Page 32 of Burn Bright
“You might,” I say. “You’ve already met one.”
Her face pinches into a grimace at the mention of Tom.
Shit. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring him up—” I cut myself off as my phone vibrates from a video call. “Hold on a sec,” I tell Harriet. On instinct, I answer my phone, and my little sister emerges. I flinch in surprise at the black veil and puffy black sleeves of her Victorian dress.
Audrey typically wearspink.
“Did someone die?” I ask her.
“Philly is in mourning, as am I.” She plops on the chaise at the foot of her four-poster bed. “I already told Eliot and Tom that I’m to wear all black until they relinquish you to me.” She flings her veil off her fair face. Tendrils of her carrot-orange hair caress her soft cheeks.
She’s number seven.
Audrey Virginia—the youngest of us all, and arguably the most dramatic. (Eliot won’t relinquish that title without a fight.) She became my closest sibling as our brothers left our childhood home one by one, but I’ve vowed to always protect her since we were little kids.
Leaving is festering a wound inside me that won’t exactly heal.
“I’m out in public, by the way,” I warn Audrey. “I’m with my friend Harriet.”
Harriet, thankfully, hasn’t put the cherry-red Jolly Rancher in her mouth because I think she would’ve choked on it. Her big doe-eyes bug in surprise.
“Hi, Harriet,” Audrey says morosely. “Tell Ben to come home.”
Harriet sweeps me. “Go home, Friend.” She says it rather unconvincingly.
I smile at her, then draw my gaze back to my phone as Audrey lets out a breathy whine. “Ben.It’sso very unfair. They’re all together in New York. They didn’t need to take you too.”
“They haven’t kidnapped me, Audrey. Hey, look at this.” I flip the camera and crane over towardBreakfast at Tiffany’son the projector screen just as Audrey Hepburn sits in a cab while rain splashes the windows. “Isn’t that cool? It’s like you’re here with me.”
“She looks as forlorn as I feel.” Audrey Hepburn is seconds away from crying, and as I frame the camera back on my face, I realize my sister Audrey is too.
“Audrey—”
“I hate being the youngest,” she cries into a hiccup like she’s trying to suppress the waterworks. She wipes them fast, but it’s gutting me seeing them stream more silently down her cheeks. “The house is too quiet without you.”
You’ll be okay without me.She has to be.
“I’ll be back for a Wednesday Night Dinner,” I promise. I wasn’t planning on skipping those, even if the idea of facing our parents twists my stomach. It’s better to stay the course and act like nothing is wrong. If I skip a bunch of Wednesdays, it’ll sound the alarms.Ben isn’t okay! What’s going on with Ben?!
Don’t need that.
I typically always go to these dinners for Audrey, so that can’t change yet.
Keeping anything from our parents takes mental gymnastics none of us can land for too long. They’re certified geniuses with high IQs, and they consume knowledge like it’s the foundation of the food pyramid.
They know how to pull truths out of us—or they already see the answers before we’ve confessed. I’ve wondered if my parents already know I’m broke, but they don’t have access to my bank accounts. They believe in our autonomy and independence, and they wouldn’t invade our privacy in that way.
“I hope so,” Audrey says with a breathy sigh. “Theodore!” She calls out for the cockatiel, then sighs heavier. “He never listens to me.”
“He loves you.”
“No, I think he misses you most of all.”
A weight sinks in my lungs. “You’ll take care of him,” I assure her.
“Of course I will.” She lifts her chin. “I am the world’s best bird-sitter.”
“He’s yours now,” I remind her. “It’s more than just bird-sitting.”
