“Thank you for what you did today. It’s going to be so big if he follows through with those cookies.”
“If who follows through?” Gina asks curiously.
“No one,” I tell her hurriedly. I take Michael’s arm, pulling him to the door.
“Are we in a rush?” he laughs.
“I’m hungry, so yes. We’re running away from here. Have a good night, you guys!”
“You too!” Gina and Rona call together.
Michael smiles over his shoulder at them. “It was good to see you, Rona.”
“Yeah, you too, Michael.”
“You see her all the time,” I remind him when we get outside.
“I used to but you’re both so busy lately I hardly see either of you.”
“You see me every Sunday.”
“Yeah, but that’s with Mom and Dad. That’s different. That’s family time.”
“And what is this?”
He slings his arm over my shoulder. He’s almost a foot taller, three years older, and the shining sun in my sky.
“I don’t know,” he tells me, “but I needed it today.”
I feel good when I lean into him. Like I’m on solid ground for the first time today.
“Me too.”
Michael offers to drive. I agree, getting into his black Accord without asking where we’re going. Even though I’m the baker, he’s the foodie. He’s addicted to following food blogs and trying new restaurants. He used to go to a new place every week when he was with Cassie. After the split he went alone. Then he didn’t go at all. It pissed me off that he was losing all of the things he loved just because one of those things turned out to be a complete cunt. That’s when I started going with him. I’m not an adventurous eater. I like what I like and I’d rather not taste goat cheese anything, but I love my brother more than my stomach so I don’t complain.
Okay, I complain less than I’d like. That’s still saying something.
“How was work?” I ask as he pulls out onto the freeway.
Oh man. We’re leaving the city. This is gonna be a serious adventure.
“It was good. Slow. Only two appointments. One was a guy recording a song for his wife for their anniversary. That was pretty cool.”
“Was he any good?”
Michael grins. “It’s the thought that counts.”
“So no.”
“No.”
Michael works at a small recording studio in a big part of town. Deep in the bowels of L.A. it looks like nothing from the outside, just a brick fa?ade with a NO DUMPING sign on the side, but that’s what people go crazy for. If I can’t find it, it has to be good. They usually get the odd person looking to record a demo. Small commercial work. People at the start of a potential career looking to make it big because that’s what L.A. is. Dreams hanging forever on the cusp of reality.
I compulsively check my phone. It’s three forty-five. I have seventy-eight percent battery life. No new messages. No missed calls.
“You okay?” Michael asks.
I darken the screen before dropping it into my lap. “Yeah, I’m good. Why?”
“You were frowning at your phone.”
“Watch the road, not my face.”
“Okay,” he chuckles at my sharp tone. “How’d the shoot go?”
“It was good. Better than I thought it’d be.” I absently run my fingertip along my chin, wiping away a feeling that’s long since faded but burned in my memory. “I signed the waiver. I’ll be in the episode.”
“That’s cool. What changed your mind?”
“A Kodiak.”
Michael’s face is confused as he checks his blind spot, sliding us into the fast lane. “Like a bear?”
“Like a linebacker.”
“I’m lost. Wait, you mean a Los Angeles Kodiak? A football player?”
“I met one at the gender reveal party yesterday. He showed up at the shop today looking for more cookies.”
“Just cookies?” he asks heavily.
I grin. “He might have had other motives.”
“With my sister?”
“Are you gonna beat him up if I say yes?”
“That depends. You said he’s a linebacker?”
“It’s Colt Avery.”
Michael grunts disapprovingly. “He’s a running back. Not a linebacker. He’s also a player, and not just football.”
“So you’ll kick his ass and defend my honor?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“He’s not that big.”
“Bigger than I am. Bigger than your honor.”
I swat at him wildly. “You dick!”
He cringes away from me, laughing. “Hey! No hitting the driver!”
“I’m allowed to hit the driver when he acts like a * and a dick.”
“That’s a lot of anatomy you’re throwing around.”
“Beat him up for me.”
“No.”
“Ugh,” I groan, slinking down in my seat petulantly. “You’re worthless.”
“Sorry. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
“Gross.”
“How is that gross?!” he demands.
“You’re my brother. I don’t want to hear that shit.”
“Whatever,” he mumbles. “Why do you want me to beat this guy up? Was he rude to you?”
“No. I want you to beat him up because he was nice to me.”
“Are you being sarcastic?” he asks, sounding like Colt.