Flipping Coins

I could see her try and swallow some of her wrath as she looked back to Brendon. In her normal, cheery voice, she suggested, “Why don’t you come inside? Denise and her kids are in the house if you want to say hi to them.”

Brendon grinned evilly, rubbing his hands together. “Great! Operation Humiliate Step-Sister In Front of Her Family has only just begun.”

Mindy simply rolled her eyes with a smile as Brendon walked toward the house. He snatched up my lower left arm and pulled me after him, saving me from a beyond awkward conversation with the devil herself.

“Why did you bring me here?” I muttered harshly to Brendon, who was still towing me into the house by the arm. “You know your mother hates me down to my last hangnail.”

Brendon grinned, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, Emie. You know that’s not true. My mother does not hate you---“

“I beg to freakin differ. I do recall her saying to, and I quote, ‘never lay a hand on my son or else I will personally make sure you will never be able to set foot in the United States again.’”

Brendon smirked at me. “Well it’s a good thing I’m the one pulling you right now and not the other way around. I don’t think your puny brain could handle learning a second language.”

I gave up trying to talk some sense into him. I was here, and no matter how much complaining I could do, that wasn’t going to change the current location I was at. If I left now, I would just seem plain rude.

Brendon pushed open the already ajar oak door, still gripping my arm, and we both stepped inside the peach-scented, orderly house.

“Hello?” called Brendon in his normal, loud voice. “Anyone here?”

In response, a distant voice asked, “Emie?”

I didn’t expect to hear someone say my name, so I instantly jumped at the unexpected voice.

“Emie!”

Before I knew it, Brendon’s warm touch was lost to be replaced by bone-crushing pressure being applied to my entire body. Similar to Mindy’s, a squeal of delight was roaring straight into my ear. It was difficult to breathe, so I just gave up and held my breath for dear life.

Finally, the destructor released me from their death grip and took a step back to observe me.

“It’s so good to see you, Emie!”

“It’s good to see you too, Denise,” I replied, still trying to regain my breath.

Denise looked the same as ever. She looked, in no way, similar to Brendon, although they were half-brother and sister. Brendon got most of his looks from his mom, while Denise received most of her looks from Brendon’s step-dad. She had narrow blue eyes and pouty lips, while Brendon and his mother shared wide brown eyes and ‘fishy’ lips. Both sides of the family were beautiful, though.

Brendon’s real dad still lived in Las Vegas, but he hardly ever bothered to keep up with his son. He preferred the single life: no family, no worries. I had had the pleasure of meeting him a couple of times. He was your typical, self-righteous asshole, to be quite honest.

Maybe that’s why I was able to relate to Brendon well, besides that we were just made to be in each other’s lives. My father didn’t give a flying shit about me or my mom anymore. Only, he had moved countries, and didn’t bother to leave behind contact information, unlike Brendon’s dad who still checked up on him every once in a while. He was at his graduation, at least.

Anyways, back to the matter at hand.

Truth be told, Brendon was nothing like his mother attitude-wise. But, then again, Brendon’s dad didn’t exactly seem like the outgoing type either. Brendon was unique in that aspect. He had developed his own personal fun-loving character. I loved that about him.

Denise was just as outgoing as Brendon, but only if she knew you really well. That’s how Brendon’s step-dad, Clyde, was too.

Denise hooked arms with me and pulled me away, to the kitchen. She began to babble on about how her life had turned out, how annoying kids were, and how oblivious husbands seem to be.

I looked over my shoulder, back at Brendon. He was still staring at us, smiling at me and his talkative step-sister. I gave him a small smile back just before the swinging door blocked him out completely.

“Emie, darling, whatever you do, do not get married privately. I regret it every day of my life. Get married with your family and friends there, and let them put you in the spotlight for that day, no matter how shy you want to be,” Denise explained, all the while pulling down pots and pans and ingredients of all sorts.

Then, out of nowhere, Denise's speech was interrupted. Far off, a child began to scream at the top of their lungs. It sounded as though it were coming from downstairs, in the basement.

Denise just simply rolled her eyes and shouted in a deafening voice, “SKYLAR JACOB SMITH, YOU BETTER PLAY NICE OR IT’S THE SPOON FOR YOU! AND HAYDEN, DON’T BE SUCH A CRY BABY! MOMMY LOVES YOU BOTH!!!”

I uncovered my ringing ears and tried to resize my wide eyes. The screaming from down below weakened to a slight hum of whining, and Denise nodded her head approvingly, pressing her plump lips tight at her easy success.

“Kids,” she giggled almost like a crazy woman, as she poured a thick red sauce into a silver pan.

I nodded, unable to relate. I didn’t have kids (thank the almighty Lord himself.) I wanted them when the time was right. Meaning when there was a wedding ring on my finger, of course.

That sparked another idea on my mind. It was both a good and bad idea.

I could have been pregnant. I could be standing here, in Brendon’s mom’s kitchen, with a fat belly concealing a developing soul. I could have Brendon’s baby in my stomach at this very moment, had that night been one of those kinds of miracle nights.

No doubt Brendon would have supported me, but would he be willing to have a more serious relationship because of it? Would he be mine if I were his baby mamma? And if not, would Evelia still be interested in him if she knew that he had knocked me up?

“Hey!”

My neck jolted upright, my bottom lip slipping from my teeth’s tight grip. Had I seriously been so concentrated in my thoughts that I had been sucking my bottom lip? How sad.

Brendon grinned, looking from my lip to my eyes. “Having fun there?”

“Oh, you know it, Santa,” I remarked, nodding my head up and down, squinting my eyes, and casting him two thumbs up.

Brendon laughed and turned to Denise. “Hey sis,” he greeted, flicking one of her wavy strands of hair. “Thanks for totally ignoring me out there. Made me feel extra, EXTRA special.”

Denise continued to stir the red sauce as if she hadn’t even noticed Brendon’s presence. “Well, that’s what you get for not calling since Christmas.”

“I’m a rock star!” Brendon exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air as though that explained everything.

“And I’m a house mom!” Denise snapped back, jerking up to meet Brendon’s eyes with a hard scowl on her face. “I don’t care if you were the freakin president, I still expect my brother to call every once in a while to make sure I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere!”

Brendon laughed and backed up a few paces, holding up his arms defensively. “Okay! Okay! I’m sorry, alright? I’ve been busy.”

Denise went tight-lipped again. Her face went a couple shades paler as she stared point-blankly at the pot of steaming substance. She said in a voice barely above a whisper, “I heard about what happened. You know, with the gun and all.”

Brendon’s grin immediately sagged down to a slight frown. Skin hues away from his natural tone, he asked in monotone, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Denise responded feebly, eyes seeming to become suddenly glasslike.

Before I could register it, Denise threw her arms around Brendon and began to wail, “Brendon! Why would you do that? You know how many people love you! Don’t you ever think about doing that again, okay?! God…and while we were off on our annual vacation to Oregon, too….” She began to sob into Brendon’s shoulder.

Brendon looked as though he were blanketed in a blanched sheath, for his skin went as pale as the pearl walls of the kitchen. He kept sucking in his bottom lip, eyes going red and watery, fighting tears back. He held onto his sister, whispering apologies into her ear as she cried unstably.

Feeling beyond uncomfortable, I steadily took baby steps to get to the door on the other side of the room that led to the backyard. At last, I managed to slip out, unnoticed, into the patio.

Once outside, I breathed out with gratefulness that I did not have to sit through another minute of that upsetting family scene. My hair whipped in my face and eyesight, clogging my vision so that all I could see was the magnified split ends my unhealthy filaments that ultimately made up my natural weave of disaster.

Spying a neglected beach chair set up in the far corner that was faded from being disregarded for however many years, I toppled to its location and placed my rump into the center of its netted comforter. My eyes browsed the tidy, perfectly-ideal backyard, with its trimmed plants and grass and freshly-painted white picket fence.

Brendon hadn’t grown up here. He had grown up on my side of town. We had lived a few blocks away from each other, and our houses both narrowly avoided ‘the hood’ part of Vegas. Well, one of those parts, anyways. Clyde, Brendon’s dad, had found this house when Brendon was 17 and already out of his parent’s care.

That’s when he began to get famous. That’s when I had lost him to music.

Shaking those previously daunting thoughts from settling in my brain, my eyes traveled to my right to find that Brendon was suddenly there. He was leaning against the doorway that led back into the house, watching me with unreadable eyes. His thin t-shirt was thrown back from the wind, revealing his slender frame, while his hands rested on his applebottom hips.

Wait, wasn’t that Ryan’s shirt?

“Hey,” Brendon greeted softly.

“Hey,” I replied in the same gentle tone.

“What are you doing out here, in the cold?”

“You know,” I sighed. “Just hanging out.”

Brendon tried to smile, actually failing for once. He shook this downfall off and said quickly, “Hey! You want to go to my room?”

I raised my eyebrows. “You’ve got your own room in this place? Since when?”

“Uh, since last year,” Brendon answered with a humorous snooty tone. “Duh, Em. Get with the program, girl.” He snapped his fingers to emphasize his valley girl accent.

“Uh, whatev, Home Skillet,” I remarked, jumping out of the chair and walking back inside, pushing Brendon in the shoulder right as I stepped back into the house.

We chased each other up the spiraling staircase that led to a whole other level of the quant, immaculate house. Along the way, we had developed another typically pointless Brendon Race that always resulted in his favor due to countless cheats he quickly devises on-hand. Damn his wits.

Once he had successfully reached the top of the winding staircase before me, Brendon laughed, pumping his fists into the air in victory. He began to chant, “Brendon is champ! Emie is loser! Brendon is champ! Emie is loser!” and so on and so forth.

Hearing his prideful words, I clutched the feathery fibers of the stair’s carpeting to assist myself in getting back on my feet. Climbing the stairs two at a time, I scowled up at Brendon and accused, “Champ of what? Of cheats? You tripped me halfway up the stairs!”

Brendon scowled back at me and said indifferently, “Umm, I don’t recall the establishment of a ‘no tripping’ rule beforehand, Emie. So for all I care, you can suck it.” Then he stuck his tongue out at me in a very childish manner.

Making a face, I replied, “Why would I want to suck your tongue? You are one twisted human, I’ll tell you that.”

Instantly recoiling his tongue back, Brendon rolled his eyes at me. “You’re just jealous that I totally whipped your ass just n---“

Before he could finish, his voice was overpowered by another shrieking roar….

“DON’T YOU DARE SAY THE A-WORD AGAIN IN FRONT OF MY KIDS, BRENDON! I WILL CUT YOUR TONGUE OFF AND ROAST IT FOR DINNER IF IT HAPPENS AGAIN! AND DON’T, FOR A SECOND, THINK THAT I’M LYING!”

Brendon’s eyes were wide, staring downstairs where Denise was still cooking brunch. His dilated pupils flickered up to me. In a whisper, he exclaimed in a carefully low voice, “Holy shit! That’s one fucking powerful voice!”