Page 91 of Emerson

I glance over to see Penny watching the TV intently. Great. From Peppa Pig to teenage angst.

“I’m gonna fuck this up, Warren.”

“No, you won’t, Em.” He pauses at the door to look at me. Like, assesses me with those creepy oldest brother eyes of his. “This is gonna be good for you, baby brother.” Then he leaves.

Penelope is eating popcorn when I turn around.

“You don’t happen to know if you’re allowed to eat that, do you?”

Draft saved 2:13 A.M.

To: DMont95

From: EBStyles

Subject: no subject

It’s been almost two months.

Two months is a lot of time to marinate in one's pathetic sads. Enough time for me to narrow down to the exact moment I was well and truly fucked. Emotionally, not literally. I was only ten. Just really starting to pay attention to boys, and acknowledging that I felt like I was going to puke up rainbows and butterflies every time you came over with Warren.

You were softer with me than my brothers were, like you were with your sister. I felt like I was too much and not enough with everyone outside of my family, and with you. You indulged my dramatics and laughed about my endless ramblings, but you always listened. Always fucking knew how to make shit better.

But it was when I found you on our porch that one night. Do you remember? I was sneaking down to the kitchen after a particularly shit day at school for a cupcake and milk, when I heard someone on the porch. I found you out there, tear-stained face. You had ridden your bike all the way from your house. I knew without you having to say anything that it was something with your parents again. Another fight. Another disappointment.

We shared my cupcake on the steps of my porch, both of us with puffy eyes from crying. I couldn’t stand seeing you upset, so I just started talking. I went on and on about why sugar was the fix-all, and that you really needed to up your intake because you were getting old and we couldn’t have you turning into one of the miserable adults. Your watery laugh filled the night, and when we went inside, you said, “Thanks, baby Bennet. Never change, okay?”

I remember thinking then that if I was ever going to find someone, I’d want it to be someone like you.

Then you spent years continuing to listen to my ramblings. Showing up for all of us. Sneaking me sweet treats when school was making me miserable and life was overwhelming. That someone like you just straight up turned into you as I got older.

I fear it’s never really changed.

“You should have just gone up there to see it in person. I think everything came out really good.” Warren is on the bar stool next to me, nursing a beer. Nothing like the last time we were at this shitty ass bar and he was downing them like water. The bartender isn’t being suffocated by his heartbreak this time, and she’s in full flirtation mode. Gag.

The pictures of the cabin look good. Like, pat myself on the back good because damn do the colors all work beautifully together. Very chic forest witch with the natural wood accents and earthy-toned details.

“I can’t believe you’re going to sell it after all of this.” I slide his phone with the pictures open over to him. He glances at the last one, of the front of the cabin, before clicking the button on the side of the phone to lock the screen. He takes a sip of his beer and shrugs his shoulders.

“I’m busy enough with the gym, I don’t need to add renting it out to my list of shit I need to worry about.”

I make a noise of acknowledgment and sip my Long Island. “So why did you call me here this time? Need my gay touch to decorate something else? Have another broken heart? Oooh, maybe you want me to redesign the gym? Imagine it.” I wave my hand in an arch in front of us, like I’m smearing the image there for us to see. “White and cerulean blue, half and half walls with a cobalt wave. Something serene. Something to lull the people into a false sense of security before you try to homicidally murder them with an elliptical.”

“I thought we could talk about Dillon.”

“I’d rather eat fucking glass,” I choke out impulsively.

Warren snorts, moving his beer glass in small circles on the bar. The only tell that he’s not as calm as he appears.

Fuck.

“Cut the shit, Em.”

“What about him, Warren?”

“Did you forget that I saw you two that night at the bar? I didn’t ask then, but I’m asking now because you haven’t been the same since he left. What’s going on?”

“Nothing is going on.” And isn’t that the truth? “I haven’t heard from him since he left.”