Page 72 of Knot So Social

I roll my eyes. He’s not making any sense at all.

“Where are you, Jerry?”

“I’m at . . . work. Remember, I got a new job?”

“Oh. The gigolo place.”

I whip a dishcloth down on the bench. “That better not be what you’re planning to tell people.”

He giggles, a strange sound coming from a grown man, let alone my serious bro. “Calm your panties. I ain’t got nobody to tell nothing anymore. You should see the way my phone blew up from all my so-called friends. Like a fucking war zone.”

I lean against the bench and sigh. I didn’t spend much time in his circles, but the few times I met his friends, they all seemed like Tracey’s kind of people. “You don’t need them. You’ve got me.”

“Thank God for little Jerry sweeping up my shit.”

I can’t tell if he’s mad or not. “What about your work?”

“Dunno.”

My breath catches. “What do you mean, you don’t know? You haven’t been in?”

“No, they keep trying to ring me. Little shits can’t do anything without me there.”

“Fuck, Joel,” I hiss. “Drink two glasses of water, eat something, and go to bed.”

“Sure, Mom. When you coming home?”

“Umm, not sure. Two days?”

“Need your bed, I suppose. I’ll go—”

I grind the heel of my palm into my forehead. “Just . . . just stay there, okay? Don’t go anywhere. I’ll pick up a trundle bed on my way home.”

“Huh? Tonight?”

“No, in two days.”

“Oh. Where’s the cheese?” Water runs in the background, and suddenly the line thumps. “Oh shit, not the phone!”

The connection clicks off.

I drag my phone away from my ear and wipe a faint sheen of sweat off the protector. Part of me wants to run home right this second and make sure he’s taken care of. But both my heart and duty are here in this house.

I’ve never felt so torn.

The oven timer dings.

“At least he’s eating,” I mutter as I get the steaming muffins out. “Or trying to.”

While I wait for the pans to cool, I ring my brother’s business office.

A woman answers with a stressed tone. “Williams’ Electrical. How can I help you?”

“Hi. This is Joel’s brother, Jeremy.”

“Oh!” her voice cracks. “Do you happen to know where Joel is?”

“Yeah, he’s . . .” Is there even a word that covers it? “Sick,” I settle for. Heartsick is true, at least. “He’s very sick. And he also broke his phone so can’t receive any calls.”