The Anatomical Shape of a Heart(36)

He didn’t reply, so I figured the matter was settled. I tapped on the grater. “Now, I should warn you that Mom is a total freak about wasting food, so if you grate more cheese than we need, I’ll be eating Parmesan on cereal for the next week. Just so we’re clear, don’t do that.”

I stepped out of his way and grabbed a bulb of garlic from a bowl near the stove. On the other side of the kitchen wall, a loud boom! was followed by laughter. Guess Noah got the chair down.

“Hey, Bex?” Jack said as he grated. “Just so we’re clear, if we were alone, I’d probably kiss you right now.”

I gave him a swift glance as the hallway laughter made its way back to the kitchen. “Just so we’re clear, I’d probably let you.”

Dinner was oddly pleasant. There was barely room for all five us around the kitchen table, but it was nice to be squished next to Jack, and we played elbow wars every time we bumped into each other.

And if Mom had detected any weirdness between us earlier, it was long forgotten—partly because Jack and I were fine now, and partly because Mom was too busy flirting it up with him and Noah. (Who knew all it took was a couple extra guys praising her cooking to turn Katherine the Great into a gooey pile of strumpet? It was almost embarrassing.)

And the pleasantness turned to joy for my mom when Heath announced he was moving in with Noah at the end of the summer. And the joy turned to outright glee when Noah announced he was going to help Heath figure out a way to go back to school. Not for nursing, but to become a vet tech. “We were looking at a veterinary program in San Leandro. He’d have to commute across the Bay on BART—”

“But a few of my nursing credits will transfer,” Heath said excitedly. “I’m too late for fall, but I might be able to get in this winter. January, hopefully, if I don’t get turned down for financial aid.”

It took all of ten seconds for Mom to raise two victory fists in the air, and then she was hugging Noah like he really were a saint. Maybe he was.

So why wasn’t I over the moon about all this? I was happy for Heath, sure. But it was only a couple of weeks ago that he was out partying. And it was only a couple of months ago that the two of them were on “a break.” And it was only six months ago that Heath was ditching a community-college nursing program. Again.

But despite his long list of screwups, he was still my brother, and I guess I was sad he’d be breaking up Team Adams and leaving Mom and me behind.

“You can have Laundry Lair,” Heath said after dinner, leaning across the counter toward me while Jack and I rinsed off plates and filed them into the dishwasher. Now I knew why Heath had cleaned off the brimstone wall; he’d already been planning on moving out.

“I dunno,” I said. “On one hand, more privacy. On the other, it smells like car exhaust and mold down there.” I didn’t mention it was half the size of the dining room—a sticking point between us since we’d moved in here.

Heath smirked at me. “And once you get your stuff down there, it’ll smell like formaldehyde and pencil lead.”

“Where is your room?” Jack asked me.

“Not exactly the mayor’s mansion here,” Heath said. “Rooms are where you can find space to fit a bed.”

I threw a kitchen towel at my brother. “You can handle the glasses.” They never got clean in the dishwasher, so we had to do them by hand. I left Heath to it and walked Jack to my X-ray doors, explaining the whole dining-room-origin story, while, at the other end of the living room Mom and Noah conspired over coffee to plan my brother’s future. I left one door cracked so it wouldn’t look like I was luring Jack into my web to have my wicked way with him.

“This is amazing,” Jack said, peering through the mission china cabinet at my strange assortment of anatomy tchotchkes. “It’s … so you.”

“Go on and say it. It’s weird, I know.”

“It’s very weird. And I love weird, so you’re in luck. Whoa—is this vintage?”

I showed him my Visible Woman (which he went bananas over) and introduced him to Lester the Skeleton (which creeped him out). I almost pulled out the artist mannequin that my dad had sent—the wood-carving shop in Berkeley still hadn’t answered my email—but I was too worried Mom might stroll in and ask about it. And while I was busy freaking over the fact that Jack was in my room, he flipped through a couple of sketchbooks—random drawings I hadn’t posted online. Some were from art class at school. He stopped on a still life and chuckled.

“What?” I said, sitting next to him. On my bed. Some primitive part of my brain was already running through potential seduction fantasies, like accidentally spilling something on his shirt so that he was forced to take it off, and then I’d have to rub down his bare chest with my bedspread.

The primitive part of my brain wasn’t particularly bright.

Still Life with Fruit, Jack said in a faux-cultured voice. “I can practically feel the resentment in your hatching. Definitely not your favorite subject matter.”

“You’re not wrong. Guess you had me pegged from the get-go. Keep flipping through that and you might find some angry logo design, too.”

“Where’s”—he lowered his voice—“Minnie? Can I see her?”

“I’m not finished or anything,” I said, suddenly self-conscious.