Page 52 of Rumi: The Hawthornes

“Ah, Micky,” I said, knowingly. Rumi’s brother was intense. Even when we were kids and he’d seemed pretty easygoing and mellow, I’d always noticed something just under the surface that made me cautious. I’d never been scared of Mick because from everything I’d seen, he was a genuinely kind dude, but I knew instinctively that something inside him could burst at any moment.

I’d been proven right on that when he’d lost his shit and trashed Emilia’s old house. I’d never seen anything like it before or since.

“You want a drink?”

“You have soda?” I asked, laughing when he made a noise of disbelief.

“Do I have soda? Ha.” He opened the fridge and gestured like a model on a game show. “Pick your poison.”

The entire bottom half of his fridge was packed with different kinds of soda. He liked to pretend that they were all mixers, and he was a party animal, but I’d been to his parents’ house—they always had a fridge full of drinks too. He hadn’t been able to live without the luxury once he’d moved out.

“How’s work going?” I asked, grabbing my soda. “Still changing oil?”

“Don’t remind me,” he moaned. “Today, I added wiper fluid. Highlight of my career.”

“You’re such a whiner. You know what I did yesterday?”

“What?”

“I walked a little old lady around the store for almost an hour because she thought she wanted wood glue, but what she actually needed wassuper glueand we had to travel downevery single aisleuntil she’d figured it out.”

“Was she nice?”

“She was batshit,” I exclaimed, throwing up my hands. “And I don’t know how she’s still driving because she could barely see two feet in front of her face.”

“I love old ladies,” Rumi replied with a grin.

“You only say that becausetheylove you.” I rolled my eyes. “Like the ladies at the Laundromat.”

“I can’t help it that I’m charming.”

“Uh-huh.”

“They’re gonna miss me now that I’m washin’ my shit at home.”

“How’s that going?” I asked, leaning against the counter. “Buying appliances second hand is always a little dicey.”

“That reminds me,” he said with a sly smile. He held up one finger in a wait gesture and jogged toward the laundry room. Thirty seconds later, he came back and took the soda out of my hand and set it on the counter.

“Come on.” He tugged me toward the laundry room.

“Hey, it looks good in here,” I said, looking around the room in surprise. He’d set up the washer and dryer and added a small shelf to hold… motorcycle parts?

“Ignore those,” he ordered with a laugh. “I didn’t have anywhere else to put them and I wanted to remember where they were.” He glanced at the little light on the washing machine. “Okay, we’re about there.”

“About where?” I asked as he jerked me forward. “Whoa!”

“Give it a second,” he said when my ass landed on top of the washing machine.

“What am I doing up here?” I asked in confusion.

“Wait for it,” he murmured, his hands on my hips.

A bark of laughter left my mouth when the washing machine started to spin and thunk, thunk, thunked forward and back.

“Drum’s unbalanced,” he said with a laugh. “It put a dent in the wall—don’t tell Brody or he’ll shit.”

“Didn’t Micky help you with the sheetrock?”

---