Page 6 of Longing for the Minotaur
“Jeez,” I say under my breath. I can’t even dish up the takeout now?
“Just trying to help,” he answers.
Pretending I didn’t catch it, I head to the table with my plate full of food.
As expected, Banon talks about the football game, so I can quietly zone out while I eat. Then, as I also expected, we watch a silly movie together. I isolate myself by sitting in the La-Z-Boy, which Banon usually takes during family movie nights, forcing him to sit on the couch that’s a little too small.
We haven’t exchanged a word or a look. Sure, we’ve fought lots of times growing up, but it never lasts more than an hour or two before the dynamic goes back to normal. But this bad energy has persisted, and it makes me uncomfortable.
Finally, after the movie ends, the parents head to bed. I grab a book off the shelf and make to do the same thing, but suddenly, Banon’s behind me, one of his massive hands landing on my shoulder.
“Hey, Val.” He says it quietly, as if he doesn’t want our retreating parents to hear him. “Don’t go yet? Have a drink with me?”
I grit my teeth and close my eyes. Great. He wants to talk more. But Idon’twant to talk anymore, not with how many ugly feelings that surface inside me when we dredge up the past.
I learned this lesson the other night. Being truly honest with people never leads anywhere good—but I have no real reason to turn him down. We should probably make up before Thanksgiving. I would hate for my whole week off to be polluted by bad stepbrother juju.
“Fine. But you’re making me a cocktail. One of Dad’s fancy ones.”
Banon heads toward the kitchen, sending me a salute. “You got it, toots.”
CHAPTER
THREE
VALENTINA
When Banon returns carrying two of Marissa’s crystal glasses, each is filled with a pink liquid and a helping of ice. Then he gestures for me to follow him to the stairs, which take us down to the rec room. That’s more or less what I call the open space by the old fireplace where we used to play video games and watch TV.
I set up on the couch while he takes up the desk-chair-ball thing we’ve had since we first moved in. Once upon a time, Marissa had an office down here and used the inflated ball instead of a chair, but then she changed jobs and didn’t need it anymore. Now it’s just part of the furniture.
Picking up the remote, I’m about to turn on the television when Banon says, “Wait a sec. Try the drink first.”
“What, are you trying to roofie me?”
His ears fall back. “Come on, I just think you’ll like it.”
Something about his behavior tonight is so strange that I can’t wrap my head around it. Why, after years of pretending we’re happy siblings, is it suddenly like he’s trying to make up for being a shithead?
I sample the drink, and it’s sweet and tangy on my tongue—but not too sweet, just the right amount. It’s got cherry in it, I know that, and maybe some lime to set it off. There’s an herbal element, too, that I can’t quite place.
“Vodka, cherry cordial, lime juice, a bit of thyme simple syrup that your dad made,” Banon supplies.
The cocktail goes down smooth, and I could easily see myself drinking this entire thing in five minutes flat.
“I love cherry,” I say, letting out a long breath.
“I know.”
My eyes fly up to his. “You do?”
“You always got cherry and chocolate ice cream. Then you had that whole infatuation with Cherry Coke.”
“Oh.” I don’t even know what to make of it. He paid attention to whatflavorsI like? “Wow, thanks.”
Taking another sip, I relish it going down. Something about the air feels strange—charged. I lower my glass, and Banon is watching me again, studying me like he thinks I might hold the answer to a question that hasn’t been asked.
After a long moment of us simply looking at one another, he sighs and says, “I’m sorry, Val. I’m sorry that how I behaved when you were just a freshman set you up for four miserable years in high school. It doesn’t excuse what I did, but I really, truly had no idea how much of a ripple effect it had.” His hand tightens around his glass. “I knew it was wrong, letting my friends behave like that. But I…” His breath hitches, and he swallows down what he was about to say.
