Page 81 of Fluke
“What does he want?” Pippa asks.
“On the surface, he wants to come in. Down deep, he wants to worm his way onto my couch, distract me, and take up all my time tonight. I just don’t have the time or energy to screw with him.”
He gets closer to the camera. “How do I know you haven’t fallen and hit your head, huh? What if you were shaving and you sliced the vein in your throat? I’m out here worrying about you. Just let me know you’re okay, man.”
Pippa laughs. “Oh, my gosh. He’s dramatic.”
“This is only the tip of the iceberg.”
“Fine. I hope you’re not bleeding out in there,” Banks shouts, so close to the device that all I can really see are the blurred insides of his nostrils. “Just remember, I was the one concerned. I was the brother who tried to check on you, but youlocked your doors.”
“He really has boundary issues, doesn’t he?”
I tilt my head. “Can you call them boundary issues if he doesn’t acknowledge the boundary to begin with?”
“Good question. I don’t know.”
“Me either.”
He turns his back to the camera, pulls out his phone, presses it to his ear, and marches toward Mom’s.
I sigh. “It’s like he holds me captive in my own house.”
“You love him, and you know it.”
“Meh.”
I peek through the blinds until he disappears into our parents’ house.
Does he need a hobby? Therapy? A puppy?
That’s it. That’s the problem.
He is the puppy.
“Banks is like having a puppy, and it’s still potty training. It’s so much work and inconvenient. But you look at their little face, and you just hope it’s worth it.”
Pippa cackles. “That’s not nice.”
“No, but it’s true.” I stand and stretch my free arm over my head. “What time do you want me to pick you up in the morning?”
“I don’t know. It’ll take us two or two and a half hours, I think. Check-in is at four. So we could leave at two and be fine.”
“Cool. I’ll be there at eight.”
“Jess!” she says, laughing.
“What? My internal clock goes off at six. I’m used to sleeping with you now, so I’ll probably be up all night anyway.”
“I slept with you one night.”
I shrug. “So? You’re addictive.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“I’d rather you be full of me.”
I can hear her smile. It’s enough to draw the corners of my lips to the ceiling.
