Tease(72)

So when my phone buzzes, I grab it, my heart leaping into my throat, so sure he’s texting me.

It’s Brielle, though.

911 my house now!!!!!

Brielle is a lot of things, but she’s not an abuser of the 911 text. I throw on some jeans and a sweater and hurry downstairs, bracing myself for a flurry of lies to get out of the house. If I can get out to see her, maybe I can get over to Dylan’s house too.

“You’re a pinhead,” I hear Alex shouting as I come into the kitchen.

“Language,” Mom says, but her voice is tired and doesn’t sound very threatening.

“Yeah, pinhead, language,” Tommy snarks.

“You started it!” Alex shrieks.

“Yes, he did,” Mom agrees. “And I don’t know why, but you’re both going to your room now.”

“But Mom—” Tommy starts to say.

At the same time, Alex goes, “I’m still eating my cer—”

But then Mom drops her coffee cup into the sink so loudly that they both stop talking at once. The clatter of the metal cup in the metal sink is momentarily deafening, and way scarier than anything she could say right now. In the perfect silence that follows, my brothers get up from the table and leave the kitchen. Alex gives me big googly eyes as he leaves, but Tommy smiles, like, She’s all yours.

I’m stuck in the doorway, not sure if I should still try to get my keys from the hook by the back door or just retreat to my room. But when Mom sees me, she just goes, “You’re up.” Then she turns back to the sink and starts washing the dishes.

Slowly, I walk over to the other side of the counter, between Mom and the back door. “Yeah,” I say. “And I kind of have to . . . go . . .” I gesture lamely at the door, waiting for her to start yelling at me.

“Fine. Be back by noon.”

She doesn’t look at me and I hesitate, wondering what’s wrong. Isn’t she still mad about yesterday?

Slowly I reach for my keys on the hook, carefully lifting them so they don’t jingle. I don’t know why—the water in the sink is loud, and Mom’s tossing the dishes into the dishwasher like they’re all unbreakable (I guess most of them are, thanks to having two little boys in the house). I’m actually surprised I can hear her when she speaks again, because her voice is low, like she doesn’t have the energy even to talk anymore.

“Enjoy it. I don’t know what they’re going to tell us about you at this meeting on Wednesday, but I’m betting you won’t be driving that car anywhere without the boys in it for a long time.”

I’m looking at the keys in my hand, the doorknob in front of me, the whole life I have on the other side of it. Shit. I’d forgotten about that meeting, that phone call she was having with Dad. That was three lifetimes ago.

“Just go,” she adds. “Just get out.”

So I do.



“Wait, first you need to sit down.”

“And have some coffee.”

“Yes! This is totally sit-down-and-have-some-coffee news.”

“Can we smoke in here? It’s really have-a-cigarette news.”

“Sara doesn’t smoke. But we could go out on the deck.”

“Yuck, no, it’s freaking freezing outside.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

“Damn straight! Keep calm and don’t freeze your ass off.”

Brielle leans against the kitchen island, laughing, and Noelle doubles over on her chair. “Keep calm and wear some damn mittens!” Brielle shouts.

“Keep calm and what the hell does that even mean!” Noelle answers.

I’m standing at the other edge of the island, trying to laugh—or even just smile—but they aren’t paying any attention to me. They’re in their pajamas still, so obviously Noelle has been here all night. Brielle isn’t wearing makeup yet. She wipes her eyes and turns back to the coffeemaker, going, “Where were we?”

“You were keeping calm and telling Sara the good news!” Noelle crows.

“Oh my God!” Brielle whirls back around to face me. “Are you sitting? For the love of Christmas, sit down!”

I walk around to where Noelle is perched on one of the tall bar chairs. Brielle’s kitchen is huge, with a big table and this wide island area. One wall is just windows, overlooking their giant deck with its own table, chairs, and bar area, next to a large sunken hot tub. Beyond that the trees seem to go on for miles—maybe they do, I don’t know; Brielle and I haven’t been back there in years. It’s a gray morning, the branches wet from rain and starkly black against the flat metallic sky. Driving over I thought there was something ominous about the weather, but I guess I’d just overreacted to Brielle’s text. Whatever’s going on, it’s obviously hilarious. To her and Noelle, anyway. Stupid me, thinking I’d be the first person to hear about it.

“Here, stop pouting,” Brielle says, reading my mind. She sets a heavy Le Creuset mug in front of me and I lean over to look at the suspiciously thin brown water.

“This is coffee?” I ask. I don’t really mean to sound insulting, but it looks wrong.

“Shut up!” Brielle says, and Noelle cracks up again.

“I told you that wasn’t enough scoops!” Noelle shrieks.