Page 21 of Dream House
And then she’s up the stairs before I can say anything else she clearly doesn’t want to hear.
I return to the kitchen. Both Tyler and Pen watch me enter, but it’s Maisy who speaks up.
“Done! May I be ‘scused?” She’s already squirming out of her seat.
I nod. “Take your dishes to the sink.”
Maisy runs them across the kitchen, sets them down, and then hops with impatience. “C’mon, Uncle T!”
Tyler’s bowl is empty, but he’s not moving. He’s still watching me.
So is Pen.
“What? I was just checking on Nina.”
Pen blinks at me like their questions should be obvious. To my surprise, Tyler looks just as unimpressed. If my brother is given the choice, he won’t say a word. Ever. Sometimes, it’s downright laziness. Speech is a chore for him. It may be a chore for the rest of his life. Other times, he’s embarrassed. Or, at least, that’s what I think.
But it’s just me and Pen right now. I don’t see anything to be embarrassed about, and I try not to let him get away with being lazy. His speech therapist says he doesn’t practice enough as it is.
I cock a brow at him. “You have something to say?”
Tyler narrows his eyes. He doesn’t appreciate me calling him out. He may not talk much, but he sure can let me know what he’s thinking.
But I wait. It’s not like today is my first day being his sister.
He sets his jaw and exhales his irritation. “Ish… she… o...kay?”
My breath stills. I can’t remember the last time Tyler asked about anyone who wasn’t family. Not since the accident. But probably not for a while before that. Back then, Tyler’s attention was, well, pretty much on Tyler.
Then again, he always had a weak spot for a pretty face. And even with a black eye, Nina has a pretty face.
I want to feel excited that he’s noticed someone outside of his small circle, but I can’t ignore the pinch of worry in my gut.
“She’s fine,” I say, reclaiming my seat at the table. I attempt to dive back to my cooling jambalaya.
But neither Pen nor Tyler take their eyes off me.
“She’s still in one piece?” Pen asks, an edge in her voice.
“Of course. I think she just got back from work.”
Maybe I’m imagining it, but a tension I hadn’t acknowledged leaves them both. Tyler pushes away from the table before I can ask about it.
Ten minutes later, I’m loading the dishwasher. I’ve forbidden Pen from helping since she cooked, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t topped off our wine glasses and kept me entertained.
Apparently, Pen was commissioned today to do a logo design for a client’s sex surrogacy business.
“Sex surrogacy?”
Pen nods.
“What is that, exactly?”
“It’s—”
A knock at the front door stops her. Pen wrinkles her nose.
“That’ll be your termagant—I mean tennant.”
