“I’m a twin,” he said, “which means I’ve watched your face for years and I know what it looks like when you’re about to do something that’s going to cost you more than you’re admitting.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I just need you to go into this with your eyes open. That’s all I’m asking.”
I stopped what I was doing and looked at my brother. At the genuine, uncomplicated worry on his face, the kind that had nothing to do with judgment and everything to do with knowing each other better than anyone else alive.
“I hear you,” I said.
He held my gaze for a moment, making sure of it. Then something shifted in his expression, the serious version of Jude folding back into the regular version, and he sat back.
“She’s going to hate it, you know,” he said. “When you first show up. She’s going to be so prickly about it. Do you remember when we were fourteen and she thought we were following her to that party at the lake and she didn’t speak to either of us for a week?”
“I remember.”
“Classic Becca. Full ignoring capabilities. Very impressive range.” He finished his beer. “She’s going to do that thing where she’s very polite and very cold at the same time. You know the thing.”
“I know the thing.”
“And you’re going to have to stand there and take it while she decides whether she’s going to let you exist near her.” He shook his head with something that was mostly fond and only a little mournful. “I do not envy you that part.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m saying it because I’ve also seen her when she decides to let someone in.” He stood, stretched, and picked up his emptybottle. “And for what it’s worth—and I will deny saying this if you ever repeat it—when she finally stops doing the thing and starts actually talking to you like a human being, it’s going to be worth every cold shoulder between now and then.” He pointed at me. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Good.” He headed for the door, then stopped with his hand on the frame and turned back. “I want you to know I support you fully in this, and I think you’re doing the right thing, and also she’s my friend too, and I’d really like Travis to stop being a problem.” He shrugged, magnanimous. “I’ll help you hitch the trailer if you need me to. I know how to do it, and you’ll just stress yourself out trying to do it alone.”
“I know how to hitch a trailer.”
“You’ll stress yourself out,” he repeated. “I’ve seen you try to parallel park when you’re thinking about something else. We’re not doing that with a full trailer on a wet road.” He held up a finger. “One condition.”
“What?”
“I’m keeping the coffee maker.”
“You’re not keeping the coffee maker.”
“Moving tax.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is now. I just made it a thing.” He grinned, the full version, the one that had been getting him out of trouble since we were eight years old. “I’ll also need your parking spot. And I’m calling dibs on your room for a home gym.”
“Jude.”
“I’m just thinking about the future.”
“Get out of my room.”
“I love you too, brother,” he said cheerfully, and disappeared down the hallway. A moment later, I heard him drop back ontothe couch, the television volume go up, and the sound of him opening another beer.
I turned back to the duffel and kept packing. Outside, the rain came down steadily against the windows, and somewhere across town, a woman who didn’t know I was coming would be sitting alone in a trailer that leaked, and I was moving toward her the only way I knew how—slowly, carefully, with no guarantees and no expectations and absolutely no ability to do otherwise.
Jude wasn’t wrong. He was almost never wrong, which was one of the more inconvenient things about having him as a brother.
Chapter 14
Becca
“Welcome back toSomebody Said in Sweetbriar. Except… not really. I’m not recording lately. Turns out talking into the void is way less comforting when the void might be listening back. Also, my laptop is probably dead as a doornail. And voice notes on my phone are faster. So, there’s that.”
