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That's what today holds in store for me. My search history would amaze most people.
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No, it's not what you are thinking. I am smart and have zero mini-me's running around.
I have been working toward opening my own newborn photography studio since the first headline broke about my demeanor. It has always been a dream of mine, stupid as it sounds. I was infatuated with my little sister growing up. The innocence she had without even trying. How she was unexplainably adorable and infuriating at the same time. That's when my dream was born.
My phone belts out Sweet Caroline, breaking my research, and I reminding me it’s Sunday. She always calls on Sunday. No matter what. Never misses a week. She made it so when she calls, all settings on my phone don’t matter and that song belts out. Who even takes their phone off vibrate mode these days?
I think about silencing the tone cutting through the air, wondering if she will take the hint that I’m not in the mood. It’s like she thinks one of these times things will be different, that I will have something new to report. Like my shit is going to magically clean itself up over seven days.
Ella lives across the country but insists that we talk once a week to keep our sibling bond alive. She is a serious pain in the ass but fuck if I don’t love her.
I was five when she was born and was not excited for a sibling to steal all of my stuff, let alone a weird girl instead of a badass brother to play with. I quickly learned that being the badass older brother to that weird girl was more fun. I was out of high school by the time she got there so I didn’t get to beat the guys away with a stick, but I did make it a point to come to every home game I could, cheering for her as she rallied for our awful football team.
When her asshole boyfriend decided that she wasn’t as fun as the hoe on the opposing team's color guard, I made sure three of his tires were slashed in the school parking lot. I read somewhere that if only three tires are sliced, insurance won’t cover it. That’s what happens to guys who cheat on my little sister. He’s lucky I didn’t cut his brake lines while I was at it.
As much as I hate to admit it, she’s one of the only people I can stand talking to regularly. I don’t do friends just like I don’t date. Too much work, too much leaving home, and definitely too much chance that they will turn on me anyways. Ella will never turn on me, she’s sunshine incarnate.
I swear this woman never sleeps. With the time difference, it’s close to five in the morning there. I guess it tracks with her running on sunshine and literal fucking rainbows.
That’s the other thing about my crazy sister, she loves love. Like in an unhealthy way. There are few romance novels she hasn’t read and she thinks love is like that shit in real life. That guys chase girls in airports and sex always has orgasms. The last part I’m assuming because we aren’t the kind of siblings that discuss matters of the bedroom.
In my mind, my baby sister is one hundred percent virgin and always will be. Don’t shatter that for me. She will forever be waiting for the guy who presents himself as a romance book hero. I hate to think that Ella will be an old decrepit woman still waiting for that shit.
Knowing her, she will keep calling back until she talks to me. Might as well get it fucking over with.
“Hey smelly Bell,” I greet, covering my face with my arm, still reclined in bed.
“Bratty Brett! Happy Sunday, big brother,” the sunshine in her voice practically lights up the room through the phone, even with my shades closed.
“You know me, I have been sitting by the phone waiting to tell you how shit my week has been. Thanks for calling, sis.” My little sister is nothing like me. She is all smiles and positivity and good vibes. I am all shadowed hearts and scars, radiating darkness and damage.
“I’m your baby sister, so I know I’m not supposed to be smarter than you. The harsh reality is you are a stupid man and I am your only voice of reason. Tell me what’s going on,” she blurts with fire in her tone. “Please,” she adds. That’s more like it, sis.
“Ella, I don’t wanna fucking talk about my bullshit with you. Just like last week and every week before this. I know you think you have to watch out for me or whatever, but that’s not how this works. The big brother is me. I watch out for you. Anyone I need to kill this week? You still seeing that Joey guy?” I pry, seeing if I can get her off on a tangent about herself and leaving me out of it.
“You know that’s not his name Brett, it’s Joel. And he’s doing… fine. He was going to move in when he got back from his business trip, but it’s been a few weeks now. I don’t know if it’s me freaking out and not being ready for this, or him avoiding the conversation.”
I know his fucking name, never forgot since she started seeing him a few months ago. In typical big brother fashion, no man will ever be good enough for my sister. Hell, I’m not even good enough to call her that. I must have done something right in this life or the last to have her.
“So what you’re saying is, the guy I told you was an asshole is indeed exactly that? Man, I can’t wait to hear you say this. Go ahead smelly Bell, say I was right. Big bro always is.”
I can hear her chuckle through the phone. Even with her laughs and smiles bright as hell, there’s no way she will admit I am right and give me the win.
“Enough about me Brett, stop trying to distract me from whatever you’re hiding right now. I see the magazines and articles online. I know they have been saying some crappy things about you. You know I won’t ask how much truth is in them, but are you holding up alright?”
The best part about talking to my sister on the phone instead of video chat? She can’t see the pain in my eyes when I lie to her. I wish the truth hurt less than the lies, but it doesn’t. The lies I tell myself are nothing compared to the lies I tell her every Sunday. It’s the opposite of confessions at church. Sunday denials with Ella Kane.
“I’m doing the best I can, Bells, same as every week. I hate my job. The years I have worked to get here and I just fucking hate it, anyway. At least if it was something I still found the passion in, it might be worth all the bullshit.” Fuck, I hate unloading this on her. I don’t want her worrying about me, thinking somehow she can save me or fix me or whatever dumb shit she is concocting already.
“Maybe I just need to get laid,” I deadpan, trying to lighten the mood and get the topic off this sad shit.
“La la la la la,” she plays as if trying to drown out my words.
