loops his wet hands around my neck and plants a sloppy kiss on my nose. “Muwah. Like Tucker!”

“Like Tucker. He told me this morning he’s excited to play with you.”

“Dogs can’t talk.”

I tickle his sides. “Maybe I speak dog.”

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