Hate You Not

Classic. Ever since we were kids, Shawn has been known for throwing impromptu parties. Probably because he’s a classic extrovert. Also possibly because he has a low-key drinking problem.

I don’t even stick around to see who’s at the front door, although I hear Ben Hollis, Leah’s latest fuck friend, as I push the screen door partly open with my crutch.

Then I hear my own name. I peer through the screen as my brother, who is standing beside the porch swing, gestures with a red solo cup. I can’t make out his words because Leah is guffawing loudly somewhere behind me, probably at something not funny that Ben said.

Then I hear that chuckle again. It makes my whole face heat up.

Fucker.

I push the door further open and there he is. Not my brother, but the stranger among us. Burke opens the door, holding it wider than necessary as I hobble out onto the porch.

“The woman of the hour,” Shawn says, grinning. “Were your ears burning?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

He wisely tries to change the subject. “How ya feeling, sis?”

“Just dandy.”

“How do you feel, really?”

“I’m fine. Hate to interrupt your conversation about me.”

He has the good grace to break eye contact and look embarrassed. “Oh, just talking a little shit.”

I look at Burke. “What was he saying?”

“Don’t put him on the spot, June,” Shawn answers. “I was telling him about that time you tried to raise those chipmunks.”

“What?” I fix Shawn with a go-to-hell look, because that particular story isn’t funny.

“She was so cute,” Shawn tells Burke. “Maybe seven or eight. Is that right, Buggie?”

“I was nine.” I look to Burke. “It’s not a funny story.”

Shawn presses onward, just to be a dick I’m sure. “She found a mama chipmunk by this log in the yard. There were little babies in it, so she busted them out. Took them inside and tried to raise them. She didn’t tell our mama, so it didn’t work out real good, but June thought she was their new mama.”

Fury throbs through my head and tightens in my throat as I realize how tone deaf this story is, now in particular. My fatally flawed maternal efforts should probably be shoved under the rug right now.

“Then there was the wild hare. Did Buggie mention him?”

I shoot Shawn a fury-filled look. No, I didn’t, dipshit. Because I barely know Burke, and I’ve spent approximately 89 percent of the time I have known him hating him.

“One of our cousins—was it Carla, Bug?—she had this giant ass black hare. You know, like a big ole rabbit?” Shawn spreads his hands about a foot apart, to show how big the hare was. “That thing was a psycho.” He chugs down more of his beer, and I notice a keg set up behind him on my porch rug.

“It could jump from the kitchen floor up on the counter in one leap, with those big ole feet. Kinda creepy.”

Burke chuckles. When I catch his eye, his smile softens.

“She was always taking things in. Real maternal like that,” Shawn continues. “Mama caught her trying to breastfeed a baby doll when she was, I don’t know, maybe three?”

“Shawn!” I jerk my head around so I can glare right at him. “Would you like me to tell your bath bomb penis story?”

His lips press together, twitching at the corners. “Not particularly.”

“That’s what I thought.” He holds a hand up, saunters toward the door that leads from porch to yard. “I gotta check the grill. Burke, you get her some beer and cool her down.”

I shut my eyes. Because if I don’t, I’ll either blush so hot my head will explode, or I’ll lose my shit and cuss my stupid, sexist brother out.

“You want to sit down?” Burke asks when it’s just us on the porch.

I hobble to the swing, and he follows, grabbing my arm gently.

“Let me at least stop the thing from swinging.”

As I’m sitting down, the door bursts open, and the kids—all five of them—rush onto the porch, trailed by Peach and Mario, the puppies. I don’t have the energy to police that situation—what I really need is to get my foot up on the swing, too, or go to the couch—but Burke disappears behind them. A second later, Leah and Ben step out.

For a few minutes, the three of us chat. Ben’s family owns a local landscaping business. His family is really nice, but he’s never been the brightest bulb in our crowd. I carry the conversation even though I spent the last twelve hours drugged out of my gourd. Then Shawn and Foster call to Ben, and he’s out the door, down the steps, and into the lawn, cast orangey with the sunset.

Leah drops into a chair beside the swing.

“You making that work?” she asks, running a fingertip over the swing’s arm.

“Yes.”

“You pissy with me?”