Dirty. Megan Hart

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      “Sure, sure.” He sounded relieved.

      I pulled out a frozen pizza and put it in the oven. “How’ve you been, Gav? I haven’t seen you for a few days.”

      “Oh. My mom…she’s getting married again.”

      I nodded, pulling out plates and glasses to set the table. We didn’t always talk much, Gavin and I, which I think suited both of us fine. He helped me renovate my house, and I paid him with cookies and pizza, with books and with a place to go when his mother was out, which seemed to be quite often.

      I made a noncommittal noise as I poured milk into the glasses. Gavin got up to get the napkins from my cupboard and set out two. He washed his hands before he sat back at the table. His black polish had chipped.

      “She says this guy’s the one.”

      I glanced at him as I set out grated cheese and garlic powder. “That’s nice for her.”

      “Yeah.” He shrugged.

      “Will you be moving?”

      He looked up, dark eyes wide in a pale face. “I hope not!”

      “I hope not, too. I still have an entire dining room to paint.” I smiled at him, and he smiled back after a moment.

      I didn’t have to be a mind reader to see something was bothering him, nor a genius to figure out what it was. I could have played the part of mentor. Asked him sympathetic questions. We didn’t have that type of relationship, though, the sort that shared secrets or heartfelt revelations. He was the boy who lived next door and helped me around the house. I don’t know what I represented to him, but I doubted it was a guidance counselor.

      The buzzer went off on the oven, and I served us both sizzling slices of pizza. He added garlic powder. I used the grated cheese. We ate discussing the book I’d lent him and debating whether or not the next episode of the cop show we both liked was going to reveal the name of the killer. Gavin helped me load the dishes in the dishwasher and put away the leftover pizza. By the time I came downstairs after changing my clothes, he’d already spread out and taped down the tarp to protect the floor and opened the can of primer.

      We listened to music and painted for a few hours until he had to go home. Before he went, he browsed the shelves in my living room and picked out another book.

      “What’s this one about?” He held up my battered copy of The Little Prince.

      “A little prince from outer space.” That was the easy answer. Anyone who’s read Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s classic story knows there’s far more to it than that.

      “Cool. Can I take this one, too?”

      I hesitated. The book had been a gift. It had also sat on my shelf gathering dust for years without so much as a glance from me. “Sure. Of course.”

      He gave me a real grin, then, the first of the evening. “Great. Thanks, Miss Kavanagh!”

      He let himself out, and I stared for a moment at the empty space the book had left behind before I started cleaning up.

      That night I dreamed of a roomful of roses and woke with a gasp, eyes wide open to the darkness. Turning on the light chased it into shadows cowering in the corners of my room but could do nothing for the darkness lingering in my thoughts. I lay in my bed for a few minutes before admitting defeat and reaching for the phone.

      “House of Hotness.”

      I had to smile. “Hi, Luke.”

      I’ve never met my brother’s lover. They live in California, a world away from my safe nest in Pennsylvania. Chad doesn’t come home. I hate flying. So far, it’s just never worked out.

      We weren’t strangers despite this, and his reply warmed me. “How’s my girl?”

      “I’m fine.”

      Luke clucked into the phone, but didn’t comment further. A moment later Chad got on the line. He wasn’t so taciturn.

      “It’s after midnight there, sweetie. What’s wrong?”

      Chad is my younger brother, but you wouldn’t know it by the way he pampers me. I settled further into my blankets and counted the cracks in my ceiling. “Can’t sleep.”

      “Bad dreams?”

      “Yes.” I closed my eyes.

      He sighed. “What’s going on, punkin? Is your mother getting on your case again?”

      I didn’t bother pointing out that she was his mother, too. “No more than usual. She wants me to go with her.”

      I didn’t have to tell him where. Chad made a disgusted noise, and I had no trouble picturing his expression. It made me smile, which was why I’d called him.

      “You tell Puff the Magic Dragon Queen to leave you the hell alone. She can drive her own damn self wherever the hell she needs to go. She should lay off you.”

      “You know she can’t drive, Chaddie.”

      He launched into a tirade of cursing and colorful insults.

      “Your creativity and vehemence leave me in awe,” I told him. “You are truly the master.”

      “Do you feel better now?”

      “I always do.”

      He snorted. “What else is going on?”

      I thought of the man I’d met in Sweet Heaven. “Nothing.”

      Chad paused to give me time to add more, and when I didn’t, he snorted again. “Ella. Baby. Honey, love muffin. You don’t call me after midnight your time to talk to me about the Dragon Queen. You’ve got something else on your mind. Spill it.”

      I love my brother with all my heart, but I wasn’t going to tell him about my sudden lustful fixation on a stranger who favored odd ties and liked black licorice. Some things are too private to share, even with someone who knows all your deepest, darkest secrets. I mumbled something about work and the house, which he seemed reluctant to accept but did, anyway.

      The conversation drifted from my pathetic mental state to his work in an elder-care home, his plans to meet Luke’s family, the dog they were considering buying. He had a cozy little life, my brother. A good job. A nice house. A partner who loved and supported him. I relaxed as he talked, my body melting into my bed and sleep beginning to tease me into thinking it might return.

      Then he dropped the bomb on me.

      “Luke wants to talk about having kids.” His voice had dropped to a whisper.

      I might suffer from occasional social awkwardness, but even I know the appropriate response to that announcement is not “What in the holy fuck are you thinking?” but rather “Oh, that sounds nice.”

      I didn’t say either one. “What do you want, Chaddie?”

      He СКАЧАТЬ