“Because of whatever happened last year?” he asks.
“Yes.” I slump against the wall, resting my phone on my knee.
“So rough. What happens now?”
“Nothing happens now. I’ll lie here until my body is covered with tissues like a hoarder with newspapers. They’ll excavate the room in May and archaeologists will tell the story of my downy prison and overall dysfunction.”
“Bleak,” he says. His Hawaiian shirt has chili peppers all over it. I may have dragged him to one too many thrift stores. “So, you’re bawling your eyes out, and I hear old school Tay Tay in the background. It’s time to?—”
“I know, I know. Do something. But this time there’s nothing else to do.”
“Oh, so you mean you’re waiting on God. Even better.”
I blink at him. It’s hard to hear wise things from a sixteen-year-old covered in chili peppers.
“What are you hoping God will do exactly?”
“I need him to fix me.”
“Cool.”
“But he won’t,” I say.
“You mean he hasn’t yet.”
I squeeze my legs closer. “Right.”
“Okay.” He nods confidently.
I glare at him. That’s not what I wanted to hear. At least now I have someone else to be mad at.
“What?” he accuses. “I hate that you’re so bummed. I kinda want to beat up Not-Boyfriend Dude just for being related to you being this bummed. But I’m not worried about this, and youshouldn’t be either. I’ve been watching God take care of you my whole life. If this guy’s supposed to stick around, God’ll make it happen. If he’s not, you can trust that God’s plan is better.”
My little brother’s faith is surpassing my own at the moment. I think the chili peppers just shook their heads at me.
“News flash—Tay Tay isn’t going to tell you anything helpful right now.”
I huff.
“Too preachy?”
“No. You’re right.”
“So … are you gonna trust him?”
A chuckle sneaks out. “I’ll try, Mr. Leadership Qualities.”
He grins. “Can’t wait to see what God does with this.”
“Glad my life can be so entertaining for you.”
“Tune in next week …” Great, it’s his TV narrator impression. “To see Kit realize how incredible her eldest brother is and lavish praise on him rather than sarcasm.” He sits up, and I know he’s about to imitate my voice. “Mav, you’re a stellar brother. I wish I had shared more Halloween candy with you. I left you with only Laffy Taffy and Starburst when you had braces, and I’m all torn up about it. As penance, I’m going to come home every month and do your chores and write your papers and fan you with a palm leaf.”
I shake my head. His antics have erased my scowl. I love this crazy kid. “In your dreams. I have enough papers to write. Hey, pray for me?”
“Duh. I wish you were coming home for Thanksgiving. Or that you had warned me. I could’ve bought you a ticket with my chicken money.” Mav works at Chick-fil-A. He dodges questions about his post-high school plans by saying that he’ll climb the ladder at “the chicken store” until he can be the “Eat Mor Chikin” cow.
“Me too,” I say. “And that’s why I didn’t.”
