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Brianne and I exchange phone numbers so she can keep me updated on how things play out. Then, we say goodbye, and I drive home.
This wasnothow tonight was supposed to go. I can only hope that Olivia will talk to me again soon, and that she believes the truth about what happened between Taylor and me years ago.
When I pull into my driveway, I’m surprised to see my sister’s car there. Celeste is supposed to be over an hour away from here, north of Seattle, where she goes to school at Pacific Northwest University. She never called or texted to let me know she was coming over, which is unusual. Hopefully, everything is okay with her.
Before I even walk into the house, I hear music blaring on the stereo. Celeste is rocking out to Biffy Clyro, and she’s listening to one of their angrier songs,Cop Syrup.Something tells me Celeste is not in a good mood.
I open the door and walk inside. Along with the loud music, I’m also hit with the scent of cookies baking. I follow the scent and sound to the kitchen, where I find Celeste pulling a sheet of cookies out of the oven.
She jumps, surprised to see me, and nearly drops the cookies. “Jesus!” she yells before using a voice command to turn the music down. She sets the cookie sheet on the granite countertop. “You scared the shit out of me, Alex!”
I scoff. “Iscared the shit out of you? You didn’t even tell me you were coming over! This ismyhouse, remember?”
Celeste rolls her eyes, then takes a seat on a stool at the kitchen counter. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I needed to ask permission to visit my brother.”
“No, you know you’re welcome here anytime. You just usually call or text me first to give me a head’s up.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “I figured you would be home, and I’d surprise you. When you weren’t here, I let myself in and decided to make cookies. I got distracted and completely forgot to call you. I haven’t been here long. Just long enough to find the cookie dough in your fridge and bake a batch.”
I walk over to my sister and give her a hug, then plop myself on the stool next to her. “So, what’s up? Based on the choice of music you were blasting for the whole neighborhood to hear, I’d guess you’re upset about something.”
She looks at me apologetically. “Sorry. Do you think the neighbors could really hear the music?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure if it was, Miss Picky will give me an earful tomorrow about how many times she heard the wordfuck.”
Celeste and I both laugh at that thought. Miss Picky is the neighbor to my left. That’s not her real name, but I call her that because she complains abouteverything.Of course, I never call her that to her face, I just use that name for her when I tell Celeste about the ridiculous things she’s nit-picky about.
I can tell something is bothering Celeste, though, and I want to know what it is. If she drove all the way here, it must be serious.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I say, hoping she’ll open up. “What brought you down to Tacoma on a Monday night? Do you have any classes tomorrow? Or work?”
Celeste is taking summer classes, as well as working full time at the pizza place she’s worked at since her freshman year. She’ll graduate with her degree in journalism in about a year. I’m proud of her for doing so well in school, but also because she’s followed in my footsteps. I, too, graduated with a journalism degree from PNWU.
She looks as though she’s mulling things through in her mind before telling me.
“Come on,” I urge, gently nudging her arm. “You can tell your brother what’s going on.”
She looks at me and opens her mouth, but no words come out. She closes her eyes, then finally says, “It’s a boy. I’m having an issue with a guy I like.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. For one, Celeste has never talked to me about relationship troubles before. Two, she’s never informed me of any relationships she’s ever had before. Not only is this a first, it’s abigfirst. As far as I’m concerned, Celeste has never dated anyone in her life.
“Wha––what kind of issue are you having?” I ask, hoping it doesn’t have anything to do with her contracting STDs or––God forbid––being pregnant.
She rolls her eyes, then reaches for one of the cookies. It’s obviously still hot because she holds it gingerly along the edges and takes a small bite, being careful not to burn her mouth.
I grab a napkin and place it on the counter in front of her so she can set it down.
“Thanks,” she says, her mouth full as she sets the cookie on the napkin. She finishes chewing and swallows, then continues, “Here’s the thing. I like this guy I had to interview for a story, and I think he likes me. The problem is, he has this… reputation… for being a liar and cheater with the girls he dates.”
Alarms go off in my head. Any guy with a reputation for lying and cheating on girls has got to be an asshole. “So, why do you like this guy?” I ask, wondering what Celeste could possibly see in someone like that.
She keeps her eyes on the napkin as she traces the edges with her finger. “I actually didn’t like him at first. He’s in this band that I interviewed for an assignment about a month ago. They won a contest––a battle of the bands type of thing––and I had to write an article about them for the paper since they’re all students at PNWU.”
“Interesting,” I say, trying to picture my sister going out with a guy in a band. I wouldn’t have guessed that’s her type.
“So, anyway, I did the interview, and after that, I kept running into one of the band members on campus. He’s good looking and pretty persuasive, so I ended up going out with him.”
For some reason, I get the feeling that she’s hiding something, or maybe giving me an edited version of what’s really going on. I’m not going to press for more information than she’s willing to give, though. I’m just glad she’s coming to me for brotherly advice.
