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“Uh…” is my brilliant answer.
“I think what dipshit here is trying to tell us is that Hollis doesn’t want anything to do with him and only came to the house because he was lording something over her head.” Satisfied he’s solved some great mystery, he resumes his dinner, picking up his steak knife and chiseling away at the meat on his plate.
“You’re saying that like it’s a crime.” I want to punch my brother for his accuracy.
“The real crime here would be that poor girl becoming Hollis Wallace if she permanently attached herself to this one.” My sister throws her thumb in my direction, forking the chef salad in front of her and stuffing a mouthful in her face.
Do both my siblings have to be such heathens? Where is the humanity? Where is the compassion?
“Hollis Wallace.” I set my fork down, dismayed. “Why does everyone keep saying that like it’s a bad thing?”
“Literally no one has ever said that,” my brother quips, rolling his eyes. He’s on the far side of the table so I can’t kick his shin.
“Literally people have, so shut up.”
Our sister laughs, her brown eyes lighting up gleefully. She always has loved it when Tripp and I argue—when we were kids, she’d purposely get us into fights, then she’d sit and watch from the sidelines until one of us ended up getting yelled at by our parents.
Never her.
Always us.
“You shut up,” Tripp counters.
“I said you shut up.”
We are five.
“Don’t say shut up to your brother,” Mom chastises, always in mom mode. “Stop it, both of you.”
“Yeah, don’t tell me to shut up,” Tripp retorts.
True cackles.
Dad grunts, biting into a jumbo prawn, ignoring the entire table as per usual.
“So she’s not your girlfriend,” Mom goes on. “She didn’t look like just your friend to me.” Then a thought enters her brain. “I let the two of you share a bedroom! Trace Robert Wallace do not tell me anything untoward happened in that guest room.”
“Does dry humping count as untoward?” I muse, glancing off into the distance.
Mom’s water glass stops halfway to her mouth. “You better be lying.”
Tripp cackles.
True is laughing so hard she can hardly breathe.
I hate them both.
“Trace.” My name on my mother’s lips holds a warning. “Tell me you’re lying.”
“Okay, I’m lying.”
She tries again. “Are you lying?”
“Yes.”
“Trace!”
“You told me to lie!”
“I meant tell the truth!”
“Fine, okay, we kicked it old school. Is that what you want to hear? Heavy petting only. Jeez, Mom, there was no penetration—we’re just friends.”
“Don’t say penetration at the supper table,” Dad finally says, scolding me, causing my sister to launch into a laughing fit.
“Penile-tration,” Tripp mumbles, not wanting to be left out of the fun.
“Boys!” Mom gasps.
“I’m 28,” Tripp reminds her. He points to me. “Tweedledumb is 27.”
I scowl. “I hate when you call me that.”
My brother shrugs, slicing more meat from the steak on his plate, setting it on his tongue. “You’re the dumb to my dee. Get over it.”
I open my mouth to speak.
Tripp interrupts. “Ah, ah, ah—don’t say it.”
True chokes on her bacon, waving her hand in the air for us to, “Stop. Just stop, I can’t.”
“Why do I bother with you people?” I’m so friggin’ irritated right now. They’re so annoying sometimes!
“You people? You people?” Tripp feigns indignance. “I have never been so insulted.”
Mom pats him on the arm. “Trace, you’re hurting your brother’s feelings.”
“Yeah, you’re hurting my feelings.”
Idiot.
“I am not.”
Before any of us can say another word, Dad reenters the conversation. Good old Rog, who can always be counted on to make everything awkward.
“Circling back around to Hollis,” he drawls out, as only my father can. “Are you dating the girl or not?”
And it all begins again.
Me: A little bird told me you were invited to the baseball game tonight.
Hollis: Was that little bird your mom?
Me: Lol yes.
Me: Why didn’t you come?
Hollis: I didn’t know if you’d want me to. I didn’t want to assume…
Me: We slept together.
Hollis: That doesn’t mean you want me just showing up places.
Me: Uh…remember how I said you’re my soulmate?
Hollis: You didn’t say I’m your soulmate, you said you THOUGHT we might be.
Me: What dude says shit like that if he doesn’t want the girl hanging around?
Hollis: Dudes who want to get in your pants.
Me: We’re not starting that shit. You know that’s not the case.
Hollis: I’m still trying to sort it all out, okay? I’m… I just need to take it slow.
Me: Slow…
Me: For what?
Hollis: I don’t know, Trace! It felt like the right thing to say.
Me: Since when are we picking and choosing the right words to say? I thought we were going to be honest and say how we felt.
Hollis: I don’t remember having that conversation.
Me: Wow.
Hollis: I didn’t mean it like that. You know what I meant. I’m sorry, I’m just tired…
Me: It’s fine.
Hollis: Fine: something people say when things aren’t fine. This conversation is way too serious for me right now. What happened to lighthearted Buzz?
