Page 39 of Brenna, Brat

Carefully, he unwound my hair and smiled at me. “Good, I made you blush. You were so bloodless that you scared me a little. Ready to eat?”

I took another breath, more slowly and much more controlled. That had been a joke he was playing, just a game like when we’d first met and I’d tried to guess his name. I was Bloodless Brenna, ha ha.

Over the slices of pizza, Campbell kept the conversation to things besides the obvious: the attempt on our lives, our loss of employment, the possibility that his father would be imprisoned, my parents’ impending divorce, and other sad topics. Instead, he asked me a lot of questions about sewing, and it became clear that he’d been doing some research. He wondered about different kinds of fabrics, for one thing, and healso had some very specific concerns about types of stitches. I was prepared to talk about all of that for hours, but after a while I did understand what he was up to.

“I’m fine,” I told him. “You don’t have to pretend to be interested in how to serge knits.”

“I am interested,” he said. “And I’m very glad to think about something besides everything else.” He took another bite, chewed, and then leaned back and pointed at my plate. “Here’s a new topic. Your pizza consumption also interests me.”

“What?”

“For someone who has a lot of opinions, you ate everything,” he explained. “You didn’t remove any of the toppings I ordered. I don’t see that too often.”

“You mean, the women you have over here for dinner generally pick at their food like children?”

He smiled. “I guess that’s what I mean.”

“Do you remember how many siblings I have?” I asked him. “If I spent time removing every last piece of every last olive, somebody else would have finished my share before I got to it. I like what I like, but I’m not dumb.”

“I never had to worry about getting enough for myself,” he said, shaking his head.

I bristled. “It’s not like we were starving!” Nicola had always made sure that there was enough. “I’m sure that your sister never went after anything on your plate.”

And then he looked very serious. “Did Sophie tell you about that? I don’t appreciate hearing it batted around like it’s a joke.”

“What?”

“I’m talking about Carrington’s eating disorder,” he answered. “She’s doing better now, but it will always be an issue for her.”

“Oh, I—”

“With how she grew up, it’s not surprising that she has shit to deal with,” Campbell said, frowning at me. “You should have heard how our mother used to talk to her about being thin and pretty. She was on my sister’s ass about that like our dad was on mine about hockey and grades.”

“Ok, I didn’t—”

“Carrington is doing the best that she can but it’s always going to be hard for her. She can’t avoid triggers, like someone who had a problem with drugs could say, ‘I won’t be around that guy anymore, because we used to shoot up together.’ Everyone has to eat and food is everywhere, there are references to it wherever you look. It’s necessary and inescapable.”

“I didn’t know she had a problem with that,” I said. “Honestly, I didn’t, and if Sophie knew then she didn’t tell any of us. I was just making a comment that…” I thought about what I’d been saying. “I guess I felt like you were implying that my family was neglectful and also that I was some kind of pig who ate too much.”

Now he looked shocked. “Neither of those things.”

“Because, you know, my parents were crap at taking care of us and it makes me really angry when I think about it. Nicola had to raise us like she was our mom.”

“I didn’t know that, either.”

“I may have a little bit of a chip on my shoulder about it. I was always pretty jealous of families that functioned better than ours. And maybe…maybe I also have a little chip about how I look. With me coming right behind Juliet in the birth order,” I clarified further.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. I’m just saying that I wasn’t trying to bring up anything hurtful about your sister. I mostly hate my siblings but I won’t let anyone badmouth them, either.”

He shook his head. “You don’t hate them.”

“I do,” I answered, then added, “often.” I removed one of the olives on my piece of pizza. “Sometimes.”

“How many texts have they sent to you today, after Nicola told them all what happened?”

“A lot,” I sighed, and checked my hair. It definitely smelled minty, but I really thought there was still an undercurrent of smoke. “Dion has been texting, too. He’s really scared because he’s sure the bomb was meant to kill him. And I think that’s true,” I added. “I think you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that one of his former partners wanted to burn him alive. That’s an extreme reaction to a breakup, but my sister Addie keeps telling me that we’re all entitled to our feelings.”

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