Twelve
Oliver
“Sophia, I’d really love to know what it’s like to live in your brain,” I say, rolling my eyes at my sister, thankful that she can’t see me through the phone.
“Oliver—”
“Sophia—”
“Don’t use that tone with me,” she chides. I can hear clinking dishes and mumbles of conversations in the background behind her. I picture my sister sitting in a piazza in Tuscany, wearing one of those obnoxiously big hats and oversized sunglasses, her whole outfit screaming “I’m an American!”
It’s the first time I’ve actually spoken to my sister since she left, other than text messages here and there.
Sophia and I have always had a weird relationship: we’re six years apart, so we weren’t exactly close growing up.
By the time she was in middle school, I was at college.
And the truth is, I only see her as much as I see my parents, at holidays and a handful of times in between.
But it wasn’t easy growing up with a father like Andrew Cole, so my sister and I do have some kind of trauma bond that makes us close, even if we don’t talk to each other every day.
“I can use whatever tone I want, Soph,” I snap back at her. “You left me with a dog I never asked for.”
“Oh shut up, Oliver! It’s a dog! Who doesn’t want a dog?”
“A guy who doesn’t like surprises!” I exclaim, my patience with my flighty sister wearing thin.
“He was at a high-kill shelter, Oliver. What was I supposed to do? Let him be killed?”
Ugh, the good old guilt trip. Sophia is getting almost as good at it as my mother.
“Did it even occur to you to ask me why I’m in Italy?” she adds, a hint of anger in her voice. I’m confused by the change of subject.
“Mom said you’re taking a course or something,” I say, rubbing my temples. I’m dropping Thor off at Elle’s after I get back from the gym, so I’m collecting Thor’s toys and putting them in the big bag that Elle and I pass back and forth during our co-parenting pick-ups and drop-offs.
“I’m enrolled in the most selective and prestigious fashion program in the world, Oliver. Twenty people get in every year. Out of the whole world. Mom didn’t tell you that?”
Aw, shit. Maybe she is better at guilt than Mom is these days.
“She said a fashion program. She left out prestigious and selective.”
“Of course she did, because if you’re not going to Stanford Medical School in this family, you don’t matter.” I can hear the hurt behind her words.
I stop what I’m doing and sit on the couch.
Thor patters his feet, getting impatient with me.
He knows I have a bone in the bag and he wants it.
He sits down in front of me, his awkward hind legs sticking out from each side of him as he plops his butt down.
When I look in his eyes, I’m reminded of my little sister, who has eyes that can look just as pathetic when she wants them to.
“Look, Soph, I’m sorry, okay? I’ve—” I start, but I’m not sure where my sentence is going. I am sorry. I guess I’m usually stuck on how my parents are hounding me and think that they leave Sophia alone. But maybe being the kid without expectations comes with its own set of problems?
Sophia scoffs on the other end of the phone. “You’re apologizing, but you don’t even know what for.”
“Soph, you’re giving me some serious guilt right now, can you lay off a bit?”
“I’ll lay off when you get your head out of your ass, Ollie. You’re not the only one with problems.”
“Soph, come on—” I start, but she hangs up before I can finish.
She’s right, I don’t know what I’m apologizing for. I don’t know what Sophia wants from me. I don’t know what everyone wants from me. I just want to scream, “I’m doing my best! This is me trying!” at all of them.
I run my hands through my hair, trying to ease the tension out of my head. And then a cold, wet nose presses against my arm and I smile. This dog…
*
“What is this?” Henry asks. I’ve just sent him a text message even though we’re right next to each other.
“It’s Elle’s number,” I say through gritted teeth.
Henry looks at me funny. I’m lying on a towel on the cushioned floor of his gym, waiting for him to close up for the night.
I would never actually lay on this floor without something under me.
Plus, there is so much sweat pooling off of me that I could probably make a sweat angel with my arms and legs.
But I can’t try because Thor is laying on the mat next to me.
His back is up against my side, and he’s out cold.
I spent a good half hour at the punching bag, getting out my frustration from speaking to my sister.
My conversation with her just cemented why Elle is better off with Henry.
Clearly, I did something to upset Sophia, and I don’t even know what it was. Wherever I go, relationships crumble.
“I’m confused,” Henry finally says.
“I figure you’re used to that feeling by now,” I snap back, unable to laugh at my own joke.
“I thought you two—”
“We’re not,” I answer too quickly, my tone harsher than I mean it. “We’re actually kind of… friends now. It’s weird, but she asked me to tell you she’s interested, so do with that what you will.” I wave my hand at him flippantly.
“She’s interested?” He purses his lips to the side, like he is unsure what that wording should mean to him.
I know I signed up for this self-torment, but I think I underestimated how much it would suck to see someone else, let alone my best friend, go out with Elle.
Especially since, the more I think about it, they have a lot in common and want the same things. While Elle and I… don’t.
“Well, she thinks you’re cute,” I reply, closing my eyes, willing this conversation to end. I try to keep my face stoic, so he can’t see how much encouraging him to do this is hurting me.
“Ugh, cute, really? She used the word cute?”
“Well, the exact word she used was adorable.”
“Fuck off, you’re messing with me.” He kicks my leg and makes Thor jump.
“Not a word of a lie, I swear!” I say, kicking him back, and I can’t stop myself grinning at his annoyance. Busting Henry’s balls is one way to help me forget the cloud of sadness that is hanging over this situation. “It’s not my fault you have a short man complex.”
“I’m 5'10", I am not short,” he says, talking more to himself than to me.
“Whatever you have to tell yourself, bud,” I say, putting my arms behind my head.
“And you’re sure you’re okay with this?” he asks, trying to match my gaze.
“Yes, so please stop asking,” I reply, my patience wearing thin. “Now text her so you can finish cleaning this place and we can get some food. I’m starving.”