“You know my mother. She’s a reporter. And now she’s the executive producer of Andy’s show. She only believes in facts she can see.”
Jesse thrust out a hand, the one holding the ring box. “Does this look factual enough to you, Susannah?”
I knew he was talking about the ring, but it was difficult not to notice how hard and muscular his hand looked, especially attached to that long, equally muscular arm. That was a fact my mother wouldn’t be able to ignore, either. It was hard to believe that such a vibrantly masculine, stunningly attractive person, whose dark eyes practically flashed with intelligence and life, had ever been dead. Any residency program that didn’t take him was insane. I was probably a fool not to have said, Yes, Jesse, I will be Mrs. de Silva, and slid that ring on my finger the moment I found it, so tantalizingly warm from the heat of his body.
But something still didn’t feel right. Probably it was me. I didn’t feel right.
“Um, yes,” I said, swallowing. “But that isn’t the point. My mom and Andy have enough to worry about with Brad and the babies and now Jake starting his own, ahem, business.”
My oldest stepbrother, Jake—-whose only career aspiration upon high school graduation appeared to be a full--time pizza delivery position—-had surprised us all by parlaying his pizza delivery earnings not into the Camaro of which he’d always dreamed, but into the purchase of a plot of land in Salinas.
A short while later, he opened a storefront in Carmel Valley that dispensed not pizza, but another item of which college students in particular are fond of imbibing late at night. Only one needed a medical prescription to purchase this particular item in the state of California.
I found this business venture of Jake’s highly entrepreneurial, yet at the same time ironic, considering I’d privately nicknamed him Sleepy, since he’d seemed to go through life with his eyes half closed. If only I’d known the real reason why.
Well, we all know now.
Jake’s medical marijuana dispensary—-the only one in the tri--county region—-did amazing business, and he was rapidly becoming one of the wealthiest business owners in the area. He’d bought a cool little house in the Valley and, whether out of generosity of spirit or because he genuinely liked him, convinced Jesse to move into the spare bedroom, so he’d have a place to stay when he came home from school on breaks.
“You can’t keep stayin’ with that old dude when you’re here, man,” was how Jake put it. By “old dude,” he meant Father Dominic. “No one should live in a monastery, unless they’re a priest. And you’re no priest, man. I’ve seen the way you look at my sister. No offense.”
I hadn’t expected Jesse to accept, especially after an invitation couched quite like that.
But either living with Father Dominic really had become more than even a believer as faithful as Jesse could stand, or he was finally ready to step into the twenty--first century, because Jesse does stay with Jake every time he’s in town.
Between Jake’s marijuana business venture and Brad’s teenage parenthood, I would have become my parents’ golden child if my youngest stepbrother, David, hadn’t gotten accepted early decision to Harvard and been assigned to live in (where else?) Kirkland House.
Keeping my “gift” a secret is really hard sometimes, but the alternative—-having a cheesy reality show on the Lifetime Network where I go around telling -people that their dead relative is in heaven now, smiling down at them—-seems way worse.
Jesse dropped his hand and frowned at me. “Susannah, I would think our getting engaged would be good news, something everyone in your family would appreciate, and even celebrate. What is it that’s so upsetting you about my trying to propose?”
“Nothing,” I said, and grabbed my coat. “I told you. I just can’t deal with it right now. Did you find the address of the probably already dead boy?”
He put the ring away and swiftly typed into his phone. For someone who despised modern technology, he was extremely good at using it. “No. It says their number and address is unlisted. These things are hopeless.”
“Nothing is hopeless,” I said. “You of all -people should know that by now.” Then I flung open the door to my dorm room.
I probably shouldn’t have been surprised that all six of my suite mates were crouched outside it.
Siete
“THE FARHATS ARE Persian,” said my suite mate Parisa. She was the one who was dating a guy in a motorcycle gang. If her parents found out, they’d kill her, she cheerfully informed us.
“Not literally,” she explained to Jesse, who looked a little alarmed. “I’m Persian, too, you see. My mom wants me to find a nice medical student like you.” She batted her thick eyelash extensions at him. “And if I could find one as cute as you, I would. But he’d have to be Persian, of course.”