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“You can’t justclimb into a stranger’s bed, Annie!”
I press my palms over my eyes, wishing when I opened them again, my sister won’t still be sitting cross-legged at the kitchen table, hands circled loosely around a mug of tea.
Like she didn’t just drop-kick the idea of boundaries and personal space to the curb by climbing into bed with Bailey.
I don’treallywish Annie would disappear. It’s good to see my sister. I can’t remember how long it’s been. Long enough for her to bleach her hair lighter, chop it shorter than mine in a pixie cut, and get a few new tattoos, one of which is peeking out of her shirtsleeve as she lifts the mug to her lips. She and Van could have quite the showdown.
“It wasn’t a stranger’s bed.” Annie’s placating tone only ratchets up my frustration. “It wasyourbed. Inyourguest room.”
She lifts a shoulder in an innocent shrug as though to say,See? Totally normal and not in the least inappropriate orleaping over any personal boundaries.Bailey, who was locked in the upstairs bathroom when I dragged Annie downstairs by the collar of her t-shirt, might disagree.
Are we too old for the kind of knock-down-drag-out fights we had when I hit middle school and got tired of Annie picking on me? Probably. Still, it’s tempting as my sister takes a casual sip of tea.
The only reason I’m not yelling is because Mom hasn’t woken up yet. And I’d rather not have Bailey overhear me losing it on my sister. I’m still trying to make a good impression, and pummeling Annie probably wouldn’t do me any favors.
“Aren’t you glad I’m here, large little brother?”
I drag my hands through my hair, stopping just short of pulling it all out. “Annie—yes. So glad. But that doesn’t mean?—”
“Because,” she says, raising her voice to steamroll right over me, “I really wasn’t sure, what with all the avoided calls about your engagement you didn’t bother to tell me about.”
Dropping into a chair, I cross my arms over my chest and heave a sigh. “I should have called to tell you.”
“You should have calledbeforehand,” Annie says, finally setting down her tea and looking serious. “We could have discussed rings and stuff. And I would have talked you out of doing a cliche hockey proposal and given you some truly sweetoriginalideas. I want to be part of your life, Eli. Even if you defected to the states. You’re getting married, dude.”
Though her words made my chest tighten, the grin she gives as she delivers that last sentence has me grinning back. “I know, dude.” She leans forward and smacks me on the shoulder. Hard. “You’re getting married!”
Guilt chooses this moment to remind me it’s still here, hanging out like that friend who crashes every party. I choose to ignore it.
“I’m getting married,” I repeat, grinning.
“I like her,” Annie says, and I shake my head. “What? You can get a good sense about someone watching them sleep.”
I cover my face with my hands and groan. “Annie.”
She only laughs, pressing on my bare foot under the table with hers. Despite the chasm of differences between my free-spirit sister and me, we share some common traits: specifically a sunny personality soaked in optimism and a serious leaning toward all things tactile. Mom’s the same way. We are happy, hands-on sort of folks.
“Why are you sleeping in separate bedrooms, anyway? You know Mom wouldn’t care.”
I go completely still, my hands still covering my face. Thankfully—I wouldn’t want Annie to see whatever expression I’m wearing now. Because I just had a realization I maybe should have had the moment I learned Annie was here.
Staying in separate rooms upstairs worked. When we weren’t worried about another person noticing. The only guys I asked to help move were ones who agreed to the vow of violence. I told Mom we were putting some of Bailey’s stuff in the guest room so she wouldn’t wonder why she heard people moving around up there rather than my room.
Now, my guest room solution has totally blown open with Annie here, all up in our space.
“Oh,” she says slyly. “You’re waiting for the wedding night? That’s so sweet. My little romantic of a brother.”
One thing Annie and I don’t have in common is her need to overshare. More than once, I’ve had to run from the room, hands over my ears, when she starts getting into too much detail about things I don’t want to know about my sister and the guys she dates.
I drop my hands to my lap. “How long are you staying, by the way?”
“Trying to get rid of me so soon? And changing the subject at the same time?”
“I’m not trying to get rid of you. I just wondered how long I’m going to be sharing a bathroom withtwowomen.”
Annie cackles at this. “Good thing I helped normalize periods for you years ago. If you’re lucky, we’ll all sync up in a period trifecta.”
“Annie,please.” I may not freak out at the sight of a tampon, but I also don’t want to chitchat about periods. Especially not with the unanswered question of how long Annie will be here. “I need to know how long you’re staying so we can talk about logistics. Namely, which couch you’re going to sleep on since I’m not moving Bailey out of the guest room for you.”
