Page 89 of Organized Chaos
“You’re an old family friend and could have easily dropped by my house under the pretense of being in the neighborhood. But no. You chose to stand in the cold, half a block away from my house, tobumpinto me,” I made air quotes around the word bump. “Clearly, you didn’t want to risk Milo finding out about this... rendezvous.”
Brandon didn’t deny or admit to the accusation, nor did he seem combative. It only alluded to my theory that Brandon was aware someone in the house reported back to Milo.
“And the reason you took my phone was because you knew Milo tracked it. Naturally, I’d do follow you for its safe return. Must I continue?”
Brandon appeared marginally fascinated. “Answer my question first, then we can discuss my...” he waved his fingers in the air to find the words.
“Diabolical plans,” I said for his benefit. “What’s the question?”
Brandon empaled me with his arresting crystal-blue orbs. “Did you lie to me about your ambitions?”
I looked straight ahead. “No. But my aspirations aren’t practical to pursue. If I get my doctorate, I’ll have a guaranteed six-figure salary right out of school.”
“Sounds like something Milo would say.”
I paused at Brandon’s assessment. He was spot on. That statement was Milo’s verbatim opinion. I often recycled it for my own purposes.
According to Milo and my other siblings, the dream life included a posh condo, an abundance of designer labels, and being part of New York’s elites.
It vastly contrasted with my take. I preferred creative avenues, cozy homes and would have dyed my hair blue years ago if I didn’t think it’d give my straight-edge brother a heart attack.
“Why aren’t you pursuing makeup?” he asked again.
“I’m just finishing high school. Joining the workforce so early in life hardly makes sense.”
“Then why not go to beauty school to learn the trade?”
“Having a traditional degree to fall back on makes more sense,” I offered faintly.
“So, youwantto go to college?”
“College is the bare minimum expected.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I grimaced at Brandon’s not-so-subtle comment. My heart wasn’t in it to contradict him convincingly.
When Milo insisted that Yale followed by a doctorate program was the natural course of action after graduation, I mindlessly aimed to achieve the goal. By the time I accumulated my own interests, Milo had already mapped out the next ten years of my life.
If I told him now that I’d rather pursue makeup than attend Yale, he’d look at me like I was mad. And Raven would list out logical reasons to demonstrate point by point why it was a crazy idea.
Too bad they didn’t see eye to eye because they’d make an unstoppable good cop-bad cop duo. Together, they made for the perfect gilded cage.
Even as the thought crossed my mind, guilt overlapped it. Raven and Milo would take a bullet for me. They might be heavy-handed, but it came from a good place. And who knew? Perhaps once I started college, these silly notions would disappear.
Luckily, the waitress reappeared with a tray. I was grateful for the interruption and slumped into my chair while she distributed our drinks.
Brandon’s steadfast eyes remained laser-focused on me. Ignoring the intensity, I concentrated on the foam leaf on my coffee. The pumpkin aroma was hard to resist, but it’d be a shame to spoil the Barista’s latte art. I took a sip, careful not to ruin the shape, and was mildly pleased with my sipping skills when the leaf remained intact.
The waitress placed a cup of coffee in front of Brandon and the hot scones in the middle. Clearly, she had done her magic so the scones would come out at the same time.
She hovered expectantly, hoping for an acknowledgment of her excellent customer service. But Brandon didn’t say thank you or smile. Instead, his eyes roamed my face in search of something else entirely.
“Thank you,” I offered, even though she was only interested in Brandon’s gratitude. I didn’t miss the disappointment in her eyes upon realizing that the glimpse of charm Brandon had displayed was a complete farce. Her face fell, and she scooted away.
I gripped my cup with two hands, the silence stretching between us. For weeks, I was petrified of running into Brandon again. I had fortified my walls in the same way Brandon’s tough exterior protected him. In the end, the experience wasn’t excruciating, merely awkward.
Brandon reached for his coffee and sipped on it while I quietly picked at my scone.
