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My eye twitched as I slapped Kiti’s hand away from where she was poking one of my buns. “I’ll make coffee.”
“I’ll do it,” Beryl said.
“No, Beryl, you don’t have to—”
“I don’t mind.” She gave me a small smile that told me she’d like to have something to do. Mom and Kiti were… big personalities.
And my annoying sister was watching our tiny, meaningless interaction with laser focus.
“So, Beryl. How did you meet my grody brother?” she asked lightly, giving me a smirk that told me she was only getting started with the questions.
My eyes met Beryl’s, and my gut squeezed when I saw her gaze fill with worry. She licked her lips and hesitantly parted them. “Um, well—”
“We met at the coffee place,” I blurted. “Around the corner. Deep Brew. I go there every morning at the same time. Nine-fifteen. One morning, a Friday morning, as I was leaving I tripped and spilled my coffee over the newspaper Beryl was reading. She was sitting at one of the tables, the one by the door that’s... Um, so I apologised and noticed she’d been circling listings for apartments and rooms to rent so, um, I asked her if she was looking for somewhere to live and we started talking and, you know, I have spare rooms so…”
As I trailed off, I realised Beryl was wincing and my sister was staring at me with a flat expression. I felt a little sweaty, but I thought I’d done a pretty good job lying, hadn’t I? I’d offered lots of details. Details made lies believable.
“Uh-huh,” Kiti said without any inflection, sly gaze darting over to our mother. Thankfully, Mom was too busy frowning down at her phone to have listened to any of that.
“Kiti, how do you take your coffee?” Beryl asked brightly, turning to get mugs from the cabinet.
“Black with two sugars. Thanks, sweets. Mom will have cream and one sugar.”
“Kiti, how do I get to my photos?” Mom asked irritably. “These damn claws. Why did I let you talk me into this ridiculous manicure?”
“They look good.” Kiti wandered over to Mom and tapped on the screen with her own inch-long, bright pink claws.
I started shuffling over to Beryl to help her make the coffee—and apologise profusely—but then the doorbell rang again. Letting out a strangled groan, I reluctantly left the kitchen after glaring at Kiti in warning and power-walked to the front door. I didn’t trust my sister alone with Beryl. She’d tell her things. Embarrassing things.
“Hi, Greid!” Tim said cheerfully when I pulled open the door, his plastic basket of cleaning supplies dangling from one hand. “Oh wow, I like the hairdo. Very cool.”
I stepped back to let him in, gruffly saying, “Hi, Tim. Uh, thanks.”
“Is Beryl in?” he asked as he made his way to the kitchen.
“Uh, yeah, she’s in the—” I froze in place when I followed Tim into the kitchen and saw that Beryl had abandoned the coffee. She was standing with Kiti and Mom, and all three of them were staring eagerly down at my mom’s phone.
“This is Greid and his brothers all wrapped up in their towels after a bath,” Mom was saying, making me want to melt into the floor and start a new, easy existence as a puddle of mindless goo. “Look how tiny Greid is compared to the others!”
“He pooped in the bath,” Kiti supplied. I choked on a humiliated, indignant breath.
“That was Nuni!” I said furiously. “That was not me!”
“How would you know?” Kiti shot back with a smirk. “You were too young to remember it.”
“So were you, asswipe. We’re the same age.”
Kiti waved a hand. “Mom told me.”
“Mom!” I exploded. “Tell Kiti it was Nuni! It wasn’t me!”
“Oh, I can’t remember which one of you pooped,” Mom said dismissively. “It doesn’t matter anyway. That’s what babies do. Beryl, look at this one. Greid’s first tooth. He could not stop dribbling.”
Oh fuck, I felt faint. Suddenly hearing a throat being cleared behind me, I whirled around and stared at Tim. Oh god, I’d forgotten he was here too.
“Hi everyone!” He gave a cheerful wave. “I’m Tim, Greid’s cleaner. Beryl, how was your first week at work?”
I could’ve fucking kissed him, because he successfully distracted Beryl from any more embarrassing baby pictures. She looked up and grinned at him.
