Sloane
Three months later
“But I miss you, mija,” said my mother when I told her I didn’t plan to come for Sunday dinner.
“I miss you too, but I can’t come for dinner every week. I have my own place now.”
“What about your laundry?”
“I have a washer and a dryer too.” Thanks to Knox. In fact, my entire apartment was furnished thanks to my brother, who I had to admit had done a pretty good job of picking out things I liked.
He must’ve been paying attention when we toured all those apartments before we decided we shouldn’t live together. The fun we’d had either laughing at or admiring the decorating tastes of whoever outfitted the furnished places, resulted in him knowing I would never want a flower-print sofa and, as far as I was concerned, sectionals should’ve gone the way of waterbeds years ago.
I had to admit I liked the deep-purple leather sofa and love seat along with the two blue leather recliners he’d picked out far more than I thought I would on the day they arrived. In fact, I’d asked him if the delivery people got the wrong address and if they were supposed to be for his place. Now, I couldn’t imagine anything else in my living room.
He hadn’t stopped there. I’d fallen in love with the other furniture he chose for the house too. At first, I told him he was crazy to fill up every room in my half of the duplex except one.
“We’ll wait on the smaller bedroom,” he’d said. “You’ll want to pick stuff out based on the sex, right?”
“You know, bro, you’re going to make a damn good husband to someone one day,” I’d told him, only to realize that was the exact wrong thing to say when his face immediately sank.
“I think that boat has sailed, peanut.”
“I’m sorry, Knox. I wish I had any advice, but I don’t.”
He’d left shortly after that, making me feel like the worst sister in the world.
A few days later, after convincing my mother that I wouldn’t be coming over the next day, no matter how many of my favorite foods she promised to make, I went into the kitchen to make a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies.
When a knock at the door startled me, I dropped the glass bowl I’d taken out of the cupboard. Thankfully, it was heavy enough that it didn’t break, although it looked like there were a couple of chips along the edge.
“Hey, Sloane? It’s me,” I heard Tackle say, knocking a second time.
I set the bowl on the counter, glanced at the mirror to make sure my oversized sweatshirt hid the baby bump that had recently appeared but seemed to be growing daily, and slowly walked toward the front entrance. I looked around the living room to see if there were pregnancy or baby books visible. When I didn’t see any, I opened the door.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to come by and see if you needed anything.”
“Nope. I’m good.” I stood in the doorway, letting him know I had no intention of inviting him in.
“Sloane, I haven’t seen you in weeks. Can I please come in?”
Those damn green eyes did me in every time. “For a few minutes,” I said after stepping aside.
“What did I interrupt?” he asked, eyeing the things I’d gotten out to make the cookies.
“Girl’s night in.”
“Oh. Is someone else here?”
“No. Just me. I meant I was staying in. Cookies and a movie.”
“How are you feeling?” he asked with an overly concerned edge to his voice.
“Fine. Why?”
“I haven’t talked to you in so long. Did you figure out what was wrong over the holidays?”