Page 75 of Little Liar
The warmth in my chest appears when my sister walks out, grinning at her friend and ignoring our mom, and then they climb into a car and head to her friend Anna’s house.
Annoyingly, she gave birth yesterday. Two newborn babies screamed down the phone while I tried to sleep on Olivia’s chest this morning, and she acted as if our eardrums weren’t ringing and my patience wasn’t thin. I was very fucking close to throwing her phone against the wall and making sure none of her friends could ever contact her again.
She tried to show me a picture, but I didn’t even attempt to lift my head to look. Who cares? Anna is a bitch, and so is Abigail. I mean, who the fuck does she think she is to speak to me the way she just did?
I want to choke her, but not the same way I choke Olivia. The thought alone makes me shiver in disgust. I’ve never even as much as thought about having anyone except my sister beneath me—yeah, I fucked with her head a little by going on a date with Anna, but I did that out of maliciousness.
Olivia needs new friends. They’re all idiots. Or maybe she doesn’t need any? Not having to deal with them disturbing our bubble sounds fucking perfect. I’m her friend. That’s enough.
She’s my only friend too.
I get on my bike and follow the car to Anna’s, parking it up the hill—far enough away that they won’t be able to see me, but I still have the perfect view of all the windows at the front of the house.
My mom hugs Anna, hands her a gift, and then beams at the baby the husband places into Olivia’s arms. The other baby goes to Abigail.
Something strange rushes through me. I can’t quite put my finger on the feeling. I’m not jealous of any of it. I’m not staring at Olivia baby-talking and picturing her holding my kid, and I’m not planning in my head what it would be like if I was ever going to be good enough to have all of that.
It’s impossible.
But maybe it’s a bucket full of annoyance that’s in my veins. Because my sister is smiling. Grinning at a baby. She’s never smiled at me like that—or anyone. It makes my insides twist at the thought of her wanting that—a family, kids, with me. It’s not something I can give her.
Fuck.
She’s beaming ear to ear, her cheeks rosy red. She sidesteps the husband, and I lose sight of her from the window—I might scratch his car and slash his tires for ruining my view.
She reappears in front of another window and pulls her phone out of her back pocket, the baby in her other arm, as if she’s a natural at holding something so damn fragile.
She’s typing while her smile grows, and I make a mental note to check her phone while she’s asleep to see who it is. I’ve been good recently. Before, I’d hack her phone and read her messages, look at her pictures and videos, and it became obsessive, but I’m trying to do better.
I haven’t checked her phone since she came back to me. Maybe I should, just once?
The thought vanishes as my own phone dings in my pocket.
Olivia: You’re quite clingy, big brother.
I huff a soft laugh, looking up to see her watching me. She tilts her arm to give me a better view of the newborn in her hold while she sways softly, side to side, still smiling.
I sigh as I type out a reply.
I want to ask her if she’s getting some sort of baby fever and if I should restock as many condoms as possible, but I settle by asking:
Me: How long will you be in there?
Mom takes the baby from her arms, then she’s chatting away to her friends, leaving me waiting for about five minutes before she moves away from them and chews her lip while reading my message.
Olivia: Do you want to come in and meet the twins? It would be great to have my friends used to us being together.
I frown, looking up at the window to see Olivia waiting patiently for my reply. What kind of question is that? In what fucking world would Anna and her husband allow me to be anywhere near their newborn babies? Plus Mom is there—she’ll slam the door in my face.
I have no reason to go in.
Me: Why would I?
I know the moment I hit send that I’ve made a mistake, but I can’t take it back now. Her smile drops, and so do my teeth on my bottom lip as I await the attitude. Or maybe the middle finger.
But I don’t get either—she stares at her screen for a long minute. I adjust my bike, my ass getting numb. Her smile dropsfurther, then she’s moving away from the window and out of view once more.
My phone vibrates in my hand.
