Page 28 of Brenna, Brat

“We were all acting strangely at dinner,” I retorted and she hesitated, but then had to agree. The whole pod of us had gone over, with spouses and fiancés included for those who had them. All of us had seen Beckett for the first time in a while, and he looked thin and pale in a way that made me very worried. The house had also made me worried because it looked even emptier; there was definitely more stuff missing, but Mom wouldn’t answer questions about that. She was also unable or unwilling to discuss any plans for the future and our father had previously told Sophie that it was none of our business, so we were totally in the dark. Then, halfway through the meal as we’d been discussing a neighbor on the street who had painted hersiding bright yellow (it was a crime against color theory), Mom had put down her fork and started bawling into her napkin. No one thought it was related to that terrible exterior.

Addie had tried to hold it back but had ended up joining in, and the whole thing had gone from bad to worse. Juliet got upset at Sophie for telling Mom to pull it together, Nicola told all of us to knock it off, and then Grace stood up and left the building. She hadn’t been heard from since.

“But that whole time when everyone was losing it, you didn’t. You didn’t even get mad,” Nicola pointed out. “You were looking at your phone instead of telling Mom to grow up and telling everyone else that they were only making things worse.”

“She should, and they were.”

Nic didn’t dispute my statement. “Yes, but usually you’re part of the problem,” she informed me. “I saw the difference right away, the minute you walked in. You didn’t jump all over Grace, even though she was wearing your shirt—”

“I have no idea how she got her hands on that.”

“Then you didn’t tell JuJu to shut up when she talked for ten minutes about how she might want to start coaching and you didn’t rehash how she used to be mean to you around the pool. Sophie went on endlessly about Esme and you didn’t pretend to fall asleep or to vomit, and Patrick told us about his car getting rear-ended—”

“It sounds like it was just a tap,” I pointed out, and she pointed right at me and nodded.

“Yes, but you didn’t say that, and you didn’t talk about the accidents you’ve had that were way worse. Usually you have a lot more to say to everyone, but you were distracted and kind of…dreamy. I’ve never seen you like this, but I think I know what’s happening.” She paused. “I think you’re in love with that guy.”

I couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d announced that she was actually a saber-toothed cat wearing a human suit who had fooled us all our lives but was now going to kill us (like one of the videos in the gallery that played on a loop, which I found very disturbing). My mouth dropped open and I didn’t speak, but Nicola continued and what she had to say was also related to the gallery (but not about her as a cat).

“He’s obviously a big part of your life, because you talk about him all the time. It’s all complaints, but in a way, I think that’s your…love language,” she said, pursing her lips as if the words were sour.

Had I been complaining about him? I didn’t think so, because I’d been actively attempting not to talk about him at all. I didn’t love him, and that was crazy to even suggest. “Just like you were wrong about the tile you’d chosen for your bathroom before I stepped in, you’re also off base now,” I announced, but she rolled on to her big conclusion.

“I think you’re in love with your coworker, Dion,” my sister stated, and there was another pause. “Oh, sugar. Are you going to be sick?”

My stomach had revolted but I held it back. I put my hand over my mouth because the thought of Dion…ugh!

“Are you reacting this way because I’m right, or because I’m really, really wrong?” my big sister asked me.

“Wrong,” I said through clenched teeth. “So very wrong.” Dion? Lots of other people found him attractive, but I definitely wasn’t part of his fan club.

“Good,” she said, and breathed out in relief. “Because I was afraid that I was going to break your heart when I told you that he’s gay.”

“You’re wrong about that, too,” I told her. “Dion is with more women than I can count. He used to take a picture of each of them to avoid duplications, but his phone filled up so he stopped.”

She looked horrified. “Are you serious? He has to take pictures to remember what they all look like?”

“I’m very serious,” I said, nodding. “He comes off as fun and non-threatening, but he’s the biggest player in Detroit. I think he’s going to have to move soon because the pool of available women is smaller every day.”

“Every day? Do you mean that he’s busy with a different girl every night?” she asked, and I nodded again. I remembered the angry message written on his back in permanent marker and lately, I thought that one of his hookups had figured out where he worked (despite his lies about being a music producer, a club owner, or sometimes a sports agent). We had started getting a lot of strange phone calls at the gallery from someone who whispered angrily, saying things that sounded threatening butthat I couldn’t fully understand. But he told me to ignore it, that it was nothing.

“Wow. Wow,” Nicola said. “I never would have guessed. Has he tried anything with you?”

“No, of course not,” I answered, and she seemed satisfied. It was true that I didn’t want anything to do with Dion, not romantically or sexually, and that the thought of it made me ill. I didn’t even want him as a colleague, but I also found it slightly offensive that he’d moved through so many women and had never even looked my way.

Men just didn’t. It was fine that Dion wasn’t interested, but I wouldn’t have been bothered if others were. But I was a woman who had always gotten excuses, things like, “No, I can’t go out with you because I forgot I have to help my friend move,” or “My job just decided to transfer me to Uzbekistan,” or, “My cousin joined a cult and I have to kidnap him.” Sure, a guy might do something sweet like sending flowers, but it was all just part of being friendly and flirty. He might continue to sporadically text and mention future plans, but nothing would ever come to fruition.

“So, the weird way that you’re acting isn’t about Dion,” my sister clarified, and I nodded but then shook my head.

“There’s nothing about Dion and also, I’m also not acting weird,” I defended myself.

She opened her mouth to begin a real interrogation but then her eyes went to the baby monitor. I’d also heard the little murmurcoming from its speaker, signaling that her daughter was waking up.

“Don’t you go anywhere,” Nic told me sternly, but the moment that she went upstairs, I took my opportunity to escape. I had other things to do with a Saturday besides dealing with my big sister’s crazy theories about my behavior. I had plenty of stuff to occupy my valuable time! Like, I was still working on cleaning up my atelier, a process which had been hampered by my discovery of a water leak in the ceiling. The building’s owner was supposed to have fixed it by now, but we’d had a heavy spring rainstorm before the last time I’d been over there, and it had still been dripping. It was very upsetting, and if I was acting weird? Well, that was the reason. I was afraid that I’d made a big mistake by renting that place, since I wasn’t even able to use it yet due to what might have been mold—

I glanced at my purse, because my phone had started to ring. I assumed it was Nicola summoning me back to her house, so I ignored it. But when it stopped, it started right up again, then again, and again…and fine, I would answer.

“Yes?”

---