And …
“Is it overly decorated in here?” I’d asked.
“I didn’t notice,” he’d answered.
And …
“Do you feel like you’re in an expensive spa in a big city, instead of here, in this strip mall?”
Shrug.
Kael answered with a word or two now and then, but mostly it was my voice that filled the room. We were in the lobby now—not exactly a therapeutic space—but he was still playing the strong, silent type.
“Do you want a receipt?” I read the prompt from the credit card machine.
“Of course.” He held out his hand.
“Of course? Such certainty over a credit card receipt?” I teased him. I was beginning to love doing that. He reacted differently nearly every time. It was fascinating.
“Responsible,” he said. He almost smiled as he tucked the receipt into his wallet. It was leather, light brown and obviously well-used.
“Sure,” I snorted. “Whatever you say.”
“Better hope you don’t get audited.” No smile this time, but he did give me a raised eyebrow.
Mali was watching everything closely. When Kael came out into the lobby after his session, she had been busy nearby, humming to herself while wiping the fingerprints from the glass door. Now she’d given up even the pretense of cleaning.
“See you tonight?” I asked.
“Yeah. For sure.”
He waved to me and said a polite goodbye to Mali, calling her ma’am and all. The door closed and she turned her attention to me.
“Mhm?” I knew what she was thinking.
“What mhm?” I closed the cash register and stuck the tip in my pocket.
Her eyes fell on the door again and a Cheshire-cat grin spread across her face. “Oh, nothing.”
“Stop gossiping,” I told her as I disappeared down the hallway.
I WAS KEEN TO GO HOME while the sun was shining—for once. That’s why I didn’t stay to clean as thoroughly as I usually did. I still put a load of towels into the dryer and opened a couple of boxes of product and put everything away, but my coworkers could do a little more to pick up the slack around here. I was okay with that.
The alley was busy when I left. Bradley was helping a customer load a king-size mattress into the back of a truck when he waved to me, friendly as ever.
I pulled out my phone to open Instagram when my brother’s name popped up on the screen.
“Austin, what the hell is going on? Are you okay?” I didn’t bother with hello. I had no time for formalities.
“I’m fine. It’s fine. Really, Kare, it’s not that big of a deal. It was just a fight.”
“A fight? With who?”
He sighed for a second. “Some guy. I don’t know. I was out somewhere and this guy was giving a girl at the bar shit.”
I rolled my eyes and pressed my body against the trees lining the alleyway so a van full of kids could pass.
“So, you’re telling me that this whole thing stemmed from your chivalry?”
Austin was good at spinning things. He would make a wonderful publicist for a messy celebrity—or a horrible husband.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he said, laughing.
His voice was calming, it was like hearing an old song you had forgotten you loved. I’d really missed him.
“Right. So how much trouble are you in?”
“I don’t know.” He paused.
I thought I heard the flick of a lighter. “Dad bailed me out … which sucks, because now I’m going to owe him money.”
Unbelievable. I wish I had his ability to look the other way and not worry about things. He knew he would figure it out—or someone would figure it out for him—before it got too serious.
“Yeah, because owing dad money is your biggest problem.”
“I didn’t kill anyone, ok? It was your standard bar fight.”
I laughed. I could feel his magic working. I was starting to feel almost-ok about his arrest, and the ink on his discharge papers wasn’t even dry yet.
“How did you even get into a bar? We’re not twenty-one for another month.”
This time, it was his turn to be amused. “You’re not serious.”
“Yes, I am!” But I was joking, sort of.
There was this thin line between me worrying about my brother and just wanting to have fun with him. I was by no means a stickler, or super responsible; I was just light years ahead of my twin. The difference was incredibly noticeable.
I knew my loser uncle was taking Austin to bars with his gross older friends, probably introducing him to women who downed too much alcohol, wore too much makeup, had too much experience … too much everything.
“You’re a worrier. You and Dad.”
I groaned. I didn’t want to worry. I didn’t want to be the nagging older-by-six-minutes sister. And I certainly didn’t want to be anything like my dad.
“Don’t lump me in with Dad. Come on. I just don’t want you to be in trouble. That’s all.”
I was almost home.
“Yeah, wouldn’t want to mess up this bright future of mine.” It was meant to be funny, but a hint of sadness filtered through.
“Do you want to come over tonight? I miss you.”
“I can’t tonight. I’m meeting up with someone. But tomorrow? Dad and Estelle are going to Atlanta this weekend, so I’ll have the house to myself.”
“House party!” I laughed at the memory of Austin’s streak of failed house parties throughout high school. Most of the kids our age had been too afraid of the military police to go to a party on post, but fewer people actually made the parties more fun.
“Totally.”
“And I was totally joking. You’re not going to have a party at Dad’s house.”
“Uh, yeah. I am.”
He could not be serious. Our dad would lose his mind if Austin had a party at his house. I couldn’t bear to think of the consequences.
“You are not. I mean, throwing a party a couple of days after you get arrested? What is wrong with you? We aren’t in high school anymore!”
It was stuff like this that made me return to my family theory, which was that Austin was the one who got all our mother’s charm. My little brother was always so good with people. He could be thrust into any situation and people would flock to him. What’s that saying, like flies to honey? He had all the honey. Me—I was just the opposite. I fluttered around people like Austin, easily charmed, like my father.
“Speak for yourself.”
“How do you even know enough people here to have a party? I mean—”
“Look, I gotta go. See you sometime tomorrow. You should come over. Love you.”
He hung up before I could get in another word.
Oh, Austin. I love you, but sometimes you make some really shitty life choices.
I WAS A LITTLE SURPRISED to find my front door locked. I dug for my key and let myself in, grabbing my mail from the box on the way. My little mailbox was falling off my house. Another thing to fix. As I slid through envelopes, a realtor’s brochure of fancy, expensive houses in Atlanta was on top. I searched for the smiley realtor, Sandra Dee, it said her name was. The price for a house in Buckhead, with a sparkling swimming pool was two-million-dollars. Yeah, I freaking wish, Sandra.
Until I hit the lottery or my random ideas of opening up a chain of high-end but fair priced spa experiences takes off, it’s my little house with the dangling red mailbox for me. When I got inside, the house was heavy with silence. I went through the rest of my mail—nothing interesting, mainly bills and flyers—and because the entire house smelled of Elodie’s popcorn and it made my stomach growl, I grabbed some pretzels from my pantry.
My house felt different with no sound. It felt strange not hearing the name Olivia Pope every few minutes. I was completely alone. No Elodie. No Kael. We didn’t agree on a time or anything, but I guess I’d just assumed that he would be at my house when I got off work.