“Just listen,” she orders, and as usual I shut up. “Whether or not you like this guy—someday there’s going to be a guy or girl you do. The smile-and-nod routine you were doing back there? That’s not going to get you anywhere with anyone who’s worth your time. And for the record, I approve of this guy—he doesn’t treat you like you’re made of porcelain like your usual fan club. So drop the act, okay?”
She stands there, hands on hips, eyebrows arched, waiting for my nod of agreement. I’m not going to give her the satisfaction. She doesn’t get to waltz home and tell me what a failure I am at dating and life in general.
She tilts her head toward me and clears her throat. Over her shoulder, I can see Jonah approaching from the foyer. If I don’t concede now, she’ll make me regret it.
“Fine,” I say, and she smiles triumphantly.
Jonah hands me my cell. “It’s going to be at least an hour. They gave me some crappy excuse about how since I’m not in any immediate danger or stranded, I’m not considered a priority.”
“I’m sorry. That stinks.” An hour? I want him to go sit on his car, or pace the driveway, or do anything but be in my sight. I want away from how anxious he makes me and how much he makes me second-guess myself.
Evy sits down at the kitchen table and uses her toe to push the chair next to hers toward him.
“Of course you’re welcome to stay,” I add, but my own invitation is a weak, awkward echo of hers.
“Thanks.” Jonah sits and scans the kitchen. Ours isn’t as immaculate as his. There are fingerprints on the stainless-steel surface of the fridge. Evy’s left a plate by the sink and a soda can on the counter next to a stack of mail she’s gone through and an open catalog she’s doodled on. All of this will have to be cleaned up before the memorial tomorrow.
I look stupid and out of place standing, but don’t feel invited to join them. Which is ridiculous. Evy is my sister, Jonah is my babysitting charge’s older brother.
Who hates me.
But I can fix this—I’ll use this hour to make him like me. Once he does, I’ll get him to come volunteer on Sunday. Then I’ll never have to think about him again.
Decision made. So, by Dad’s logic, I’m 80 percent closer to him liking me than I was a second ago. Funny how I still feel totally unwelcome in my own kitchen.
I keep standing, trying to make it look like I want to by leaning against the marble countertop. Everything looks better when you’re wearing a smile. I flash some teeth, trying to find a balance between the Miss America of Evy’s accusation and the grimace I’d like to wear. “Can I get you anything, Jonah? A drink?”
“No,” he says, then adds, “Sorry if I ruined your plans.” This is addressed to Evy. Apparently my plans don’t matter.
“No worries. I’m in for the night. I was going to make tea and wait for my boyfriend to call. Brighton’s about to walk the dog. You can go with her.”
“Never? No.” If I had been sitting, I’d have bolted to my feet in protest.
“Um, I’ll wait by my car if walking the dog is a private task for you.” Jonah gives me a look of curious disdain.
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
But my words are overpowered by Evy’s opening the French doors to our back porch. She whistles and shouts, “C’mere, boy! Where’s my baby?”
Nearly two hundred pounds of drool lumbers into the kitchen. Jonah’s chair is forced back when Evy’s “baby” pushes his way over to inspect him. Jonah tolerates the sniffing and even scratches behind the demon dog’s ears. Saint Bernard? I don’t think so.
“Who loves me? Never loves me. Good boy, Never. Such a good boy,” Evy coos, and the dog turns his attention to her. Jonah stands up to avoid being beaten by the dog’s tail, which immediately overturns his chair.
“Never?” Jonah asks. “That’s some dog.”
“See, I wasn’t saying you couldn’t come—”
“Never: Not Eve’s Replacement. My mom got this big, beautiful boy right before I left for college. Didn’t she, buddy?” Evy scratches his chin, and he rewards her with a lick that leaves visible slobber across her cheek. Gross.
“And he never listens to anyone but her, so it’s appropriate.” I scowl—not that either of them notices. They’re too busy lavishing affection on the beast, who has a habit of chewing up my shoes and jumping on me when I sit on the couch so I can’t get up until he decides to move or someone bribes him with a cookie. “I’m not walking him. I can’t. He was just in the backyard, I’m sure he’s fine.”
As soon as the word “walk” leaves my lips, Never bounds over, jumps up, and knocks me down. Then he proceeds to lick my face.
“Get him off me,” I beg, but Jonah and Evy are too busy laughing.
When I’m near tears, Jonah does, by holding up a leash Evy must’ve given him. He manages to get Never to sit while he fastens it. I hate the dog and she knows it. The thing weighs nearly as much as the two of us combined, but he listens to her.