Page 7 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

The sign outside my old family home is red, white and bold, a cheery little announcement that feels like a personal attack. A customised eff-you from the universe.

SOLD.

All caps.

Sitting on the bonnet of my car, still mango-scented, I stare at the pristine front lawn of my childhood home. The sweet brick house, the squeaky gate, the jasmine tree that smells incredible in January, the dents in the corrugated side fence where Leon and his friends bet I couldn't throw a ball from one end of the yard to the other. I absolutely did.

I knew it had happened. Mum told me the house had finally sold, that the new owners were moving in at the end of the month. I knew all of it.

But sitting here, staring at that sign, it's a hot, heavy weight on my chest, a farewell I thought I hadn't cared about, blindsiding me anyway.

I haven't lived here in over six years. Never back for longer than a weekend, always some ready excuse for why I had to be back in Sydney the moment the festivities ended.

When I got the call Friday about the Adelaide role, it felt perfectly timed. Last few months of my doctorate, working on my future steps, a new chapter in the life I've carefully curated. Perfect time to come home, spend time with Leon and Mum, in my new, more confident, more mature skin. And, for some reason, I'd thought I'd put enough distance between myself and the three reasons I fled to Sydney that running into any of them would be manageable. One encounter later, it's made blatantly clear: whatever growth I thought I'd cobbled together is a myth.

I groan into my hands, face burning at the memory, me rambling about being Leon's sister, wrapped in a towel, brandishing a banana, and then, moments after escaping that horror show, running smack-bang into Marcus.

"Please, powers-that-be, strike me down with a lightning bolt." As if on cue, my pocket buzzes. I tip my face to the sky. "Gonna need to be stronger than that, Universe, my phone vibrates harder."

It buzzes again. Oh. It is my phone.

I consider ignoring it, but with Mum soaking in a hot tub on a Titanic replica somewhere mid-ocean, I've made a point of always checking, no matter the hour.

Not Mum, though. The only other living member of my immediate family. The one who might wish he weren't living by the end of this call.

I answer without a word.

"Xi-Xi?" Leon says, after a few seconds of silence, apparently unaware how close he is to death, given he's using the nickname I've always hated.

I say nothing. Grit my teeth. Consider my opening line.

"I know you're there, I can hear you breathing."

"Enjoy it while you can," I finally snap.

"What? Why?"

"Might be the last thing you hear. Ever."

A pause. "Sensing you're not feeling entirely adoring towards me. Like you usually are."

"That's probably the most astute observation you've ever made, Lee-Lee."

"But why? Did I not save your neck by giving you somewhere to stay so you don't have to be homeless? That's the kind of wonderful big brother I am." A car door closes in the background, he's in an Uber.

"Oh yes, so amazing," I say, lying back on the bonnet, arm over my burning face. "The kind of brother who doesn't warn his little sister she won't be alone in his house, and instead lets her get caught by his roommates" — deep breath — "in nothing but a freaking towel."

Silence.

I take advantage of the rare speechless Leon to continue. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I say I was in nothing but a towel? My mistake. I also had a squishy banana held up like a gun. Which would've served me great if it had turned out to be anyone but your idiot roommates."

More silence. Then a muffled noise, then a sound like an emphysemic seal having an asthma attack.

"Are you... laughing?" I shout.

Ten more seconds before he manages, "Sorry, I — they didn't — Marcus didn't tell me about the banana!"

"What?" I screech. "You already knew they walked in on me? Then why pretend you didn't?"