Page 43 of Resist

“You brought pie?” Tessa leaps off the breakfast stool to grab me in a hug.

“I did. I felt like apple pie after our potatoes.”

Tessa grins. “I brought pie, too.”

I arch a brow at Mom who confirms my younger sister isn’t messing with me. “You can never have too much pie.”

Mom has the baked potatoes in a warmer while she sets out the toppings. She’s done chopped BBQ brisket, there’s shredded BBQ chicken, and some kind of tofu monstrosity that I won’t be going anywhere near. Doesn’t matter how you try to dress that shit up it still tastes like crap.

“How was your first day at your new job? Find any diamonds in the rough of the publishing world?” Mom pulls plates out, while I grab silverware, and Tessa fixes drinks. We’re like a well-oiled machine.

I told Mom that I got a job with a publishing house, but I didn’t tell her it was Blackwell’s. I wanted to keep my lie as close to the truth as I could so I didn’t trip myself up and get tangled in my own web of deceit.

“It was good. I brought a book home with me to read tonight. I spent most of the day finding the coffee machine, the bathrooms, and filling out paperwork.”

“Sounds mundanely boring.” Tessa has already pulled a baked potato onto her plate.

“It was low-key, just how I like it.”

My sister has never done anything low-key in her life. While we’re both personable and friendly, relatively outgoing,that’s where the similarities end. We’re like oil and water, or night and day.

I’m measured, contemplative, tall, dark, and brooding—at least that’s what Mom and Tessa both tell me all the time. Whereas Tessa, on the other hand, she’s a tornado of capriciousness. She’s whimsical, fun, and flighty. She’s done everything from backpacking in Australia to jumping out of a moving plane. For fun.

“You’ll have to tell me a few of the books they’ve published. You know I’m always in the market for a good read.” Mom slices her potato with her knife before dropping a knob of butter into the fluffy white valley.

“I will.” I’m already exhausted from the weight of my dishonesty so I try to pivot. “How was your day?”

Mom’s days are largely all the same. Not only because she enjoys the predictability of routine, but because she needs the stability for her mental health. Her job in the local library provides the structure she needs in her life to stay on an even keel.

Monday is her assigned family dinner night. If another evening frees up we might have a second dinner together. Tuesday she plays pinochle with some of her friends. Wednesday the library stays open for a few evening groups to get together. Thursday is therapy day, so Fridays are generally low-energy days and she gets takeout.

“It was good. We had a group of school kids in so it was a bit wild.” She’s fluffing her potato’s insides with her fork, mixing in the fillings.

When my phone pings, my heart leaps. It has to be Cecelia. I know that as a guy I’m supposed to be chill, but life’s too short to play down how you’re feeling.

Something on my face must alert my sister’s freakish radar for things out of the ordinary. “Who’s that?” She points her fork at my pocket. “No phones at the table, Lingy.” She spearsher utensil toward Mom and back to herself. “Who’s texting you?”

My fingers itch to see who has messaged, to confirm it is indeed Cecelia, and to see what she says, but I don’t need Mom jumping on my head about having my phone out during dinner.

“A friend.” I shovel a heaped fork of too-hot cheesy, potato-ey brisket into my mouth to save from having to answer any further questioning, but that seems to set her investigative senses off even more.

“You have friends?” She snorts right as my phone pings again. She jerks her chin at my pocket. “You should get that.”

The fuck I will.

Mom has a subtle smile on her lips that tells me she’s not getting involved, but it also confirms Tessa smells blood, and won’t let go until I tell her who’s messaging me.

“It’s probably someone from the club.”

“Then why don’t you go ahead and find out?” She reaches forward like she might try to dig my cell out of my pocket. “We can make an exception to the no phones rule. Just this once.”

I slap my hand onto my thigh. “Enough.” I huff out a breath.

Tessa gasps, both hands flying to her mouth for dramatic effect. “Oh. My.God. It’s a girl.”

“Or a guy.” Mom takes a bite and chews slowly, pinning me with one of those Mom-knows stares.

“You’re right. Could be either.” Tessa smacks the table. “Tell us, Lingy. Please?”

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