Chapter 14
Jordan
Weekend schedules were typically more flexible. His parents didn’t have to work their outside jobs, so in fairness neither did the kids. That was the general idea anyway.
For his schedule, he chose to sentence his brother to hard labor in the garden.
“Zinnia won’t notice them there.” Wylie pointed to a spot that had the best mix of sun and shade, directly behind the bench in the pocket forest. “If we plant them along the shrubs, they’ll be in front of her no matter where she’s sitting.”
“Your gift, your call.” Jordan handed him a spade.
Their mom had spent thousands on landscaping only for her sons to come fuck it up with an apology. Wylie’s idea was a little on the nose, but he’d always been extremely literal like that. At the plant nursery, he’d only picked white and lime-green potted flowers.
“You’re really not going to help me?”
“Nope.”
“Whatever.” Wylie pulled off his hoodie and tossed it to the ground.
Dressing in all black was an unintentional family tradition. His brother had noticeably started following in his footsteps about a year ago.
Jordan had done it since he was twelve. No real reason other than it made things simple. He slept in longer when he didn’t have to worry about what to wear. Shopping only took as long as trying things on did. Creating his store brand and uniforms was a five-minute conversation.
He sat next to Wylie, supervising as his brother marked out an evenly spaced five-block grid. Each square was twice the length and the exact depth of one pot.
“So, what’s new?” Jordan asked.
“Nothing.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“Why are you bothering me if you already know?”
“Because I want you to tell me.”
The writing was on the wall. Everyone was holding their breath and praying they were wrong.
Wylie was at the start of a well-trodden path to coasting at best and ruination at worst. Therapy wasn’t working.
He fought with Sadie and their dad more often than not.
The entire family had pinned their hopes on Jordan getting through to him because he was the only person Wylie still listened to.
“There’s nothing to tell. They need to mind their own fucking business.”
Jordan exhaled and squinted up at the sky. He was already sweating. “You are their business.”
Wylie turned his head, very slowly, very deliberately. “Shut. Up.”
“Or what?”
His challenge went unanswered—Wylie began arranging the pots in alternating color order instead.
“Realistically, you’ve made enough money to last you for maybe ten years. Then what are you going to do? You think Dad won’t cut you off to teach you a lesson? Gonna rely on secret handouts from Mom for the rest of your life?”
Wylie picked up the first white flower plant. He tapped the bottom until the whole thing slid loose into his hands and he began massaging the root ball to loosen it.
“You could literally do whatever you wanted. Why waste your life when you don’t have to?”
Wylie scoffed and gently placed the plant in the ground. “No, I literally can’t. You think I can literally go to college? You think I literally want to be a music producer?”
It was a rare day when a pair of headphones wasn’t around his neck or ears. The show implied that it was because he loved music and wanted to be a rapper and producer. Never mind that he’d never been seen anywhere near a studio or making music on his own.
Their mom had been planning to expand the Zaffre brand into traditional entertainment for years now. Lulie declaring herself an actress unprompted was the catalyst to jump-start the project, but Plan Bea would have been the opening move.
Because Bea was also a singer, primed and tiptoeing toward superstardom. The season finale was supposed to be their very public wedding and the launch of her debut single.
“Then what do you want to do? Let me help you.”
“What I want doesn’t matter,” Wylie muttered. “It never has. I’m not like you.”
“Do you want to leave the show? Say the word and I’ll fight them for you. Don’t think I won’t.”
Wylie completed the tap, massage, and placement of the remaining plants, and sat back on his haunches. “Lu wants to stay until her career takes off.”
“You don’t have to do everything together.”
“I don’t think Sadie is coming back. Dad wants to retire. I’m not leaving her alone. It’s…too much for one person.”
Their camera pods suddenly switched angles. Production salivated over conflicts stemming from the show existing.
“But you’re not doing anything in the meantime. Lulie has goals. I get it, you want to protect her. I feel the same. Right now, though, we’re talking about you.”
“I have goals,” Wylie sneered and began backfilling the soil. “I wanna be a writer.”
Of course he did. Writer had been staring Jordan in the face the entire time.
Wylie wore the headphones because he loved to read.
Early intervention had been pivotal in helping him get help for dyslexia.
One of his tutors introduced him to audiobooks and that was it.
He became obsessed with storytelling. Fiction, memoirs, even self-help books—he’d read anything as long as it was worth listening to.
Not to mention he’d grown up watching Sadie, a master storyteller who crafted their real lives into a show better than any soap opera ever written. A feat that would probably be studied for years to come.
“But Lu already did that with her poet phase.” His brother shrugged. “We’re not supposed to repeat storylines.”
“Fuck a storyline. We’re talking about your life. What kind of writing? Novels? Nonfiction? What? Have you started? Can I read any of your stuff?”
“No. Stop being weird.”
“Never.” He fist-bumped Wylie’s shoulder. “We’ll figure this out.”
“All right. Do you think she’ll like this?” He gestured to his newly planted flowers.
“She’s gonna love it. Trust me. You know, she loves reading too. I’ll send you some of her favorite books. It’ll give you two something to talk about.”
“I don’t wanna talk to her. That’s the whole reason why I did this instead.” Wylie pulled a small lawn statue out of his pocket—a little Black girl with afro puffs dressed as a fairy—and set it in the center of his flower bed.
Wylie must’ve bought it at the nursery when Jordan wasn’t looking.
His brother was going to be just fine.
Zinnia
Nothing said big happy family like mandatory dinners in the dining room. All that was missing were giant glasses of milk and they’d be a proper sitcom bunch.
She was sitting in her usual spot with Jordan on her left and Damon at the head of the table on her right. An unexpected tiny corner of peace in the one room that gave her stress flashbacks.
Jordan’s skin was both redder and browner than it’d been that morning. She hesitantly raised her hand before rushing the follow-through. Holding his encouraging gaze, she rubbed his cheek with the back of her hand. It was warm from the sun and scratchy from his five o’clock shadow.
“Did you wear sunscreen today?” she asked.
“No. Why?”
“Skin cancer. Melanin doesn’t stop us from getting it.”
“You worry too much.” He caught her wrist, kissed her knuckles, and lowered their joined hands under the table.
This was all for show, and yet he didn’t drop her hand as soon as it was out of sight. Unfamiliar warmth surged under her skin. Jordan gave his affection freely, as natural as breathing for him, and it made her feel so wanted.
He had her beat with physicality, but she could still hold her own.
“Worrying about you, and your handsome face, is my job.”
He raised a wry eyebrow, no doubt sensing her very obvious trap. “You think I’m handsome?”
“I think you think you’re handsome,” she joked, tugging on his chin. Leaning close to him, she draped her arm around the back of his chair and admired his face. She gave the camera enough time to capture her exact feelings on the matter before coyly whispering to him, “Who am I to disagree?”
“Well played,” he murmured. “Game on, beautiful.”
She stopped breathing when he traced her bottom lip with his thumb.
A napkin holder bounced off Jordan’s shoulder and hit the table. “The fuck is your problem, Wylie?”
“I know you not swearing at my table,” Damon said.
Wylie’s indifferent glare slid to Zinnia. She raised her eyebrows, internally bracing for whatever he was going to throw at her too, but nothing happened.
Fine. If that was how he wanted to play, she had enough worry to go around. “You know, you should’ve worn sunscreen too. You’re more beige than he is.”
Damon’s guffaw echoed around them. “Beige. Is that what you kids say now? Back in my day we just said light-skinned.”
“We still say that too, Dad.” Wylie’s real smile was the epitome of goofy boyish charm. Nothing but crinkly eyes, pearly white teeth, and bashful dimples—he was a completely different person when he wasn’t hiding behind that clichéd, disaffected teenage mask.
He even had eyes like Jordan, as playful as they were clever. His still had a touch of wildness to them, though. Only a few more feral years to go and he’d be all grown up.
“Dinner is served, my darlings.” Amber and Lulie began placing several dishes onto the table. They cooked together most nights, but at least once a week, a guest chef took on the duty instead.
Those special dinners had more rules, including not being allowed to say anything negative about the food unless the chef requested their feature with a side of controversy.
The spectacles never ceased during Zaffre Hours.
As soon as they finished blessing the food, Lulie immediately launched into a pitch for a brand partnership.
“No business at the table.” Damon passed Zinnia the roll bowl.
“It’s not business, Daddy. We’re not talking about the deal itself. I’d like opinions on the potential consequences of aligning with a brand that has a reputation for unethical practices.”
Zinnia pointedly stared at her plate because Lulie didn’t sound rehearsed at all, whatsoever, and the cameras caught every damn thing she tried to hide.