“We don’t need therapy,” I say. “At least, not as a family. We just need to have better communication about where you’re going and what you’re doing.”
Jessica’s dark brown eyes level on me, as sharp as daggers. “I told you what I was doing, where I was going.”
“You said you were going out to see Taylor. You said you would be staying over at her house.”
“Ididgo out to see Taylor and Ididstay over at her house. I just went to a festival in the middle.”
I shudder at the reminder. All those people. All those germs. All the crowds and noise and a million ways Jessica wouldn’t have been able to get out quickly had she needed to, not to mention the toll on her body from doing whatever she was doing there – dancing, singing, drinking. But then I look at my little sister, ten whole years my junior, and I see the thoughtful smile on her face. I see the stubborn few speckles of glitter that remain from the body art she came home with. I see her braids still tied up in pigtails on either side of her head, a hairstyle that I can vividly imagine Taylor spending hours doing for her. I see the way her thoughts have drifted from this room, back to Las Vegas Festival Grounds and whatever songs made her dance the most.
“Was it fun?” I ask, still watching her.
She turns to me, everything about her face soft. “Yeah, it was.” She lifts the arm where her IV is. “I know you don’t believe me, Loncey, but it was almost worth this to feel normal for a few hours. To feel like I’m a real twenty-six-year-old, like all the other twenty-six-year-olds, rather than an overgrown teenager who still lives at home with her mother.”
“And cool older brother!”
Her smile deepens. “I do like how I can still call youbrother.”
I shrug.“Brotheris gender neutral as far as I’m concerned.”
“So you don’t hate me?” Jessica asks, and I can tell the fight has gone. She’s tired.
“Of course I don’t hate you. I never would, never could, and believe me, when we were younger, I tried.”
“No, you didn’t. You’ve always been the perfect big brother, Loncey. The number of hangs you let me crash, the dates you let me go along with you. All through your teens and then later, when you were actually serious about the girls and guys. You never shooed me away, even though I know I was so annoying.”
“You weren’t annoying." I laugh gently. "You were kind of useful, in fact. People thought it was cute, me hanging out with you."
“Are you saying I helped you get laid?" She pulls a disgusted face.
I shrug again, this time smiling mischievously, lost in my own memories. "I’m saying a lot of my dates loved you as much as they did me.”
“Like Geneva," Jessica muses.
My body instantly tenses. “Yeah, like Geneva.”
If Jessica picks up on the tightness in my voice or torso, she doesn’t let on. And why should she? She doesn’t know the full story of what happened between us. It would have only upset her. “Anyway, it’s not like you need my help now,” she scoffs.
I feel the nurse’s eyes on me and I pull my phone out so I can avoid her gaze. I deliberately don’t respond until she’s left the room.
“It’s a bit different now,” I say, lifting my eyes up.
But Jessica doesn’t reply. She’s lying still on the bed, eyes closed, mouth slightly parted, and fast asleep.
I breathe a sigh of relief at the sight. I watch her chest rise and fall for a few minutes. As always, they’re labored breaths, but they’re regular and not noticeably more strained than usual.
I open the Notes app on my phone and set about writing a list of all the things I can do on my phone while Jessica is sleeping. Sure, it would have been smarter to have brought my laptop with me when we left for the hospital but time was very much of the essence and getting any kind of work done while she’s resting is a bonus, not the purpose of being here.
I start writing my list.
Answer MyFans DMs
Reply to MyFans comments
Answer social media DMs
Answer emails
Schedule test for early next week
