Page 59 of Hockey Player Seeking Fan

"You’re just being overprotective because you’re my big brother, and you’re upset I’m getting married. You think I’m too young."

"That’s not why I’m upset. But it’s fine, Muriel. Honestly, it’s not going to break the bank. If you want money for the wedding and honeymoon, I’ll send it. And I’ll make the down payment on the house. Shit. How much is the house?"

"It’s $450,000.”

“I’ll buy you the house as a wedding present."

"What? Oh my gosh. Thank you so much!"

"I’m only putting it in Mom’s name."

"Why?"

"Because I don’t know what this man is going to try and get from you, and I don’t want you getting divorced in two years and him getting half the house."

"But you just said that you think he has money, too."

"Right, but you know he’s not asking me for my money."

"Fine, whatever. How are you, by the way?"

I look at the timer on the phone. “We’ve been on this call for thirty-seven minutes and forty-two seconds, and that’s the first time you’ve asked me how I’m doing.”

"Oh, sorry. I mean, I didn’t realize."

"You know what? It’s fine. I’ll go to the bank tomorrow and see what I can do about wiring the money."

"Okay. I’ll speak to Mom about the bank details. I love you."

"I love you, too. Give everyone my regards."

I hang up the phone and just stand there. I know I was rough on my sister. I know she was hurt. I took things out on her that I shouldn’t have. But sometimes I just feel so infuriated by the fact that I gave up so much of my life, and it’s not even appreciated. Sometimes I just feel like my family wants more, more, more, and more, and that it doesn’t matter what it costs me.

I stare at the corner of my apartment at the box that just arrived. I walk over and open it. I pull out oil paints, acrylics, brushes, linseed oil, and a palette. I just stare at the contents. Painting supplies. My heart sings a song I thought it had forgotten.

I smile slowly as I walk into my bedroom and open the cupboard, pulling out the drawing pad and small canvases I keep there. I’m about to take them to my dining room table and paint when my phone rings.

I don’t even want to look at the screen—I’m nervous it’s my mother, wanting to tell me off for how I spoke to Muriel. I’m pleasantly surprised when I see that it’s Erica.

"Hey, how’s it going?" she asks.

I smile as I hear her voice. "I’m good. How are you?"

"I’m actually okay today," she says, sounding unlike herself.

"Hey, what’s wrong?"

"Nothing. Just..." she says. "I think I’m just in my head. I was wondering what you were up to right now."

"I was just going to..." I stare at the paints, then turn away. Maybe this is a sign. That painting was something in my past, and I should let it go. "Actually, I’m not doing anything. Is there anything you want to do right now?”

“Hmm?”

“You want to come over?”

“For what??”

"Do you want to get eaten out?” I lick my lips in anticipation.