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“Thank you.”
I roll my eyes. “It wasnota compliment.”
“And yet, you’re still welcome.”
Overprotective doesn’t begin to describe my brother. Is there such a thing as OVER-overprotective? Super protective? Or supercalifragilisticexpialidocious protective maybe? Because that would be John.
Even before losing Dad, John acted as my loyal guard dog. It’s for sure in his DNA. But after we lost our father, John shifted into a whole new level of caring for my well-being. Mom and me both. He assumed the man of the house role to the nth degree. If Mom had ever shown signs she wanted to date—which she never has—I know John would be a complete overprotective monster.
And look—it’s nice to have someone who is always on my side, always looking out for me. John has my back one hundred percent of the time. Team Chelsea 4evs!
But in addition to having my back, John also is constantly getting ON my back. He gives unsolicited advice, offers up dating suggestions Puritans would find restrictive, and if he could, would make unilateral decisions about all my life choices.
Like my current living situation, which is a perfect segue out of the Chelsea Is a Dating Disaster conversation.
“I still don’t understand how a skunk got involved,” John says. “Or why you tried topeta skunk.”
“Can we just move on from the skunk, please? This is simply the kind of luck I have. Bad, bad luck.Skunkluck. Can you add that to Urban Dictionary for me? Just post a picture of my face next to the phraseskunk luck.”
John laughs, and not for the first time since he left, I’m hit with a pang of what I can only call reverse-homesickness. Reverse homesickness is whenyou’rehome but someone you missisn’t. For all his overstepping and over-everything, I miss the heck out of my brother. And this will be the longest we’ve ever gone without seeing each other.
“Speaking of things you need to stop doing—you didn’t think to mention I’d be sharing your apartment with Mason?”
“Oh, shoot,” John says, in the most unconvincing voice I’ve ever heard. “Did I not tell you two? My bad.”
“Nice try. What are you up to?”
“Moi? Why would I be up to something?”
“Shouldn’t you be speaking Spanish, not French? And why are you answering a question with a question?”
“Look—would you have moved in if I said Mason would be there?”
I consider, chewing my lip. “Probably not.”
Even though in reality, I don’t mind at all. I had been trying to conjure up excuses to spend more time with Mason while John is gone. You know—to see how things are without my overbearing brother in the middle. While the cat’s away, I was hoping the mice might play.
Living together means I don’t need excuses—I’ll see Mason all the time. Which has its downsides too. Like seeing the man I’m in lo—sorry, the man I’m CRUSHING ON—every single day. Especially if the micedon’tend up playing while the cat’s away.
“Right,” John says. “But you don’t want to move back home with Mom.”
“Oh, heck no.”
“Same with Mason. Y’all both happened to have leases up at the same time and I decided to play a little housing matchmaker.”
I wish he’d playedanotherkind of matchmaker. But if John thought Mason and I were a good fit, I'm sure he would have pushed the issue long ago. Since pushing is his modus operandi.
I don’t really understand why he hasn’t thought of shipping Mason and me. Like Sam said in one of her emails to me, brothers shouldwanttheir best friends to date their sisters. It’s like the perfect win-win. John wouldn’t have to worry about Mason hurting me—not intentionally, anyway.
But … if we did date and broke up, what would happen? Would Mason still be John’s best friend? Would he still come over for dinners with Mom and on Christmas morning?
Okay, fine. Maybe I see one reason why John might not be pushing either of us in this particular direction.
“You still should have told us,” I say.
“I prefer my methods. How surprised were you?” John asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“You should both be lucky I wasn’t walking around the house naked.”
