Page 8 of Truth Be Told
Olivia knows this, so she comes by to clean up for me and see how I’m doing.
“Don’t clean that,” I say when I enter the kitchen. “Just stop, Liv. I’ll take care of it.”
“You won’t, though.” She’s got the whole ensemble going on: thick plastic gloves on her hands, an apron tied around her waist. I’m surprised she’s not wearing a bandana, too. “Cohen,” she gasps, because she’s always been dramatic like that. “You look terrible.”
“Thank you,” I reply sarcastically. She’s only teasing, but I’m not in the mood. Not after a night of such crappy sleep. “Stop cleaning. You shouldn’t have to do that for me.” I take a seat at the large marble island.
To my surprise, she actually stops. She shuts off the running sink and stands opposite me in front of the island. “Rough night?”
“You have no idea.”
“Here.” She removes her gloves, walks to the automatic espresso machine and turns it on. It gurgles and within a few seconds some coffee starts dripping into one of my mugs. “Coffee fixes everything.” She winks at me. Eventually, she passes me a steaming cup.
“Thanks,” I say, using it to warm my hands before taking a sip. “Seriously, though, don’t come to clean up after me anymore. I don’t like it when you do that.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.” I lift the cup to my mouth and say into the steam, “Ilovewhen my sister is here as soon as I wake up after a night out.” Knowing the whole time she can see the joking smile in my eyes.
“Oh, please.” She laughs and rolls her eyes toward the direction of my room. “Like you’d have anyone up there with you on a Saturday morning. And don’t kid yourself, by the way. We both know you’ve been up.”
I swallow and set the cup down. “Ouch.” That’s Olivia for you. Blunt.
“Well, I’m right, aren’t I?”
I nod. “Yeah, yeah.” I cross my arms, resting my elbows on the cool marble. “I’ve been up since four thirty.”
“Ah, see? Iwasright.”
“Of course you were.”
“Is it the nightmares? Sorry– I mean, the dreams?” She knows I don’t call them nightmares.Dreamsmake them sound so much more innocent, and it feels better that way. Because dreaming every night is normal. Having nightmares every night, on the other hand…
“Yep.” I don’t tell her that this time they were different. That this time, I actually saw the woman. “So you wanna tell me how much longer I can expect to find you creeping into my house?”
“Well, you’re the one who gave me a key, Cohen. And someone has to do it.” She pauses. “Not creep around your house, I mean. Someone has to clean up after you. Why did you let your help go, anyway?” She makes a face, looking around at the remaining dishes and the crumbs on the counters.
I shrug. “I wanted some peace and quiet. I thought it might help.”
“You should have known better than that. Seclusion doesn’t help anyone. You think you’re some kind of exception?”
I shake my head. “Never have.”
She suddenly turns serious. “Well, that, little brother, is why I still come around. It’s not to clean up after you.” She takes a sip of her own cup. “Okay, cleaning up is a big part of it. But mostly, it’s to make sure you’re okay.”
Fair enough. There’s nothing to say to that. I press my lips together and focus on my drink. I can see my reflection in it, and this version of me looks even less put together than the one in my mirror.
“So, did you meet anyone?” she asks curiously, breaking the silence.
I should have seen that one coming. Olivia loves that kind of shit. Gossipy shit.
“Didn’t you just say I’d never have anyone with me on a Saturday morning?”
Instead of answering, she resumes cleaning. She rubs and swipes at the counter, carefully scooping the crumbs into her hand the way our mother used to do.
“Anyway,” I continue, “you think I’d meet someone at a strip club?”
She stops. “Cohen! Really?”
