Page 25 of Sweet Twins For My Brother's Best Friend

A cold sweat now mixes with the sweat from my run. “Are you hungry?”

“I, uh—”

“Let me make you something. I just went to the farmer’s market. I got some bok choy I’m very excited to experiment with. Have you ever had bok choy?”

“Yes, but Chris—” She turns around in her chair, her body following me as I walk over to my kitchen.

“Well, so have I, I guess, little wilted things in American Chinese dishes, but look at these bad boys.” I pull out the large head of it, look at her, then back at it, then hold it up next to my head. “You see that? As big as my head.”

“Impressive,” she says grimly and stands. “Listen,” she tells me, walking to me slowly like an officer at a standoff, like I have hostages she needs to save.

“I will help you with this. There’s no need to panic, okay? It will be easy to figure out who did it and then you can figure out how you’d like to proceed. If you want to press charges or sue for restitution, we’ll do our best to get your money back.”

Rinsing off the bok choy, I let her words wash over me as I look out the window down at the ocean glinting in the distance, shining bursts of lights at everythingng metal and glass that people have built.

“I’m not worried about the money,” I finally respond.

It isn’t quite true, but it’s true enough. I bring the vegetable over to my butcher block countertop and start cutting it into strips,unsure if I’m doing it right. I realize halfway through that in my state, I haven’t looked up any recipes or anything.

“Okay, so tell me your concerns. We have to do something about this. It can’t be allowed to continue.”

Something about her sayingweand meaning the two of us sends a string of fire that I can trace from my heart down to my toes and back up to my skull.

“We don’t have to do anything right away.”

“Don’t you want—”

“What I want to do, Hannah, is eat. It’s Sunday, and I should be relaxing, and you came tearing in here with bad news, that I don’t really feel equipped to handle right now. Is that okay with you? If I just make us something to eat, then for an hour or so we can forget about all this? The money will still be gone after we’ve eaten, right?”

She backs away from me slightly, then straightens.

Her eyes harden for a moment before softening. I watch all the emotions pass over her, something like pity enter and leave.

“Yeah, okay. I’m sorry. You’re right.”

In a lighter tone, Hannah continues, “You know, it’s funny, I tell myself all the time that I need to get better at work/home lifeboundaries. Today, I tried, I really did. I tried to not do any work because it’s the weekend, but sometimes it feels impossible.”

She looks at her interlaced fingers and sighs heavily, then back up at me.

“Well, hey, if anyone gets that, it’s me. You’re in the beginning stages of a business. That’s how that first year goes. Before you have help. Will you put that pan on high for me?” I gesture to a pan near her, hanging on a peg on the wall.

“This one?” she asks quietly, pointing. I nod, and she places the pan on the burner.

She turns the knob to high, looking at me as though for acceptance, and I smile reassuringly as I find a bowl to mix seasonings in.

“Can I tell you something? I want to explain my reaction the other day. I know it was…weird.”

I set the wooden bowl down to give her my undivided attention, staring into her mascara-rimmed eyes. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“I know. I just want to,” her eyes downcast.

“If you think it will help me understand you better, go ahead, please.”

I can see the agony in her eyes, the unsureness of telling me whatever it is she thinks she needs to say. It’s a gentleness that’s not usually present in our conversations.

“When I was younger, my parents didn’t have much money. They both worked two jobs, and Tyler and I were home alone a lot. Tyler practically raised me. I feel bad about it, that he used up his childhood on me.”

Seeing her nibble on her bottom lip eats me up, and I feel terrible that she feels that way. I reach out and stroke her shoulder. I run my hand down her arm and interlace her fingers in mine. Her hand twitches as though she might pull it back, but she doesn’t.

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