Page 69 of Darling Beasts

The news dropped swiftly, like someone had cut the lights. “You mean to New York?” I asked, and Bea nodded. My God, Dad was going to be pissed. Only Oscar Gunn could create as many problems in absentia as he did in person. It was truly a gift. I released a long, beleaguered wail toward the skylights.

“Okay, calm down,” Bea said.

“You don’t know the backstory. I get that he’s super charming or whatever, but you have no idea the trouble he keeps getting into. It’s fracas after fracas after—”

“You’re the problem,” Bea said.

For a second, I might’ve blacked out.“Me?”

Bea snorted. “Did you or did you not tell him to leave? That he should go back to New York and quote, ‘figure his shit out.’”

Our fight existed as a hot blur in my mind. I didn’t recall specifically saying this, but I’d felt it, so all bets were off. “It’s possible?” I said, and Bea rolled her eyes almost all the way out of her head. “Look. We had an argument. He tried to sell an expensive jacket to the mayor, which might be a crime?”

Bea sucked on her vape again. “You’re supposed to be the nice sister.”

“No one believes that anymore!” I said. “With all due respect, there are multiple potential legality issues andyearsof context.”

“Are you referring to his taxes?” Bea said.

Good Lord, was there anything he hadn’t confessed? “Did you know he owes fourhundredthousanddollars?” I tried.

Bea shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “What?” she said. “You’ve never made a mistake and needed somebody’s help? Or lied about something you’re ashamed of?”

“He’s not even attempting to fix it!” I said. “Ozzie has assets, including an extensive art collection. He could solve all his problems by selling one piece.”

“All his problems? God. You guys are obsessed with money.”

“I’m not the bad guy here. And I don’t care about money! I live on a farm.” Scowling, I crossed my arms. “Someone offered to give him seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars foronepiece of art.” I passed Bea a smug look, but she remained wholly unmoved. “He paid zero dollars for it, in case you’re worried about him selling it at a loss or whatever.”

“Right. Because the only value is what someone would pay for something.”

“Oh my God!” Bea was pissing me off, and I was starting to appreciate why older people complained about Gen Z. We were so argumentative and difficult. “There’s no reason for him to keep it. It was given to him by our grandmother. None of us were close to her. She was pretty mean.” I stopped short of telling Bea that when Yvonne was on her deathbed, she asked where the chubby one was, meaning Ozzie, and told me I was smart to have bangs because they made me appear “less beaky.”

“I know about the hundred-acre map,” Bea said. “And that your grandmother was a raging bitch.”

“Oh. Okay.” I blinked, wishing we could go back to the conversation about left breaks and Suckouts. “Then what are we debating?”

“Do you understand how he sees the map?” Bea said, though it was obvious to both of us the answer was no. “Ozzie interpreted the gift as a message, an insult meant to sting. But insteadof being bitter about it, he embraced the symbolism. Now, it’s like, Winnie the Pooh ishim.”

“Ozzie is projecting,” I said. Grandma Yvonne absolutely would’ve used her will to insult someone posthumously, but I doubted that was the case here. “He needs to get over the ‘chubby’ thing. It’s not even accurate!”

“What do you know about Winnie the Pooh?”

“He’s a bear? He doesn’t wear pants?” I said. “Sorry. That’s all I’ve got.”

“Pooh is portrayed as naive and dim-witted, a bear of ‘very little brain.’ Imagine being told your whole life you’re a stupid, self-involved fuckup. All you have going for you is your charisma and fortune. You’rethat sort of bear.”

My breath caught. While I wasn’t fully schooled in Pooh lore, some of Bea’s words were familiar.

Bear of very little brain.

“What sort of stories does he like?”

“About himself. Because he’sthatsort of bear.”

“Now he’s lost his wealth and footing in the world and is having a motherfucking hard time of it. As for the offer on the map...” Bea stopped to level on me a hard, cold glare. “The buyer changed his mind. Turned out the baby wasn’t his, and he’s getting a divorce.”

“WHAT!”

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