“Nice car,” Clay said dryly. “Yours?”
“No,” Grade said as he popped the seat belt and scrambled out of the car. He bent down to look at Clay through the door. “Wait here. I’ll not be long.”
He slammed the door shut and headed inside.
§
Dory’s shift must have run over.
She was dressed for the couch in sweats and a crop top as she made sloppy sandwiches in the small kitchen, but her arms were covered in body glitter, and her hair was still pulled up into a high ponytail. The full face of makeup she had on looked odd in the morning. It had been put on under fluorescents, and the shades were just a bit offunder natural light.
She looked up from the generous spread of special no-nut peanut butter. Some people would have wasted time on “relieved.” Dory skipped that and went straight to exasperated.
“Where have you been?” she asked, her free hand propped on her hip and butter knife held loosely in the other as she gestured with it. “It’s after six. You were supposed to sort Cody’s lunch and take him to school and what happened to your forehead?”
Grade paused mid-step. He reached up to touch his forehead, but caught himself before he poked the bruise. “You look like mom when you do that,” he said instead.
“I do… Don’t you try and start a fight with me,” Dory snapped. She slapped the knife down on the cutting board and crossed her arms. Her foot tapped on the floor. “Cody looks up to you. If you let him down, he could end up with inauthentic attachment problems.”
“That sounds made up.”
“Well, itisn’t.Shows what you know.”
Grade cut around the table and grabbed Dory’s backpack from the hook on the door. He waved it at her.,
“Is your phone in here?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why? And are you trying to change the subject?”
“I gave him a fifty,” Grade said. “And I want to know where your phone is.”
“What do you mean you gave him a fifty?” Dory said. “He’s twelve. Where do you think he’s getting his lunch? DoorDash?”
“If he wants,” Grade said. “It’s his money.”
“He’stwelve,” Dory repeated. “That means he gets a packed lunch, not hookers and blow money.”
Grade pulled the top of the bag open and stuck his arm in. “Even in Sweeny, I don’t think fifty is going to get you both. He’ll have to pick his vice.”
Dory made an aggrieved noise and stamped her foot. You can’t buy his love. If you want to be in his life, you’ll have to show up for him. And stop that! I didn’t say you could look in there.”
“You didn’t say I couldn’t.”
“Give me my bag.”
“Give me your phone.”
They both glared at each other over the table for a second. Then Dory smirked and crossed her arms, weight shifted over onto one foot.
“My diaphragm is in there,” she said, little-sister smug.
Grade looked at the bag and then at her. He shrugged. “What’s it going to do? Crawl out and bite me?” he asked. “Is it an attack diaphragm? Does it have teeth? Do you call it Growler?”
Despite her mood, the corner of Dory’s mouth quirked up; the dimple they shared suddenly hinted at under the heavy powder.
“I mean, I donow,” she said. “Obviously.God, you’re terrible at being a brother. My phone’s in the side pocket. It’s locked, though. So if you want to use it, you’re going to have to tell me what you want it for.”
She singsonged the last three words and turned away to ostentatiously go back to making the sandwiches. Grade made a face at her. It was hard not to fall into old habits, even with the current situation and his literal deadline. He unzipped the pocket and pulled out a glitter-pink phone and a handful of bright yellow condoms.
