Red Lights

I wish I could say I called Dylan later that night, after he’d driven away, like I’d called my brother. I would like to say I told him that I was sorry, that I didn’t mean to explode and send him packing, that I was glad I met him and that I liked hanging out and well, that I liked kissing him. Too bad I didn’t do any of those things, although I surely wish I did.

The truth of the matter was, I did. I so much very did like hanging out with him, even on that first night, when I was so disgruntled and confused and thrown off from being stolen away from the only semi-constant I had anymore. My family, the business.

I liked the way he spoke, words falling over each other, punctuated by laughter and so very, very honest. I liked that he blushed when I threw a punch at Teen Wolf, defended it and proved to me that a show about teenagers struggling with the supernatural chaos being thrown at them could actually be worth watching. I liked that he brought me tea and beer within the same week without expecting anything in return. I liked how he blushed when I drunkenly, indirectly called him cute, I liked how his warm skin felt underneath mine and I liked how he came to my house when I called, even though I didn’t deserve his company.

I didn’t deserve anything he had done for me. From the first night, to the last, to this morning. He was a good guy, I told myself. He didn’t deserve to have to listen to me talk about all of the shit I had been refusing to share. He didn’t deserve to be kissed in a dark cab and then left high and dry by a girl who didn’t even want to admit they could be friends. He shouldn’t have had to deal with phone calls from me when I couldn’t breathe.

I didn’t call him again, but I wanted to.

I thought about it all, every second. That first night, everything was so off and unbalanced. A dark night filled with red lights, stopping and going again and again. The night at the bar, the cab ride after… the kisses trailing across my skin. The thought of the warmth of his hands, mouth and neck were almost enough to actually warm my still chilled skin, the same way a heat rushes over you when you watch a fire burning on the screen at the theater, even though it isn’t really there.

I hadn’t thought so much about one single person in a long time. Usually, people crossed through my minds fleetingly, only a few staying for good. My family, my brothers, Mel… I’d probably never spent more time in my life thinking about one person than Melanie. All of the Ifs, and none of the Whens.

When I told John and Dylan that I had never talked about Melanie before, it wasn’t entirely true. I’d never talked about her extensively. But I had, once, with my grandpa. A few months before he died, we were running errands together and grabbing a late lunch. I was driving and he was flipping through this notebook he kept with him always. It was just full of notes, about work, about groceries, about anything.

“Melanie’s birthday is coming up, isn’t it?” he said, his voice low and steady as always.

My grip tightened on the wheel without thinking, my shoulders steeling up, but I reminded myself to breathe through my nose. It was just Sal. I made a small noise that could be taken as a confirmation to his question.

“It really is a shame, such a tragedy,” he said, closing the book and placing it on his knee. His bald head fell back against the seat. “She meant a lot to all of us, really. Not just because she was so wonderful, but because she meant so much to you.”

I didn’t say anything really, just watched the road. I could feel my grandfather’s eyes on me. We were alike in the way that we didn’t like silence in the car and my lack of response was troubling, to say the least.

“It’s important to invest in people, you know. Not just business and work. People, too. They don’t always stick around, or they can’t or whatnot, but the memories and the things they teach us do. Hold tight to the ones you love and tighter to the words they speak.”

He turned the radio on some time after that, between the post office and the office supply store we frequented at least once a month. When we were done, he asked me if I just wanted a burger or something, and we swung through a car hop drive-thru and ate in the car, windows rolled down. He paid for my lunch even though I didn’t want him to and when I tried to slip a five into his shirt pocket later that night, he only pulled me to him, kissing my cheek once and patting my back.

“I love you, my little Olivia.”

“I’m not little anymore, grampa.” I said, kissing his weathered cheek back.

“I know. But that’s how I want you to be. Little and happy. Good night, lovely.”

My grandfather was the only person I would have felt comfortable discussing her with, really, simply because he was so quiet when he needed to be, understanding and well, right. He knew when to bite, he knew when to pull his cards back, he knew when to tell me to get the fuck over something.

Dan was like that, too, although I was just learning how much so.

He wanted me to talk. But I just wanted to listen.

Dan’s bedroom was split, half his, half John’s. It was kind of sad, but funny, two 23 year olds living together in the same room, in their grandmother’s house. They were doing it for all the right reasons, though. To watch out for her, for me, and so that my parents could move into a smaller, more affordable and comfortable home closer to the office and the department store my mom managed.

I knocked on the door, which was situated across from the bathroom we shared. I heard movement, feet hitting the ground and steps toward me. I bit down on a small smile that was threatening to spread across my face – the movements, the noises, the process of it all reminded me so much of when we were younger and I would knock on his door, asking for help on my homework or a ride somewhere. Dan swung the door open, blonde hair pushed from his forehead, looking down at me.

“Yeah?”

“Can I come in?”

He stepped back and I headed straight for his side of the room, the half equaling about the size of my own room. It had been converted from a den into a bedroom years ago when my grandparents just bought it, to accommodate for their three boys. Dan’s side wasn’t very tidy, but his bed at least was manageable. I sat at the foot, tucking my feet under myself.

His laptop was open by his pillow, facing me, his music player up and running, speakers muted.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, Dan,” I said, leaning against the wall his bed was pushed against. “I just don’t really know how to… deal with anything.”

“Sometimes dealing with something just means accepting it the way it is and not trying to change it,” he closed his laptop, sliding it under his pillow and taking a seat. “Like, when Sal died, and dad just kind of took things over for Security… I couldn’t really deal with it. I mean, he was just so calm about all of it. His father just died and he just booked more events like it never stopped.

“I was really upset and the night after the funeral he asked me to help him move some stuff from grandpa’s garage to the back closet in the office and I just… blew up. I said a lot of things I shouldn’t have. Dad just said, ‘this is what he would have wanted me to do. I had my time, I cried, I am mourning him, Dan. But I know my father and he wouldn’t want life to stop for him.’ That’s the kind of thing I mean, Liv. It’s okay to go about things without them. That’s how it works.”

I nodded, burying my hands under me. I’d started to realize, really, that I had been acting wrongly to a lot of people for a long time, just by burying myself with her. I looked down at myself, my crossed legs, my purple toe nail polish.

I sighed.

“Can I ask you for boy advice? Because I really think I fucked it up with that kid.”

He flinched, eyebrows shifting over his own blue eyes, almost identical to our mother’s.

“The kid we pulled out of the Music Video Awards?” I nodded. “What happened?”

So I told him. From the very beginning, when we walked the street after he walked out on the show, how I told Dylan about Melanie, about crashing Beso and the way he annoyed me all night. Dylan had rushed over when he called and found out I was sick, how he brought me tea and let me borrow his DVDs. I almost forgot to tell him that he had stopped by before the Senator’s dinner, but didn’t, and that he kind of asked me out for the drinks I’d been promised. I told my brother about the weird, country bar we’d gone to, how I knew I was drinking too much, but that it didn’t feel like too much when we were filling the table with our embarrassing stories, and that I – god, I should be ashamed of myself for sharing so many details with my brother (but he did want to know, granted) – that I kind of wanted to go home with him when he suggested we leave.

I don’t know what I was thinking, really, when Dylan had said “I think maybe we should go.” I didn’t know what he was thinking, but it did cross my mind – somewhere between our booth and the street – that I wouldn’t be going home right then. But he had taken me home. He had got the cab, sent it on its path, made sure I made it safely into my own house, drunk and alone.

Drunk and alone, only moments ago my lips attached to a boy who was equally drunk, but thinking much more clearly than me.

Then I told Dan about waking up, more than just a hangover reminding me of the night before. My thoughts were swirling when I’d come out and he’d been there, concerned, and I had attacked him – how after, when I went back to my room and he left the house, I cried and hated myself for fucking everything up for so long. Wishing things were easier to fix, that people were malleable and soft enough to return to safer, unbroken shapes. I called Dylan, I didn’t know why, but I did. He rushed over, again. Told him about the morning. Scared him away. Pushed him away.

I was done and my brother was just… looking at me.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“You’re supposed to help me, Dan!”

He laughed. “I want to, I really do, but I don’t… just, don’t do nothing, Liv. If you want to, do something about this. But don’t ask me what, because I don’t have a fucking clue about that.”

“You’re like probably the worst big brother in the entire world right now,” I said, my head falling back against his wall.

“I take that as a compliment. You need to figure this one out on your own.”

---

“Hello?”

“Hey, so I need to talk to you… hey, hey wait you’re not Dylan?”

The voice filled my ear again. “No, this is Tyler. He left his phone here when he left earlier… is this the hot girl in the black dress at that house in Culver? Olivia, right?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s her,” I said, switching my phone to the other ear. “Olivia, I mean. And I guess also the girl in the dress… were you in front of my house? Are you calling me hot or did you hear that somewhere?”

“I have eyes. I’m taken, not stupid,” he said, laughter in my ear. “Yeah, Dylan wanted to stop by before we got some food. I heard you guys had fun last night, yeah? He didn’t really wanna talk too much about it, but I haven’t seen him grin like that in a while! Wanna sha –”

“I’m not talking about what happened, either. Not with you, anyway. I need to talk to Dylan.”

Tyler didn’t hesitate, and when he spoke, he didn’t even sound miffed that I wasn’t sharing details from last night either.

“He’s not here. Hasn’t been since earlier. I don’t know when he’ll be here, but I can have him call you I guess. Is it important?”

“It’s important.”

“I’ll tell him, then.”

I sighed. “He probably won’t call me back anyway. Even if… just like, stress it, please? Stress that it’s important?”

“Just come over, then,” Tyler said. “I don’t care, Seana shouldn’t care. I can send you the address from his phone.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I mean. I don’t care. If it’s that important, come on. But like, don’t bullshit around. If you’re coming, let me know.”

I moved my phone some, so that the microphone wasn’t resting by my mouth, and took a deep breath. I looked back at my brother, who had been sitting there so silently, watching his laptop screen, watching me. He only glanced up for a second, noticing my silence, my stare, and raised an eyebrow. I edged toward the side of the bed, stretching my legs until my feet hit the ground.

“Send me the address,” I told Tyler. We said goodbye. I started to leave the room to grab my things from my own.

“You’re leaving?”

I nodded, looking back at my brother from the doorway.

“You sure about this, Liv?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I am.”

---

I’m not sure what I was expecting when I followed the directions to Tyler and Dylan’s shared apartment, but I liked what I found. It was quaint, it was comfy, it smelled like boy – okay, yeah. So I didn’t like all of it.

Tyler answered after I knocked, the door flying open as he held fast to the doorknob.

He grinned, all crooked jaw and tan skin. “Hey, it is you!”

I made a face, raising an eyebrow. “Hot girl or Olivia?”

“Both, which is good,” he said, and I laughed, as if that could help my twisting stomach. The whole ride over I had felt sick as I followed the directions my phone spit at me, making two wrong turns and almost turning back for home. As Tyler stepped aside for me to come in, the twisting got worse, like it was a game – can you die from nervousness?

“I-I don’t know if you…” I looked to Tyler as he was speaking, walking over to a couch pushed against a wall. Across from it was a TV, something paused on it. I looked back to him as he waited, a question floating in the air. One I didn’t quite get. He went on. “I was just playing this game and I don’t know if… do you play? Like, you can if you want.”

“Nah,” I said, pointing to the opposite side of the couch where he was sitting. He nodded. “I’ll just watch, if that’s cool.”

“Watch and talk,” he said, unpausing the game. “I’m a multitasker. Like, sure I could play in silence but hold a conversation and play? Only proves I’m good at this.”

I laughed and he smiled, leaning over his controller as he faced the screen. He didn’t miss a beat.

“So, like, I’m still totally pissed at Dylan for walking out on that award show,” he was saying, hyphenating his sentence with a few cuss words as he went about pressing buttons, not taking his eyes from the shooter game in front of him. “But not really, ‘cause I know he had fun with you and you are really pretty and whatever, but I want him to think I’m still pissed. ‘Cause he bought takeout the other night and I’m kinda gunning for more of him guiltily buying me food. So, just so you know.”

I nodded, but didn’t respond. I didn’t really know what to think of this, or what to say to it.

“If you’re gonna sit on my couch, you have to talk to me,” he said. “It’s a rule.”

“What are you, a fucking eight year old?”

“Nah, I’m twenty two,” he smiled, turning to face me. “But thanks for actually talking.”

I smiled back and that’s kind of what it went like from there on out. Tyler playing, me watching, us sometimes talking. It kind of helped the weird feelings subside, like this was all normal. And then, after an hour, the doorknob rattled and Dylan walked in, holding a pizza under his arm.

“Fuck yes, pizza! Dude, you read my mind. You’re like the fucking best,” Tyler said, and before I knew it he was walking in front of me, taking the box from Dylan and walking straight into the open kitchen area. “The fucking best.”

I watched as Dylan shut the door, turning to walk into the kitchen, too, following the food, until he took a double take after noticing me, sitting on his couch. We locked eyes for a second and I had to glance away. I somehow choked out a small “hey.”

“What are you doing in my house?”

“Dude, wait,” Tyler said and we both turned to him, his mouth kind of full as he chewed, talking over a bite of pizza. “I thought you guys were cool? Like, I mean, she called and I let her come over but –”

“No, man, it’s fine. I mean. I don’t know. We were cool, earlier…”

“That’s why I’m here,” I said, pushing myself off the edge of my seat. “Can we talk or something? I feel bad about earlier.”

“Do you?” he said, and I really didn’t like the way his voice changed when he said it, rising and then falling just slightly. He shook his head, and then nodded, walking toward and then right past me, motioning for me to follow him.

He pushed open a door just off of the living area, flicking on the light. I was just in the doorway when I realized it was his room, walls white, covered in posters, a bed pushed up against the far wall, half-heartedly made up with a navy comforter. He shut the door behind me and I glanced up at him, just those two or so inches from the top of my head to his, accidently catching his eye. I turned back around, taking three steps into the room before turning around to him again.

His place next to the door was empty.

I turned back just as he fell down on his bed, just on the edge, arms resting on his knees. His hair was tousled, extremely so, like he’d been running his hand over it repeatedly like he was doing now. He stopped, seeming to catch himself, his hand falling from his hair to floating between his legs, turning into a fist that he wrapped his free hand around.

Face turning up to me, he grumbled. “What’s up?”

I bit down on my bottom lip, standing in the middle of his room, saying nothing. He raised an eyebrow, waiting. Then he nodded, curtly, one time, looking away from me as he did so.

“Okay, since you’re just gonna waste my time and Tyler’s gonna eat the whole fucking pie and I’m starving so –”

“I’ll buy you another pizza! Will you just… will you just like shut the fuck up for me? For like a second? I’m trying to figure this out.”

“Hey,” he said, dropping his hands from his knees and standing up. “You invited yourself over to my house –”

“Yeah, just like you made me leave work, and came over to my house without my permission, twice, and then fucking stormed away –”

“You practically told me to leave, Olivia! I know when I’m not wanted.”

“I didn’t ask you to come just so that I could run you away,” I said. “You know that, right? I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“What did you mean to happen, exactly? What was in that plan of yours? In this one? Why are you here?”

I wanted this to stop, this spitting of words and emotions. I didn’t like the way anything he said was falling from his lips, nor what I was saying right back at him. I took a deep breath.

“If things are going to end between us here, I don’t want them to end the way they did, okay? That’s why. You know better than anyone that I’ve had enough unwanted goodbyes to last a lifetime.”

“So this is goodbye?”

“I… what? What? No. Not… not necessarily?”

He sighed, all strung out and lingering in the air between us. He ran his hand through his hair again. “Just tell me what you want, Olivia,” he said. “Be honest. If you want this to end, I’ll let it. I’ll do what you say this time, no games. I promise. Just be straight with me, Liv.”

That was it, though. I didn’t know what I wanted from him. How could I know when I barely knew how to get on with myself, had been failing to do so for years now? No, I didn’t know what I wanted from Dylan. I couldn’t. It was asking too much of me. Two weeks, a few arguments and sitting on his couch with his best friend for an hour wasn’t going to give me an answer.

But I did know that I liked his laugh, the way he never knew what to do with his hands and the way my name sounded when he said it. I liked that he listened and didn’t run away after, not really. I liked having a friend that wasn’t also a coworker or shared my last name. I’d forgotten what it was like.

That was all I knew. I didn’t want him to just vanish from my life. I didn’t want another nasty or unexplainable goodbye, or no goodbye at all. If we were going to have a goodbye, I wanted it to consist of more than two weeks of memories for us to look back on.

There wasn’t a real reason that we had met, no fate to push us together or whatever, but there was a reason he invited me out, that he came to my rescue with werewolves and hot tea, that he listened when I talked, and that he kissed me back in that cab.

I was listening, finally, to what he hadn’t been saying all along, but that he had been showing me the entire length of time we’d known each other.

“We’re friends,” I said, finally, reaching up to tuck my hair behind my ear. “Okay, I like you. I don’t want us to not be friends.”

He nodded, taking a step forward, fists buried in the pockets of his jeans. The expression on his face didn’t change. “Yeah,” he said, watching his feet as he moved. “You sure about that? Like, really sure?”

I nodded, and he spoke again. “But remember, you kissed me.”

I cringed.

“For fuck’s sake, what am I supposed to say? I want to be friends and maybe I want to kiss you too, but I’m not gonna just flat out say that when I’m… when I’m scared you might not even want to be my friend now!”

He nodded, slowly, taking one hand from a pocket to run over the top of his head. “That’s fair enough,” he said, seeming to weigh each word. I couldn’t help it – in all this, in my racing heartbeat and shaking bones and shallow breath – I rolled my eyes.

I rolled my eyes and he caught me, laughing with his full mouth. Laughing, walking, arms reaching. I fell against him, my hands moving to his back, cheek hitting chest, as I finally got the answer I needed.

“I hope you know I hate saying sorry and you made me say sorry a lot,” I mumbled, starting to pull away slightly. “Like, you suck for it.”

“I know,” he said, pulling me tighter.

It kind of hit me then, how quickly that was over. I hoped it wouldn’t all be like this, so quick, so fleeting. We’d met quickly, connected even faster and then… almost fallen apart. In such a short time. If I didn’t hate myself for almost ruining another relationship, I could almost pat myself on the back for being so good at it.

Tyler didn’t eat all the pizza, after all. He’d only eaten half when we came out from Dylan’s room, him first, me following close behind his back. Tyler pressed away at the game controller, greasy fingers, unblinking eyes and all.

“I’d make a joke about that being a really fast quickie, but we all know that these walls are super thin and that you’re a moaner, bro, so I won’t.”

I noticed a blush on Dylan’s neck as we walked to the kitchen, slowly rising to his cheeks as we took a seat on stools sitting around the kitchen island the pizza box was set on. We each took a slice, eating, not speaking, while Tyler played on, calling out to us every once in a while for a little feedback to prove his true multitasking skill.

After another slice each we found our way back into the living room, Dylan joining Tyler in the game while I sat between them, watching. I’d watched my brothers play like this before, but even they didn’t level up to the intensity that Dylan and Tyler played at. It was kind of fun, hearing them complain and talk and cuss over it all, Tyler shooting out weird questions for me every few kills. I liked it, watching, sitting, laughing, breathing, listening.

I finally went to leave some time later, after they took a break to piss and order another pizza. Dylan followed me out into the driveway, hands shoved in his pockets.

The pizza delivery dude had pulled in behind me just as we got down the steps. He looked at us as he walked closer, holding the hot box in his hands.

“You guys live here?” he said, nodding toward the house.

“I do,” Dylan said, taking a step closer to the guy before pointing at the house. “Can you take it up there, though? Just knock. My roommate can pay for this one.” The guy nodded, walking around us, up to the door. We walked farther down, to my car. I unlocked the door, but didn’t open it or anything – I still had a car parked behind me.

“Hey, fuck you, man! Best roommate ever my ass!” Turning back, I saw Tyler standing on the front step, handing the pizza guy some bills. I laughed, covering my mouth with my hand, at the look he was giving the tall, lanky boy next to me. Needless to say, the pizza guy took the money and ran. Sort of. The door to Dylan’s house slammed shut.

“Thank you,” he said, as we watching the pizza guy finally back up and leave.

“Why?”

“For not making me come begging three days from now when I missed you really bad.” I laughed, looking up at him. My car was unlocked, but I still hadn’t opened the door. I probably should go. I took a step back, my back bumping my door.

“You wouldn’t really,” I said.

“Oh, I would have,” he chuckled, smiling slightly. “It’s sad to say even when I was mad at you, I missed you.”

“It’s a sick world,” I muttered, taking note of the way he bit down on his bottom lip just now. I really, really should go.

“It definitely is,” he said. “But I like it. Don’t you?”

I didn’t really know where he was going anymore, not with his words. He was just looking at me, lips moving slightly every once and a while. I wasn’t really paying attention to it, just kind of staring up at him and trying to blink and trying to will myself into pulling on the door handle that was just a few inches from my wrist and trying to figure out if he’d gotten closer even though I could have sworn I had taken a step backwards.

He mumbled something and I really didn’t hear him at all.

“What’d you say?” I asked.

He repeated himself and he did take a step forward, my body moving closer to the car without me really meaning it to or wanting it to.

My mind processed his words just as I realized what he meant by them.

“I’m going for it.”

And then I wasn’t just pressing myself to the side of my car, but being pressed to it; warm hands holding the side of my face, turning it upward to him, lips pressing to mine fully. This kiss was different from the kiss in the cab, because now I was the one who was surprised, pinned, being kissed. But like before, in the cab, that didn’t take long to change.

I kissed him back, pressing my body up on its tiptoes slightly to reach him just that much better, my hands finding and tugging at the fabric of the t-shirt covering his sides. I pulled him closer, still reaching, his fingers moving to my neck.

He broke away, his nose brushing against mine as his forehead dropped, gently pressing against my hairline. I blinked, my hands curling around his sides, feeling the tickle of his exhale against my skin. He placed another single, light kiss to my lips.

“Oh,” was about all I said next, still staring up at him, still holding his t-shirt under my fingers. He chuckled, another wave of breath brushing over my skin, this time my neck as he bent his head, touching my shoulder. I moved my hand to the back of his neck, feeling the skin just below the nape, my lips ghosting over his jaw.

But then he chuckled again, this time even breathier than before, reaching up to take my hand from his neck, to help me remind myself that I didn’t need to live my life on my tiptoes. I fell back against my car. He still held my hand in his.

“Totally not sorry about that,” he said.

“Me neither,” I mumbled, willing myself to remember to breathe.

His thumb brushed across the back of my hand, leaving its warmth in its path. I found my breath, my words.

“You’re not supposed to kiss your friends, you know. It can kind of confuse things.”

“Who’s confused?” he grinned, leaning closer to me again.

I pressed my palm to his chest just as his lips came dangerously close to mine. “I am!”

“Are you, though?” he asked, stretching his neck, his words tickling my ear. I twisted my neck, pressing my ear to my shoulder as I dropped my hand from his chest and twisted away from him slightly.

“Keep those lips away from me, O’Brien!”

He laughed, throwing his head back, his reach catching my arm, my hip. Pulling me back to him, where he didn’t try to kiss me again, just held me at the waist and stared into my face.

“We don’t have to just be friends, you know. I’m good to skipping to the part where we make out and make my roommate uncomfortable.”

“I know you are,” I said, my arms sliding around him.

After a while, when I didn’t say anything else, he leaned forward, nose almost touching mine, his pale lips stretching out in this weird, creepy, adorable, closed lip smile. “Wanna get a drink?”

I shook my head, letting my hands fall across his back, sliding over his sides before letting go. I pulled them to myself, but didn’t pull myself away from him.

“Nah, um, go… go entertain Tyler. Eat that pizza, have fun and you know just… just text me. I’ve got something I need to go do.”

He nodded, but he didn’t look away even after I shook my head in response to his poised, questioning brow.

“I’ll see you later, Liv,” he mumbled, finally letting me open the door to my car, climbing in. I nodded as he shut the door, my key turning in the ignition. I rolled down the window when he hadn’t moved away from the car and he leaned down, almost completely at the waist, sticking his head inside.

“I really like you, you know.”

I smiled, reaching to turn down the music that streamed through the radio, filling the car. I turned back to him.

“I really like you, too.”

His face was so close to mine, hovering just inside the window. I leaned forward, to kiss his cheek, and he moved slightly, causing me to catch the side of his mouth. I pulled away after a moment, glaring, but he just grinned, whispering a bye as he tried to back out of my window, hitting his head in the process.

I watched him walk back up the drive, holding the back of his head where he had bumped it, and rolled my eyes before sliding my gear shift into reverse, rolling out of his drive.

---

Dan and John were sitting on the couch when I got home, the television on low, talking about something I didn’t quite hear while I shut the door behind me. When I turned back to them, they were quiet. I offered them a smile, which they barely returned. I fought the urge to roll my eyes, I really did.

In the kitchen I could see my grandma, working away at chopping an onion. Something was sizzling in a pan next to her, and after laying my keys and wallet on the counter, I realized it was the leftovers of a roast from the other night, gravy bubbling around it.

“Do you need some help?” I asked, resting a hand on her shoulder. I raised my voice, turning my head slightly. “Since my brothers are being absolutely lazy and not helping at all.”

“Hey, we offered! She didn’t want our help.”

She laughed, tossing some onions into the skillet, then some baby carrots. She turned to me, smiling, her shoulders moving up and down. “Well, I didn’t. And I don’t need yours either.”

I frowned, stepping away from her side. I liked that she wanted to do things for herself, because for a long time after my grandfather’s death she wanted to, but struggled to, which is why my brothers moved in with us. That, and rent is cheaper when you’re splitting it with your little sister and 74 year old grandma.

Still, she didn’t cook regularly anymore, and I wondered what had gotten into her. I went to the fridge to grab a bottle of water, taking an extra one to hand to my grandma.

“What made you want to cook?” I asked, hip against the counter. I watched as she stirred the contents, glancing at me as she did so.

“I don’t know,” she said, reaching a hand out to pinch my wrist between her fingers. “I figured it’s as good a time as any, that we all need a little home cooked something something.”

“Let a woman cook,” John said from behind us, his feet smacking against the floor. “Are you hungry or not?”

“I am hungry,” I said. It was true, amazingly. I really was hungry, even after two pieces of pizza at Dylan’s not too long ago. I turned to my brother. He leaned against the fridge, watching us, arms crossed over his chest. “And more than ready to gnaw off your arm if you don’t back up and stop being so quick with things.”

He laughed, ignoring my threat. I was no real match for a kid as tall as him, or as strong as him. Dan still struggled to take him down in any and all impromptu throw downs that took place in our living room.

“You okay, Liv?” He asked, not moving from his spot.

I nodded, twisting at the cap on my bottle. “I am now.”

And then I almost forgot where I was, but not so much when my grandma’s voice rang out to me. “You were having troubles?”

I laughed, turning to her. She had a wooden spoon in hand, stirring dinner, with another hand on her hip. She was staring at me, all graying hair and big blue eyes, a few inches under my height, waiting. I’d almost forgotten how much she loved being into things, knowing everything. She was the nosiest, worst secret keeper in the world, but I still loved her for it. And she was still waiting, stirring away at the skillet.

“Boy troubles,” I told her, and her face relaxed some, a smile forming. “You know how it is.”

“I do,” she said, turning back to the stove, semi-pleased. “That’s my whole life, honestly. Your grandfather, your Daddy and his brothers, and now my grandchildren. They’re all trouble, every single one of these boys.”

I didn’t realize Dan had walked up on us until he made a disappointed noise, reaching to rest his arm over my grandmother’s shoulders.

“We’re no trouble, though!”

She laughed, smacking his hand away, but still smiling up at him. “No trouble, my ass! Your middle name is trouble, Daniel Hunter. Doesn’t change how much I love you, though. Doesn’t help me put up with you all, either.”

Dinner finished up soon and we all made our own plates, skipping out on using the dinner table once again. We piled into the living room, balancing hot plates on knees and couch arms while the news played in the background. Grandma and I sat side-by-side on the loveseat, glancing at the screen every so often.

A loud commercial came on and my brothers started talking about the product I wasn’t paying any attention to. An elbow nudged me, pushing at my own arm. My grandmother bent her head close to me, leaning into my ear.

“You’ll tell me about this boy later, won’t you?”

I smiled, laughing. “I will. I promise.”

She nodded, grinning. “Good, good.”

A moment later, I felt a nudge again. She leaned forward, whispering.

“You are all right, yes?”

I looked at her, and nodded. “I think I really am.”

She nodded again, smiling, shifting her weight to press her lips to my cheek.

The commercials ended and the news came back, the anchor starting into the evening traffic report. I glanced toward the couch, where my brothers were, and caught Dan’s gaze. He raised an eyebrow, his forehead wrinkling some. I smiled back at him, turning back to the screen. I glanced back a moment later, his gaze on the news program. He was smiling.