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Fucking epic.
“She won’t tell me,” I goad. “And I’ve asked. Like a fucking teenage girl with a hard-on for gossip.”
Another clench, then, “Do you mean to be so crass or does it come naturally?”
I spread my arms wide. “It’s all natural, big brother. And I can teach you. Give you a few pointers.” Then, winking suggestively, “About how to pour maple syrup all over your pancakes. Or wait, is it her pancakes andyourmaple syrup?”
Steam is coming out of his ears.
Or it would be. If we were in some cartoon.
And I wanna laugh my ass off.
God, I missed this.
The only thing I miss about my big brother: poking fun at him about his fiancée, Maple Mayflower.
Or rather, my brother’sarrangedfiancée.
So one day, our father — God fuck his soul — and her father got together and decided that their kids would marry each other when the time comes. Of course my brother agreed because when has he ever said no to Dad? She agreed too because I guess she has the same affliction as my brother, of always agreeing to whatever her father says.
Which means they’ve been engaged all their lives. Probably ever since my brother was a freshman and she was in like second grade or whatever. Extremely gross and archaic but what do I know.
Not that they’ve ever acted like a regular couple though.
Despite it being understood that they’d marry each other someday, there’s no contact between the two. They don’t go out on dates. They don’t talk to each other or even look at each other.
Well, at least my brother doesn’t.
He’s always been too busy with his studies, sports, the business, to give little Maple — or pancakes as I call her, to annoy him — his time and attention. And despite my brother’s callousness, she’s pretty obsessed with him, has been all her life. I don’t see why, honestly. She could do a lot better than a guy with the emotional range of cardboard — not that I’m any better but still — and who gets offended at the slightest mention of something intimate between a man and a woman.
Sometimes I wonder if my thirty-year-old brother is a fucking virgin.
I mean, that can’t be true, right?
He must’ve done the deed; if not with Maple then with someone else.
Because if not, then I feel sorry for Pancakes.
Apart from Lucas, I guess you could call her my friend. Sure, it started out as a way to annoy my big brother. But then I guess she grew on me and became the little sister I never had.
“So easy,” I murmur, shaking my head. “Anyway, I don’t think I can make it on Saturday. Orever. Have an awesome fucking night, big brother.”
I’m about to step to the side but he speaks. “I know.”
It sounds low and guttural, his voice.
As if the words are ripped out of his chest and I instantly go alert. “What?”
“I found something.”
“You found what?”
“Dad’s journal.”
O-kay…
So?
