But the real problem is that I noticed any of those things at all. That hits me in the gut so hard I almost miss her explanation.
“My brother set it up so that everything runs through his firm in Chicago. He’s a consultant . . . or analyst. Honestly, all I know is he complains about every decision he has to make while simultaneously not letting anyone else make them, turns a boatload of money into a fuckton of money, and is generally an overprotective ass. He didn’t want it listed with my contact info for anyone to get a hold of.” Chaotic laughter tumbles out of her.
I like that too.
“Sounds like a good guy to have your back,” I say, forcing my voice steady.
Her brother.
Family.
Because unlike me, Aspen has people. She doesn’t shut everyone out. The exact opposite—her entire personality invites people in.
Hearing her talk about him with so much pride sends me reeling back in time.
Aspen deserves people who look out for her the way she looks out for everyone else—me included.
But I’m not that person.
“I mean, besides the protectiveness, he leaves his socks all over the place, but if you can get over his lesser qualities, he’s not all bad.”
I try hanging on, focusing on her words but they float in and out. I’m too distracted by the way she stands, hand on hip, weight shifted just so, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
It’s a stance I’ve seen before.
I had a family once. Rory used to stand like that.
“I’d have done the same thing . . .” I say absently.
That tilt of her head, the smirk—it snaps the last tether to the present and sends me headfirst into a downward spiral. The girl I knew back then had hair so blonde it was nearly white, but Rory carried her presence the way Aspen does.
Welcoming. Warm. Wanted.
“Whatever. It’s annoying.” She stomps her foot.
And that’s familiar too. It’s not Aspen standing in front of me anymore, it’s Rory.
“Em!” Rory squeals. “You’re never going to believe what happened today.”
Anyone else making that sound in my vicinity would end up on the other side of the wrench in my hand. But not my aunt.
It’s never not going to be weird, thinking of her like that. And it confuses the hell out of everyone at school. With less than a year between us, she’s more like a cousin. Fucked-up family tree aside, she’s also my best friend. For her, I set the tool on the gravel and shimmy out from under the old tractor, brushing my hands against my jeans.
Years of conditioning kick in when I look down and see the mess.
Rory’s eyes drop too.
“It’s just some character, Em.”
I frown. “They’re wrecked.”
“It’s not a big deal. They’re too short anyway—Mom mentioned you needed new ones.”
Another thing I’m not used to—someone willingly spending money on me.
“I can buy them.”
Rory rolls her eyes. “Good luck with that.”
