Page 52 of More than Paper

XOXO-

Jamison

PS - I’m still eagerly waiting to read your stories.

I roll my eyes.No one I know has ever read anything I’ve written, but maybe I should let him read one so he can see that they aren’t that good and stop bugging me?

I quickly change into a dress, put on my knee-high black boots, and freshen up my makeup and hair. “All ready,” I chirp as I walk out of my bedroom.

Then I freeze. My brother is sitting at my table, with the note Jamison sent along with the laptop in his hand.

He glares. “You’re sleeping with a guy you met less than a week ago?”

Blood rushes to my face.

“And he’s buying you expensive presents?”

I’m paralyzed. I don’t know what to say. I can’t deny either of the things my brother is saying.

“You trying to end up in Mom’s situation?”

How dare he.

I get over my shock of his questions and throw him some daggers of my own. Years of his warnings about not ending up like our mom, and all the guilt I always feel about what to do in relationships and what not to do come flying to the surface. This past week I’ve been happy. I was happy with Jamison, and I’m tired of living in the shadow of my mother’s mistakes. But most of all, I’m tired of his constant judgments and unsolicited advice. “You don’t know anything. Stay out of my business.”

“You’re making bad choices, Quinn. You don’t know this guy, and you don’t need a sugar daddy.”

I’ve never done it before, but I slap my brother. Hard. My hand stings from the contact, and his cheek has a red mark.

He brings his hand to his face, and his eyes widen.

“Leave.”

“Quinn—”

“No, Steven. Get out.” I point to the door as tears well in my eyes.

“I’m trying to protect you. You don’t know this guy, and I don’t want you to end up heartbroken like Mom.”

“Stop saying that,” I yell. “I’m not Mom!”

“No, but you’re making bad choices,” he repeats.

“You don’t know what choices I’m making.”

“Oh yeah? What’s this about your stories? Please tell me you aren’t living in la-la land again with pipe dreams. It’s bad enough you chose a career that doesn’t pay you more.”

“Do you ever listen to yourself? All you think about is money. And the only thing it has given you is the ability to be a miserable, lonely person.”

He jerks his head back.

Silence surrounds us as both our assumptions about the other person are made clear.

“You’re not my father,” I quietly tell him.

“No, I’m not. But we know how he is, and at least I care enough to look out for you.”

My heart softens. I sigh. “Steven, I know you love me and feel responsible for me, but I’m not your child. Just be my brother.”

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