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Whatever the brother says in response is lost as Remi drags something heavy across the room. She sets it down with a grunt, then clatters about for a bit before commencing a rough, repetitive scraping sound. I move to the next window to see if I can get a better view.
This window is unbroken, bubbly glass bisected by lead strips. Peering through, I get a watery view of the two siblings in the formal dining room. Their dinner was peanut butter sandwiches. The jar sits open on the table, knife stabbed handle-upwards in the peanut butter, next to a bottle of cheap wine. Jude sneaks a quick glance at his sister before topping up his glass.
He’s slim and good-looking, with pale hair and dark eyes. He’s quick and impatient in his movements, picking up a book, setting it down, his eyes returning often to his sister as she works.
Remi kneels in the opposite corner, scraping wallpaper in long, peeling strips. The dark green covered at least two previous wallpapers in burgundy floral and navy stripes. The piles of curled paper show the hours she’s already spent.
She’s dogged, relentlessly attacking the wall. Sweat drips down her face and her shirt sticks to her back. She’s tied up her purple hair, exposing the vulnerable nape of her neck.
“Play something for me, Jude,” she begs.
Her brother regards a moldering grand piano with a cracked lid.
“I doubt it plays.”
“Try anyway.”
He ignores his sister and sprawls across the couch instead, picking at the loosening buttons on the tufting. After a moment, he mutters, “I saw Gideon texted you.”
“Don’t fuck with my phone,” Remi replies without raising her head.
“I wasn’t. I saw the text coming in as I walked past.”
Remi keeps scraping, a little more aggressively than before. Her face is flushed.
“I thought you blocked him,” her brother persists.
“I did. I’m going to.”
“He’s trying to suck you back in.”
“Iknow.”
I can’t tell if Remi is more annoyed at Jude or this Gideon person.
Her brother waits a few beats, then says, “You don’t want to be the kind of woman who—“
“Jude, enough.” Her voice is low and exhausted. “It doesn’t matter if he texts me. It’s over.”
Her brother doesn’t reply, but it looks as though his shoulders relax. After a moment he says, softer than before, “Never mind, Remi, he’s an asshole. You were always too good for him, didn’t I say that?”
She laughs, though even that sounds sad. “You’re biased.”
She’s not scraping the paper with as much vigor.
Jude watches a moment more, before abruptly standing and crossing to the piano, where he takes a seat on the creaking bench and begins to play. His sister pauses her work and turns, a smile already breaking on her face.
Her smile changes everything about her looks. Without it, she’s barely pretty, but her grin throws the switch at the amusement park and her whole face lights up, neon bright.
The piano is old and out of tune, but Jude’s fingers plunk across the keys with mad genius. He draws out a mocking melody that dances around like it popped live from his brain.
Remi listens, her eyes locked on her brother, delight all over her face. She doesn’t move an inch while he’s playing, her scraper held loosely in her lap. When he finishes, she claps her hands, then puts two fingers in her mouth and whistles.
Jude tosses his hair out of his face. “Go on, go on…” He pretends to fan himself.
I’m watching Remi.
Her eyes shine and her face glows with adoration.
