Page 88 of Attractive Forces
I know my words were optimistic, but I have no idea exactly how unrealistic they are until I go downstairs and find Aaron half-heartedly putting ice cubes into plastic containers wrapped in different insulating materials.
My eyebrows fly up. “You haven’t actually finished doing your experiment yet?”
“Science fair sucks,” Aaron replies.
For a moment, a memory flashes back into my mind. Aaron, our dad, and me blowing bubbles together from our homemade bubble mixture. The happiness on Aaron’s face when he blew the biggest one ever.
But the memory bursts like one of those bubbles, leaving behind only a grumpy thirteen-year-old in front of me, his face like thunder as he watches the ice melt.
“Did you take the temperature before you put it into the container?” I ask.
“No.”
“Well, you should have. Otherwise, how are you going to control for that variable?”
Aaron shoves one of the containers violently, spilling some of the ice out of it.
“I’m not in the mood to deal with your shit, Aaron,” I warn.
Color rises on Aaron’s cheeks, and he stalks off to the couch, folding his arms across his chest.
“What are you doing?” My voice is impatient.
“I’m not doing it.”
I take a deep breath and try for my most reasonable tone. “Come on, we’ll start again. I’ll help you.”
“You can’t make me!”
My temper rises faster than the mercury in a thermometer.
“Why do you have to be such a fuckwit?” I yell. “Seriously, the world does not revolve around you and your fucking tantrums. Other people have got shit going on themselves, you know!”
Aaron’s response is to jump up and storm up the stairs.
Shit. I sink into the couch and put my head in my hands.
I could have handled that better. I’m definitely not winning any brother-of-the-year awards right now.
The misery I feel about missing Logan rises in my throat like it’s going to choke me. I’ve handled so much of the shit in my life in the last few months because I had one bright shining light with Logan. But now that has been snuffed out.
I miss having him as my boyfriend. But I miss him even more as myfriend. I miss the way we’d laugh together, the way I could talk to him about anything. And I can’t imagine how I’m going to move on from missing him.
When Aaron thumps back down the stairs, I raise my head to look at him. He’s got his backpack on.
“I’m leaving. And I’m never coming back,” he says.
“Aaron…” I start, but I don’t get any further before he’s out the front door, slamming it shut behind him with a bang.
Shit.
Should I go after him?
But Aaron cooling off by taking a hike around the block is probably a good thing.
I climb to my feet and start to tidy up the mess in the kitchen, putting the ice cubes in the sink, rinsing out the containers.
There’s no way this project is getting done tonight.
