Playing with Fire

“Yeah, Aub. I said it before and I’ll say it again—you keep inside your room all night, and I’ll make you waffles in the morning.”

“Wiv chocolate chips and apples on the side. Freshly cut.”

“Yupsters.”

“And chocolate milk.”

“Bet on it, lil’ sis. Just don’t come out of your room.”

My parents had gone to visit Aunt Carrie, who lived about forty minutes south. They were supposed to have a relaxing poker night, but they drank a little too much and called to ask if I could watch Aub until tomorrow morning, when they were sober enough to drive. It was the first time they’d left us alone together. I said it was cool and, of course, picked up the phone immediately to summon a spontaneous birthday party.

East and Whitley were coming in and out of the garage now, busting more snacks open, dividing them into bowls and clearing the large furniture from the living room to make space for the people who were going to be here any minute.

“Pinky promith?” Aub asked, wiggling her tiny finger up in the air.

I put the tortilla bag aside and turned to face her, crouching down to her eye level.

I took her pinky in mine and squeezed.

“Pinky promise, Aub.”

She threw her arms around my neck, squeezing me close. She smelled like green apple candy. She was addicted to that shit to a point our parents wouldn’t let her have anything sweet anymore. I knew she hid a stash of apple candy sticks under her bed and nibbled on them when nobody was looking.

I knew, because I was the one who gave them to her.

“We’re going to have the best morning ever!” she exclaimed.

It was the last time I saw my sister smile.

It was the last time I saw my sister at all.

“Westie? Westie, wake up.”

I groaned, rolling from my back to my stomach in my bed, my eyes shut. I was shirtless, with only my boxers under my quilt. That wasn’t an issue. Aub had seen me shirtless plenty of times. But I knew Whit, who slept right beside me, was shirtless, too. And that was something Aubrey had never seen before. I wanted to open my eyes and see exactly what my little sister was seeing, if Whit was at least covered by the quilt, but couldn’t for the life of me crack my eyes open.

I shouldn’t have drunk so much last night.

Things got wild fast. The strip poker had turned into shots poker when all of my friends were butt naked, and after consuming at least seventeen shots—one for each year of my life—I passed out. Luckily, it was after Whit and I went for a quickie in my room. But I didn’t remember either of us bothering to put our clothes on.

“Westie? Puh-leaseeee,” I heard Aubrey’s little squeaky voice.

“Not now, Aub,” I managed to croak out.

“But you promithed!” she whined. I stirred in my bed, trying to pry my goddamn eyes open and look at her, but failed. My eyelids felt like they were fifty pounds each. My body ached like every motherfucker within town limits had walked all over it. Back and forth.

“Yeah, well, I’ll make you pancakes in an hour.”

“Waffles!” she shrieked at my blasphemy. “And it’s already ten o’clock! Mommy and Daddy should be here any minute, and you know they don’t let me eat waffles.”

I knew damn well they wouldn’t. Aub had cavities in her milk teeth from all that green apple candy, so they were taking extra precautions to make sure her new teeth weren’t going to rot. That was why waffles were a big deal for her. And I fully intended to make her those goddamn chocolate-chip waffles with fresh apple on the side. I just needed another hour or so to feel human again. Was that too much to ask?

“Give me thirty …” I mumbled, my eyes still closed.

“They’ll be here by then!”

“Then I’ll take you to the diner tomorrow. Promise. You’ll get a milkshake out of it, too. We’ll say we’re going ice skating.”

“I want waffles now. Not tomorrow. Besides, what’s a promith anyway, if you don’t keep it?”

“A lie?” I creaked sarcastically. I was nasty when hungover. I laughed at my own lousy joke. My mouth tasted bitter. In all of Aubrey’s six years, every time we did a pinky promise, I always delivered. I never broke my promises. But I couldn’t for the life of me fulfill this one. I was too hungover to move.

“You’re such a … a … butt sniffer!” Her voice broke midsentence. I knew what she sounded like when she was about to cry, and she was definitely heading there.

“C’mon. Aub …” I tried opening my eyes again. I couldn’t—again. I heard her little feet thudding quickly on the carpeted hallway. She probably went back to her room to hate me privately. I tried to reassure myself. It was fine. I’d take her tomorrow—no, fuck it, this afternoon—and make it up to her. We’d hit the ice rink, then go to the Pancake House, and I’d let her order enough waffles to clog every artery in her body.