Chapter Piper
Piper
Tati’s in my way.
She’s standing at the counter with her I NEED MY SPACE! mug, separating me from my cereal. The mug is filled with coffee, and she’s spent about a century drizzling almond milk into it. She slowly swirls a spoon through the liquid, adds another drop of milk—a literal drop—and stirs again.
Yeah, she needs her space, but she’s also lost in space.
“Scoot.” I hip check her.
She replaces the milk’s cap.
“I need that,” I tell her, gesturing toward my dry cereal.
“Oh, sorry.” She turns and puts the carton back into the fridge as I stand there, dumbfounded, empty hand suspended in the air.
“Jeez, Tati. What’s up with you?” I ask, claiming the milk.
“I’m tired.” She sips her coffee. “I was up late waiting for you.”
Usually, steam spews from her ears when I come in after curfew.
Last night, Henry and I stayed on the beach until way after.
But when he dropped me off at our apartment and waved to my sister from the front door, she came over wrapped in Mom’s afghan and made a couple of minutes of affable small talk. Not a word about the late hour.
“Sorry I missed curfew,” I tell her now.
She sits at the table. She’s showered, wearing her bathrobe, her hair twisted up in towel. Even without her smooth bob and flawless makeup, she looks better than I do on my best day.
“Text next time,” she says. “It’s not difficult.”
No. I guess it’s not.
“I know you think I’m a hard-ass,” she goes on. “And maybe I am. But only because I worry about you.”
“I get it,” I say, bringing my cereal to the table.
“I don’t think you do. How would I get by if something happened to you, Piper?”
This is getting real deep, real fast. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
She gives me a look that says, You can’t know that for sure.
She’s got a point. Who could’ve imagined that our parents would be taken so suddenly?
“I feel better,” she says, “knowing you’re out with Henry.”
“Because he’s such a hunk?” I’m joking, trying to lighten the mood, but I’m also remembering the way the muscles in his back contracted under my hands on the beach last night.
“Because as far as I know, he doesn’t make bad decisions,” she replies.
With the exception of yesterday, anyway. Acid rises in my throat as I recall his fear while we were hiding. He never would’ve snuck onto private property if I hadn’t pressured him. Tati thinks he’s a positive influence, and he is.
I’m a terrible influence.
That feels…really awful.
“He’s a good egg,” I say, flipping my curls like I haven’t a care in the world. “Thank god for Henry Walker.”
Tati, who’s reanimating thanks to her coffee, grins. “Let’s send up thanks for Davis Walker while we’re at it.”
I gag like the thought of my sister happy with a man disgusts me, but truly, I couldn’t be more grateful.
I appreciate her better moods and her more relaxed expectations.
It’s nice not having to tiptoe around the apartment, worried about some task I didn’t complete or some choice that was less than responsible.
I like having my big sister back.