I give her top a quick glance. It has ruffled cap sleeves and some sort of soft pastel green-and-yellow flowery pattern. “Meadow?”
“Uhg? What?” She’s not even looking at me now. Her eyes are glued to her phone.
“Are you sure he was hitting on you?”
“He looked at my boobs.”
“Was he being aggressive? Or suggestive?”
“Yes. With. His. Eyes.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not going to go rip some guy a new asshole because he glanced at you and complimented your top. I’m sorry, but you’re old enough to handle a compliment.”
“You’re the literal worst brother in the world.”
I wince, but she doesn’t see it because she’s still typing on her phone.
“Anyway,” she goes on, “just say you hate me and you wish I would die.”
Those words hit in all the wrong ways. Deep down I know that Meadow’s being an angry teenager and she has enough trauma living with our complicated mother that she’s lashing out the only way she knows how. And normally, I can deal with it. But the nightmares I’ve had involving my sisters’ dad going after them, hurting them, tying me up so I can’t get to them, well…
“Don’t,” I say. I don’t mean to sound so pissed off, but I do.
Meadow looks up at me, furious. “Fuck you, North. You’re always such a dick to me.” She turns and storms out the door,and it takes me a moment for my brain to catch up with what just happened because yeah, I fucked up.
I should have taken her side over some random stranger at a coffee house because all three of my sisters need that kind of support. It’s been years since they’ve seen their dad. Hell, he’s reoffended so many times he’s serving a thirty-year sentence right now and will probably die behind bars.
But the trauma is real and sometimes it’s easy to focus on my own and forget they have theirs.
By the time I rush out after her, she’s already in her car. She revs the engine, then peels out, knowing I fucking hate it because it’s so goddamn reckless.
“Meadow!” I scream, but she doesn’t bother stopping. She’s probably not even looking back. Turning toward my house, I kick at a massive rock, which doesn’t budge, making my toes feel like they’ve just shattered. “Fuck!”
“The phrase ‘kick rocks’ isn’t supposed to be literal.”
Something in me freezes. I look over, and for some reason—although I know we’re practically neighbors—I’m stunned to find Leo leaning on his cane a few feet away, staring at me with his usual scowl behind his tinted glasses.
“Can you not right now?”
He blinks for a second, then looks down the road where Meadow drove off. “Trouble in paradise?”
“I’m not explaining myself to you.” I start limping toward the house, and fuck me, but he follows for a few feet.
“I just wanted to say?—”
I spin, my mouth already ahead of me. “What? That you’re sorry for being such a dick at the station and eating food that wasn’t yours?” I immediately hate myself for that. I don’t even mean it. I’m just upset that I screwed up so badly with my sister and it’s going to take her forever to give me the chance to apologize.
His mouth falls open just a little, and he looks hurt. Goddamnit.
“You’re mad about some fucking spaghetti?—”
“Carbonara, dickhead! There’s a difference. But I guess someone who goes into a stranger’s fridge to take whatever he wants doesn’t care about that.”
Oh my god, why can’t I shut up? Hours ago, I was happy he was eating. I spent half the night not on calls making him fucking chicken and dumplings.
Why do I always turn intothiswhenever he’s around?
He takes a step back, and I can tell I went too far this time.
