Chapter 7 #2
“Why not?” I ask incredulously.
“Let me ask this: why a Honda Civic?”
“They’re reliable, easy to park, and compact.”
“And so is a Porsche 911,” he says with another laugh. “Meet me in the middle, Angel.”
“Ugh, you have to stop calling me these pet names. Does Alex know you do that?” He shrugs.
“Even if he did, he wouldn’t care.” Just a little hit to the heart. Ouch.
“Oh, stop. I want a coffee,” I say as we hit the main strip of Spearhead. His mouth turns, not quite in a frown, and the little lines between his eyebrows form.
“How about in town?”
“No, I want to drink it on the drive.” I put my foot down.
His left eye twitches, and he concedes, slowing down to pull into the last open spot in front of “The Grounds.”
“What do you want?” I ask as I unbuckle, expecting him to wait in the car, but he’s unbuckling too.
“Can’t let you go in there alone,” he sighs. And I roll my eyes with a laugh.
“Am I not allowed to go places alone here? And why?”
“Shut up, Em,” he says, tugging on a piece of my long hair when I go to open the door. He glares at me, pushing my hand aside, then comes around to get the door for me.
I like him calling me Em.
The inside of the shop and cafe smells like cinnamon and yeasty bread, and I love it.
The floors are checkered linoleum, and premade gift baskets with red bows are littered throughout the space.
They even have a table dedicated to a small, live Christmas tree with stars hanging on it. Names scribbled on them.
Shame gnaws at me. Walking over to the tree while Blanks stands in line, I look at the names, ages, and wishlists and pluck the remaining non-claimed stars that are left.
When I get back in line, Blanks sees the stack and slides them from my hand to his.
“I guess I know what we’re doing after the dealership,” he says, verging on annoyance.
“You don’t need to come with me.” I go to take the stars back, but he lurches his hand away from me.
“And yet, I will.” I give him an eye roll while smiling internally.
We order our coffees, Blanks pays, and as we’re walking towards the door to leave, I say, “Look at that! No incidents occurred. No need to accompany me.”
But when I turn back around, I nearly run right into a pregnant woman. Luckily, Blanks saves the coffee, taking it from my hands.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” I say to the woman, who looks at Blanks and then back at me with wide eyes. I examine her, checking I didn’t spill any coffee, and when I see none, I give a slight smile, ready to move aside and be on my way.
“Emma, right?” She asks.
Blanks finally speaks up, “Brit, this is Emma. Emma, this is Brit, Alex’s sister.” My face naturally wants to highlight and smile and exclaim. But then I remember the heated exchange she and Alex shared yesterday.
I extend my hand politely, maintaining a smaller smile, one that I hope is warm and friendly.
And she takes it, mirroring my expression. After she lowers her hand and I lower mine, she turns to Blanks and says, “We’ll still see you on Christmas, right?”
Blanks gives me the side eye, then, looking back at Brit with a smile, says, “Wouldn’t miss it, Doll.” Everyone gets a pet name. Got it.
Brit nods, then walks past us to stand in line. It isn’t the warm sisterly welcome I may have imagined, but this isn’t exactly the marriage of my dreams, either. No use in feeling burned by my fake sister-in-law.
Arching my eyebrows, Blanks nudges me towards the door, handing me my coffee so he can open it for me.
“Tad icy? No?” I say as we get back in the car. Me first, then Blanks walks around to get his door.
“We’re 6,000 feet above sea level. What’d you expect?”
I laugh, “No, Alex’s sister, you oaf.”
He nods, “Just give it some time.” I don’t even know how long I’m supposed to stick around, so I just shrug and move on. Because as much as I would love a friend, even a sister-in-law who’s friendly, I know it’s best to keep expectations low. Real fucking low.
Blanks hands me the stack of stars, probably 10 or so, and I flip through them as we start our commute.
Jacob, 9 yo
Wants a scooter
Come on, Jacob, dream bigger! This is the first Christmas, maybe ever, that I have money in the bank. More money than I’ve dreamed of making in a lifetime. And not a single soul to buy gifts for. Aside from these stars.
Teller, 6 yo
Wants a science set with test tubes
Yesss, Teller.
“What are you smiling at?” Blanks asks, checking me.
I shrug, “Just excited.”
“About your new Range Rover?” He asks, and I laugh.
“You’re so stupid. No. And also, no.”
After 15 minutes, I ask if I can turn on the radio, and he lets me choose. We listen to Christmas music and sip our coffees in quiet, comfortable companionship.
“You’re sure there’s nothing going on between you and Alex?” I ask, zoning out on the beige hills we’re now driving through.
“You know what they say about stupid questions, Angel?” Stupid because I had to ask?
I couldn’t help the eye roll if I tried.
“I’m either driving to the Range Rover dealership or Mercedes. Decide quickly.”
“I want a Bronco,” I decide fast, even surprising myself. He nods at the compromise.
“Then that’s what the princess gets.” I hate that nickname, though. I sock him in the arm.
“I’m not a princess.” He gives me a look, in turn, that heats my core.
“Not a princess at all, Angel.” His voice is slick, lapping up my spine. “The perk is we can take your top off in the spring.”
My cheeks heat, and he laughs. “Off the car. We’ll take the top off the car.” I sock him again, then turn up the music to ear-bleeding-loud the rest of the drive.