Chapter Twenty-Seven
twenty-seven
adrian
Muffled from behind the door, my sister’s voice is distinct enough to carry. “...Warned you not to buy a house so close to the water.” The door swings open, and her eyes drop to the rainwater pooling on her threshold.
I step to the side, soaked shoes squelching on the hallway carpet. “We’re fine, thanks for asking.”
Iris’s eyes pop wide at the sight of Hope. “You stayed?”
I may have neglected to mention I was bringing her. Can my ex-girlfriend come along too? Not a simple topic to broach over text.
Still, I didn’t realize Hope’s presence would come as a total shock. “You really don’t watch our channel, do you? Hope’s in all our latest content.”
“Is she?” My sister packs a whole lot of subtext into two words, but she pulls the door open wider to let us in, not bothering to conceal her open appraisal of Hope.
Maybe I ought to have rethought coming here, but I’d already set up the plan with my sister, and she’d suspect something if I ditched out on it. Not that I plan to give her any hint of what’s happening between me and Hope. Especially since I’m not sure yet what to make of it.
I attempt to keep my dripping contained to the tiled, narrow entryway, and Hope follows suit. It’s a lot of dodging elbows and hips as we both endeavor to peel off our outerwear without inadvertent contact, like two live wires primed to ignite at the slightest touch. I manage to shimmy out of my jacket first and step past the vestibule to give her room to maneuver.
Papers clutter every surface of the living room, bringing to mind my parents’ house, and admittedly, my own. Abstract prints in bold primary colors frame a pair of floating shelves, and on the lower one, math theory texts threaten to dislodge geometric bookends. The other holds a bedraggled collection of potted plants in varying stages of health, like a science fair project gone awry.
“I see you revived the spider plant.” I’ve only visited a handful of times since I helped her move in, what with our busy schedules and my nagging insecurities over what she might think of my online platform.
Iris eyes the wilting flora skeptically. “At the expense of the others. My course load this semester is intense.” She swings her gaze toward me, eyes alight with mischief behind her wire frames. “Maybe I should follow your lead and broaden my horizons in case I need a backup plan.”
Our conversation about the wisdom of my career move may have been forestalled by Hope’s arrival, but her comments today make her stance clear.
“Backup plan?” Hope peels off a wet sock and jams it into her shoe. “You mean the channel? The one with over a million subscribers that he runs in addition to his faculty position at the university?”
“No one’s denying my brother and cousin’s success,” Iris says, which feels a tad disingenuous. “But how can putting your life on display be more fulfilling than pure science?”
“You’re a professor,” Hope says. “The core of your work is a blend of your own research and teaching. Adrian’s doing the same, both through his work at the university and his channel. It’s an extension of his commitment to science and conservation, not a detriment to it.”
My jaw goes slack at Hope jumping to defend me. I know we’re friends now—and after that last kiss, my heart’s holding out for something more—but I didn’t expect her to come to my rescue in such a bold way.
Maintaining eye contact with Iris, she sets her shoes to the side, wiping off her hands on her shorts. “He’s working with college programs and reputable nonprofits, collaborating with other scientists, and in doing so, demystifying shark research and shining a light on science-based conservation efforts. Where’s the harm in that?”
Iris’s brows are visible above her glasses. “When you put it that way, I sound incredibly stuffy.” For my sister, that admission doesn’t come lightly. “But you left out the part about blurring the lines between his private life and public persona. That part is still unpalatable.”
“What he shares isn’t gimmicky.” Hope glances my way. She knows about my efforts to maintain healthy boundaries, and my distaste for the blurry lines that come with creating content. “I’m not suggesting you subscribe or even watch their content, but maybe give him and your cousin a little more credit.”
My sister’s mouth drops open. I’ve never seen her speechless, and I half wish I could whip out my phone to capture the phenomenon, but I’m not so stupid as to try. A timer beeps in the kitchen and she blinks out of her momentary silence.
“Adrian, could you give me a hand in the kitchen?” She meets my eyes with a meaningful look it’s impossible for Hope to miss, then gestures at Hope’s soggy jacket in the corner. “You’re welcome to use the dryer for your wet clothes. You could warm up with a shower, too, if you want. The bathroom is connected to my room.”
On her way past me, I brush Hope’s arm with my fingertips and mouth a silent, Thank you . Her lips tilt up in a smile that warms me to the core despite my damp clothes. The warm bubble bursts, though, when I find Iris in the kitchen, waiting for me.
She passes me an oven mitt the moment I enter the kitchen. “Remind me again why you let Hope go?”
“Shh.” I wrench my neck in my hurry to look over my shoulder into the living room, but Hope’s gone, thank goodness. Historically my sister has embarrassed me in front of my crushes and girlfriends more times than the average person’s entire extended family combined. “I didn’t let her go. She left, and I know it was stupid not to try to make amends, but why are you asking now?”
“Because she just made a better, more succinct case for the validity of your work than I’ve ever heard from you.”
“Maybe you haven’t been listening well.”
She’s quiet, and I turn to find her watching me, an indecipherable look on her face. “Maybe not.” The air fryer beeps, and she opens the cupboard and pulls out a bowl. Back to me, she says, “Then again, you haven’t reached out much lately.”
I’ve been nervous to reach out since the day she came to my boat, worried what she’d say about me working with Hope.
“I’ll make more of an effort.” I open the oven and let the heat dissipate until the air clears between us. “Kind of missed hearing you berate my life choices to my face.” I meant to lighten the mood, but it comes out sharper than intended.
“I’ve done a lot of that, haven’t I?” It’s not really a question, so I pull the sheet tray out of the oven in lieu of answering. “Part of it is me trying to be the supportive older sister I wasn’t for all those years.”
She got swept up in college and career while I was still a kid, and that was natural, not her fault. But I still felt like I’d lost my closest friend and confidante, and we never regained the closeness we had before she graduated.
We’ve never talked about my feelings surrounding her departure from my childhood, but my sister’s always been unerringly perceptive. “This is you being supportive?”
“I came out to your boat to help you, did I not?” She pushes her foggy glasses up with a knuckle. “Dramamine wasted.”
“You took seasickness medication to sit on a boat in the marina?”
“Better safe than sorry.” She was traumatized with brutal seasickness on a snorkeling trip when we were kids and vowed never to set foot on a boat of any kind again. I was offended she’d never even offered to see the boat, but now I realize just how serious her aversion is, and how far she’d go to help me out.
“I’ve been trying to be there for you, but sometimes it’s hard not to be overprotective. I’ve seen what happens to public figures when they make the smallest mistake, and I didn’t want that to happen to my brother.”
Her words are a reminder of what Hope risked in joining our channel. I hate the idea that being part of our crew exposes her reputation to harm, but I have to trust her decision to stay with us.
“But you’re clearly happy, and doing good work, if your ex-girlfriend is to be believed.” She’s fishing, and I don’t intend to bite. “I shouldn’t have let my opinions stilt our time together.”
“Is there an apology in there somewhere?”
She dumps the air fryer basket into the bowl. “You’re really going to make me say it?”
“Little brothers are supposed to be pests,” I inform her. “I’d be slacking if I made things easy on you.”
Hand on her hip, she smiles. “Yes, Adrian, I’m sorry. Though not as sorry as you ought to be for letting that phenomenal woman slip through your fingers.”
Here we go. “Now who’s being a pest?”
“I’m just saying you’re lucky she stayed after that catastrophic first day.”
That sobers me, fast. “You have no idea. She didn’t even know about our channel when she took the job.”
“And yet, she’s here.”
“I am.” Hope’s voice sends a jolt through me, and I whirl, sending samosas flying. One hits my face, another bounces off my shoulder. A few hit the floor, sliding along the tile like deep-fried hockey pucks.
Hope stops one with her foot. “Now might be a good time to mention we’ve brought groceries.” She caught us talking about her, but she doesn’t look worried. In fact, she looks comfortable, her hair loose, sweatshirt sleeves pushed up to her elbows, a giant pink scrunchie on her wrist. Relaxed, like she belongs here. In my life. In my heart.
She’s here. She stayed, despite everything. For her career, yes. But also, I’m hoping, for me.
A few snacks survived, and we sat down to eat them in the living room, along with some of the fresh fruit and cheese I brought for Hope, paired with a bottle of sweet muscadine wine. Having Hope here shouldn’t feel so easy after everything we’ve gone through, but it does. She’s curled up at the end of the couch in sweatpants, irresistibly cozy, and it’s impossible not to think how easy it would be to scoop her into my arms and press a kiss behind her ear.
Maybe it’s the mellowing effect of the wine and late hour, but Iris manages to avoid touchy subjects, trading stories with Hope like she’s been a part of our lives all along. Wineglass clutched to her chest, Hope dissolves into giggles as Iris regales us with students’ most outlandish excuses for turning assignments in late, and the sound of her laughter hits me like a breath of pure oxygen.
Eventually, conversation dies down. My sister puts on a movie we’ve all seen a dozen times, and heads for bed not long after, leaving a stack of blankets on the armchair. Hope curls against me, head on my shoulder, and dozes off. She’s here. She stayed.
Tonight, that’s more than enough.