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who’s taller (they are identical twins)
who’s more handsome (see above)
whose birth year, according to theGuinness World Recordsbook, has more recorded python attacks (see above!)
who gets to pick the dog’s name (we never had pets)
This is a noncomprehensive list. Over the years, the feuds have become more rabid, Dad more absent, Mom more reliant on me for cleanups. “You can’t be your family’s janitorial staff,” Cece tells me once a week, but I do my best to make Mom happy, even though of all the Elsies people want, hers is the fakest—and the one with deepest roots. I have, after all, cursed my way into it, tirelessly and painstakingly.
“How are you, Mom—”
“Overwhelmed.Lucas and Lance are at it again. Almost came to fists after their soccer game.”
“Over the result?”
“OverDana.”
I rub my temple. “They both agreed to stop dating her.”
“They did. But Dana needed a ride somewhere.”
“Who did she call?”
“Lucas. Lance slashed his tire. The neighbors are starting to talk. Youneedto stop them.”
“I did, Mom. Two weeks ago. A month ago. Three months ago.” I’ve been holding a series of conflict mediation seminars in my parents’ basement. They mostly consist of me reminding my brothers that murder is illegal.
“Well, do it again. Come over tomorrow.”
I physically cringe. “I’m sorry. It’s not possible.”
“Why?”
“I—” No. NoIstatements. Too personal. “This is a stressful, busy time. The semester just started and...” Do I tell her? I shouldn’t. But maybe she’ll want to know? “I’m interviewing for a job.”
“You have a job.”
“This is a better job.”
“Your job isalreadya better job.”
I consider bringing up concepts like relativity, gig economy, and insulin resistance. “This is even better.”
