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Peter hums and takes his sweet time answering. “It cost me nothing,” he admits.
“What do you mean,nothing? The trip was free?” My face twists with disbelief. “You’re full of shit. You don’t travel enough to stack up points or earn rewards. Does VRBO even have a points system? I would’ve preferred a hotel anyway. Staying in someone else’s house is just weird.”
“You’re weird,” Peter says, like a ten-year-old whose sole purpose is to urge me to punch him. “And I didn’t use points. I said it didn’t costmeanything.”
I stare blankly out the window for a few seconds, watching multi-colored houses and manicured lawns fly by. “I’m not following.”
“And they say you’re the smart one.”Why couldn’t I have been an only child?“Remember when you gave me a key?” His tone has an air of fake innocence, and I don’t like it.
“Yes,” I grumble, recalling that fateful day. “And I’ve come to regret that decision ever since. Exhibit A: Yesterday, you barged into my home without asking, reminding me of my poor life choices.”
“Well, do you also remember that part where you gave me power of attorney because, and I quote:As my only living relative, I don’t want you to have to fight for the money I leave behind when I keel over dead at my computer from pouring all my blood, sweat, and tears into my book.” I can hear his eye roll through the phone. “You can be quite dramatic when you’re about to miss a deadline, you know.”
I inhale a cleansing breath and rub my forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “Yes, I remember that unfortunate decision. So, why do I get the impression you’re gonna make me regret that?”
“Probably because I’m about to tell you I used that illustrious power, as well as your banking information—speaking of, you put Mom’s maiden name as the answer to one of your security questions? I didn’t expect you to be so cliché, Nate.”
“Spit it out, Peter.” My patience is waning.
“Right. I abused the authority you gave me to book your trip. Surprise!” I have no doubt if Peter were here, he would throw confetti in my face to magnify this bombshell. But he’s not here, and that’s for the best, because I’m ready to beat the shit out of my big brother.
“I’m not dead yet, you asshole. How were you able to just... spend my money?” I ask between gritted teeth.
“Technically, you authorized me,” he responds in a way that doesn’t sound technical at all.
“Yeah, in the event I’m incapacitated. And, clearly, I’m fine!” I gesture to myself, even though Peter can’t see me.
“You’re not fine, Nate. You can’t work. You’re not sleeping or eating. Ergo, you’re incapacitated.” When I try to sputter out a response, he cuts me off. “Hey, at least I spent your moneyon you. Besides, how much do you thinkImake?”
“Loads!” I accuse into the phone. “You have a high-paying, low-effort corporate job, you asswipe. Hell, if I had a cushy gig like you, maybe I’d have time to go on a vacation and write books without cracking under the pressure.”
“Uh… youdidhave that job,” he reminds me. “You quit to be an author, remember?”
I’m out of witty comebacks—because he’s not wrong—and the only thing that comes out of my mouth is, “I hate you, Peter.”
Fuck, nowI’mbeing immature.
He laughs at me, enjoying my pain and misery. “Come on, Nate. Stop lying to yourself. Our parents and Jesus can see you.”
“I’m hanging up now, asshole.” Before he can utter another word, I disconnect the call and drop my phone into my lap. “Jesus Christ on a bicycle with Mary on the handlebars,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over my eyes as exhaustion sets in.
This day is just one shitshow after another.
I’m startled when the Uber driver clears his throat. My asinine conversation with Peter made me forget I was in a car with someone else. “So… you here for vacation? Seems like you need it, bud.” The corners of his lips tip up into a nervous smile.
“Yes. No. It’s, uh, it’s complicated.” My response is clipped.
“Oh?” His curious tone suggests he wants me to elaborate. I’m not going to.
“Yup.”
We lapse into an awkward silence. I have nothing personal against this guy. I’m just not the best company, especially not now in my fucked-up state of mind.
“Well, would you like some music for the rest of the ride?”
He turns on the stereo, and Christmas carols fill the SUV. It’s on-theme with his whole getup and thereindeercar, but it’s not what I need right now. I close my eyes and sink into my seat, trying to imagine myself anywhere else but here.
After a few minutes of failing to drown out the obnoxious, joyous singing, I open my eyes and ask, “Are there a lot of Uber drivers in Candy Cane Key?”
