I miss my brother.
Death confuses me. I don’t understand why it comes too soon sometimes—why some people live to be ninety while others don’t live past twenty. It doesn’t seem fair. A tear tumbles down my cheek, but I’m safe here to let it out where no one can know how much it still hurts. I wonder when that hurt will go away—if it will ever go away.
The last photograph ever taken of us still sits on Zack’s bedside table. I dragged him to one of those make your own pottery places. He told me he didn’t want to go in his dramatic fashion, but in the end, had a great time. I lift the picture, my finger tracing the freckles on his face, the smile curving his mouth. Mom’s voice calling me breaks into my memory and I set the photo down and hurry out of the room. I don’t want her to know I’m in here, to worry about me. Because I’m fine.
“I’ll be down in a sec,” I yell out, speeding to the bathroom in hopes of washing everything away. I need a do-over this morning.
Typically, I’d linger in the shower. In fact, Avery’s comment is not unwarranted. I’m known for spending an exorbitant amount of time in here. Today, though, I can’t afford it. I scrub myself clean as quickly as possible before tossing on a pair of jeans and one of my favorite Mickey Mouse t-shirts. I leave my hair down in loose waves.
I’m just about to head downstairs when I double back and grab the Mickey Mouse charm from my dresser. My father gave it to me for my tenth birthday. I stare at the inscription on the back—my little creator, and my chest fills with warmth. My fingers rub over the words before I place it in the zippered pocket of my purse.
“Emberrrrrrrrrr,” Avery screams, and I bolt down the stairs.
“I’m here, I’m here. Geez Louise.” I loop my purse over the back of the chair and sit down next to Avery. Fabric swatches cover the table and Mom collects them, dropping them in a nearby wicker basket. “Whoa, what is all this?”
She places two glasses of orange juice in front of us. “Those are the colors I’m deciding on for the Kensington remodel. She said she wanted Pottery Barn colors so I’m looking at greens, burgundies, and golds.”
“That’s so boring, Mom,” Avery scoffs, stuffing a piece of bagel into her mouth. “How about black on black?”
“That’s called goth, Ave.” I snort. “Highly doubt the Kensington’s are into that.”
She leans closer and cups a hand over my ear. “I’d like to find out what Scott Kensington is into. I can tell you that.”
“I heard that, Avery.” Mom’s tone is stern as she peeks over her shoulder and raises a sharp, black brow. “I’d like you to stay away from those Kensington boys. I hear them all the time when their mother and I are discussing design ideas.”
“Mom,” Avery sneers, because she can’t help adding fuel to the fire. “I’m twenty-two, not fifteen. You kind of don’t have a say anymore.”
My mother’s full body emerges, her arms poised across the jacket of her black suit. Her oval-shaped face set in a scowl. “You’re still living in this house for a few more months, so I still have say. And what I say is they have quite the mouths on them.” She spins on her heel, wielding what little control she thinks she has left over my sister and disappears into the living room. Avery and I look at each other and bite back a laugh.
“I hope so.” Avery mouths with an exaggerated expression.
“Speaking of which…,” Mom pops back in and takes a seat across from us at the table, “Mrs. Kensington told me the house down the street and the colonial around the corner sold. I guess she saw moving trucks this morning. Perhaps they might be able to use some of my design magic once they get settled.”
“Yes. Maybe you can give them tips on shaping their bushes, too.” It takes a second for me to absorb Avery’s words, and then I practically spit juice into my cereal bowl. Our mother gives her a one-eyed glare.
“Avery, sometimes I wonder.” She smiles, tossing a dishtowel at her face. “I really do.”
“SO HOW WAS work today?”
“Work was… whoa.” Avery cocks her head, straight blonde hair hanging over one shoulder as she tries to get a good view of whoever is standing beside the moving truck.
“Avery. You crack me up. You can’t see anything from here.”
She pinches my arm and snorts. “You know I’ve got bionic vision when it comes to guys. I can certainly see that whoever that is… has a great ass.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that Avery Bennett,” our mother chimes in from behind. “I’ve got a wonderful idea though.” She steps in front of us and hands Avery a broom and a smile. “Why don’t you finish sweeping the kitchen floor and then you two can make some brownies and bring them over to our new neighbors.”
Avery takes the broom, a frown pulling down her lips. “Brownies? Mom, we’re not nine years old.”