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Three head-bobs is my answer.
“Who are you two going with?”
Those same three heads drop.
What the fuck? As much as I don’t want anyone taking my sisters out, dancing on them, touching them, maybe even more, I want my sisters happy. Their chins skimming the top of their goddamn stew doesn’t seem very happy to me.
“Neither of you got asked?”
Both my sisters are beautiful. Like me, they have our half-Portuguese father’s dark hair and even darker eyes, but while we all have our Welsh mother’s fair skin, they inherited her kind face. They have just enough difference between them to be able to tell the two apart. They’re only annoying to me because I’m their older brother, otherwise they’re smart, funny girls. Who wouldn’t want to take them to homecoming?
My mom’s the first to meet my eyes, saying, “The girls decided to opt out of attending homecoming this year.”
I can see the pain it causes her to say it and clutch the spoon in my hold, my thumb rubbing the top of the handle roughly.
“Why?”
Charlie says, “Because it’s a stupid tradition born from patriarchy.”
“So ask someone. Anyone.” My eyes land on Breckyn and she shoots Charlie a look. She’s in love with Charlie’s best friend but won’t do anything about it. “Or go alone. Break tradition and go to your last homecoming however the fuck you want to before you graduate.”
“Well, we don’t want to,” Breckyn says with her nose in the air like that’ll make her statement more believable.
“That’s not what you both were saying last month when you found out the theme. Roaring twenties? The costumes you were planning to wear? Remember that?”
“No,” both twins say in unison, making me scoff and drop my spoon to sit back, arms crossing over my chest.
Charlie screen-mirrored her phone with the TV and made me watch as she scrolled through forty different options, asking my opinion on each one. Forty fucking dresses. And that was just Charlie. Breck took over once she was done and showed me another fifteen or so until she decided dresses weren’t the vibe she was going for and started looking at suits. Not normal modern-day suits either; suits with pin stripes and matching fedoras. None of which I’m familiar with but I sat through it all and gave my thoughts on every single piece. And for what? For them to decide they don’t want to go anymore? That’s their choice but it’s a choice I don’t approve of, especially without a good reason to back it up.
“Why aren’t you going? Really?” I ask Breckyn.
She finally breaks, sighing. “It’d be too much.”
“Too much what?”
My mom’s leg under the table starts bobbing, the chirp of the floor under her foot giving her away.
“Money?”
Nobody makes a fucking sound.
Goddamn it.
“Why didn’t you come to me? Why didn’t you ask?” My question isn’t directed at anyone in particular. “You all know you can come to me with anything you need and I’ll take care of it.” It’s bad enough my mom won’t let me help out with her rent. As long as I work for Cyrus, she doesn’t feel comfortable accepting help from me, which I understand…to a point. I make money the legal way, too.
“It’s not a need,” Charlie cries, splitting my heart in two like one of Lex’s fictional lumberjacks chops wood.
“It’s a want,” Breckyn finishes, her elbows on the table as she holds her chin in her palm.
I look around the table, touching on each woman’s face. I let them down. I should’ve handed over the money as soon as the girls mentioned the dance and told them to get whatever they needed. No, whatever theywanted.
In my defense, I assumed they’d ask. They don’t know about my involvement with Cyrus. But I’m not very good with this shit. At nineteen, I became a father figure to two girls I’d only ever been a brother to.
I think about what my dad would’ve done.
Then I do the motherfucking opposite. Just because my mom refuses my money, doesn’t mean I can’t still give it to my sisters.
Leaning to the side, I remove my wallet from my back pocket and take out everything I have in there, placing it all on the table and double-tapping the seven fifties, one twenty, and a dozen or so ones with my middle finger.
