Page 38 of Ripped

He blinks at me. “Really? You’d do that?”

I shrug. I can’t think of a reason why I wouldn’t. “Yeah, sure. I mean, you helped me with all my shit. I can help you with…” I almost call Roger’s things shit. Shit. “Uh, I mean…”

Donnie chuckles and the air suddenly feels lighter between us. “I know what you mean. And thank you. I appreciate it.”

On the island behind us, my phone buzzes. I ignore it and it buzzes again.

“Do you need to get that?”

“Naw, it’s fine.” There’s literally no one in my life who can’t wait until I finish dinner with Donnie.

My phone buzzes again and again and again.

“Are you sure?”

I groan and throw my head back. There’s only one person in the world who would text me twenty messages in a row like that. I grab my phone off the counter and bring it back to the table.

Brad: Mom and dad’s anniversary is in a few weeks.

Brad: Don’t forget.

Brad: Put it in your calendar.

Brad: You need to be here by Friday.

Brad: We’re having family dinner on Friday.

Brad: The big party is on Saturday.

Brad: You’re not allowed to leave until Sunday.

I roll my eyes and set it face down on the table.

“Who is it?” Donnie looks concerned.

“No one. Just my brother.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you have a brother.”

“I do. An annoying one.”

Donnie’s lips twitch. “What does he want?”

“To make sure I go home for my parent’s anniversary in a few weeks,” I grumble. I scoop some quinoa and a piece of chicken and stuff it in my mouth. The chicken is really, really good. The quinoa is… good with the chicken.

“You don’t want to go?” Donnie’s making good headway on his plate of food and I hurry to catch up.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just… a hassle.”

Donnie’s lips twitch into a grin. “A hassle?

It’s hard for me to explain because it’s not any single thing that bothers me about visiting them. My parents are good parents. My brother is… ugh, my brother. I had a great childhood—absolutely no complaints. Even now, I know I can always go to my parents if I need help with anything. My brother is, you know, my brother, but he’ll always drop what he’s doing if I call him.

Except every time we’re in the same room, we tend to end up in epic arguments over I don’t even know what. Silly things, stupid things—I don’t do laundry often enough, why don’t I move to a cheaper neighborhood, I shouldn’t eat so much takeout.

Donnie would get along great with my mom on that last point.

It’s stuff that no one is right about, so no one can win, and then we just go around and around until someone—usually me—storms out. It’s exhausting. It also sounds petty.

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