Page 61 of The Older Brother
The latest Deftones album blasts through the shop’s open bay doors as Saylor and I roll up. I park just close enough to the workspace for Mig to notice my car pull up. He’s bad at masking his expression, though, first flinching when he spots Saylor stepping out of the car, then covering his mouth to barely hide his laughter. He’s acting like an eighth grader who walked in on his best friend’s first kiss.
“Hey, man.” I nod to my best friend, then tap the toe of my shoe into Jersey’s as he lies under a sixty-four Chevy pickup.
“Oh, hey. Company.” He rolls out on his board, then pushes up to a sitting position, his gaze bobbing from Saylor to me, then to Mig.
“Relax, she’s not here expecting her car to be ready. She’s here because—” Mig stops his words the second I hold up a hand.
“She’s here to learn her way around an engine since she’ll be heading up north in a few months.” My eyes lock onto Mig’s for a few seconds, and I do my best with my flexed jaw and tight lips to express how much I’d prefer he keep his mouth shut about Saylor and me.
“Hey, yeah. That’s a really good idea, actually. You wanna slide under here and take a look? I’m about to change the oil.” Jersey isn’t being creepy by trying to hit on Saylor. That’s not his style. Just mine, apparently.
She glances at me and nods.
“You should learn how to do this,” I encourage.
She grins, then immediately kicks the spare roller board toward Jersey. I grab a clean towel from the bin and toss it to him, and he covers the board before Saylor lies back on it. Wearing all white is a bad idea in a place like this, but my creepy side is rooting for her to get just gritty enough to need a shower. After close. When these dickheads go home.
I drop my phone and keys on the counter and slide up next to Mig while I look on at Saylor’s long, golden legs stretched out next to Jersey’s oil-stained cargo pants. I think the only thing more jarring to her mom would be if she came home with a guy like him. He’s shaggy, with a full bear beard and a head of hair that looks like the straw of a scarecrow. His mustache is spotty, and his cheeks always seem to be red. He’s one of the kindest dudes I’ve ever met, but he’s a bit chaotic at life. He’s been on-again, off-again with his girlfriend for two years, and there’s a reason we keep him far away from handling the finances andbills. The guts of a car, though? He’s like a walking encyclopedia. And he’s a decent teacher, so I don’t mind so much that Saylor’s knees are inches from his right now. Well, I mind a bit.
“How long you give it before he asks her for advice?” Mig whispers.
I chuckle.
“He’s asking right now,” I say.
We’re both quiet, doing our best to eavesdrop on their conversation several feet away. There’s a lot of talk about turning things in certain directions and making sure valves are closed, and then we hear the magic words. “I don’t know why Tess won’t talk to me about it.”
It’s impossible to hold our laughter in. The harder we try, the louder our cackling grows, until finally Jersey pushes out from under the truck and sits up to glare at us.
“You guys are assholes. You know that?” He gets up off his board and moves to the front of the truck. “Saylor, join me up here, and I’ll show you the rest.”
“Sorry, Jers,” I say as he scowls my direction.
“Ignore them. You’re right to ask a woman for advice,” Saylor says, breaking my gaze with Jersey. Suddenly, all I see is her as she steps up next to him and leans over the engine bay.
A woman for advice.
She is a woman. I think that’s what’s got me so tangled inside, trying to sort out how this girl who was always just that—a girl—is suddenly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Did I just wake up one day and see her differently? Or was my mind opened to having something real with Saylor thanks to a massive grudge against my brother? I suppose, in a way, I have him to thank for all of this. Whatever happens.
Saylor’s lips slip into a faint smile as her gaze moves between me and the space where Jersey is tipping the oil canister into the opening. Our friend rattles on the same story he’s told us, abouthow he bought airline tickets for Cabo for Thanksgiving without consulting his girlfriend, not realizing she maybe wanted to spend the holiday with her family. Rather than make fun of him the way Mig and I did, though, Saylor listens and digests his frustration.
“You were trying to be spontaneous,” she says.
He stands up straight and lets his head fall back.
“Yes! Exactly!” He waves his free hand at her, then toward me. “She gets it, see?”
I nod, and Mig rolls his eyes and flips open the laptop to pour his attention into the books.
“But is it possible that she was maybe planning on introducing you to her family during the holiday? Did she drop any hints?” Saylor’s eyes soften as Jersey sucks in his lips and tightens his jaw.
“Fuck,” he finally mutters. “She totally wanted to do that, and I completely missed it.”
He slaps his palm on his forehead, and Saylor pulls his wrist away with her hand. I shift my feet, wriggling out the spikes of jealousy that are suddenly prodding my insides.
“Don’t beat yourself up. Just be honest. You’d be surprised how sexy that is to a woman.” Saylor blinks slowly, and her eyes open on me before shifting back to Jersey.
“You really think so?”
