10. Want To Come Over?
This was a huge mistake. The biggest. What the hell was I thinking? Greta and I are usually copacetic, but she’s about to send me over the deep end. We’re in the recording studio, and she’s smiling at everything like a goofball. She tends to be one of the more level-headed siblings, but today she looks like she’s about to dive headfirst into a giant vat of candy.
“Nice to meet you.” Meredith holds out her hand to my sister, her expression calm and welcoming.
Greta, on the other hand, is practically vibrating with barely restrained glee. “Oh my god, it’s finally happening.” I want to duct tape her mouth shut like she did to me when I was eight.
I sympathize with Meredith’s look of confusion. “You’re excited to record the episode with your brother?”
Greta waves her hand like me having a podcast is no big deal. “Yeah, sure. But I finally get to meet you. Stuart won’t shut up about you.” And there it is. My death sentence. Execution by mortification. I didn’t think Greta would be the one to push the plunger, but here we are.
Meredith’s eyes go wide, then she turns to me and narrows them. Cold dread slinks down my spine. “Oh really? That is...fascinating.” Her voice hasn’t lost its usual sharpness, but I’m gratified to see a lovely little blush on her cheeks. Maybe I’m not dead yet.
After workingsome of the wiggles out, Greta turns out to be a great podcast guest. We talk about our relationship in particular, hers with Michelle, what it’s like to be twins within a large family, and what it’s like to be the one of two girls with four brothers.
The conversation needs only a little steering, like when she started to go off on a tangent about the time I hid so well in our game of hide and seek that Mom ended up calling the cops because she thought I ran away.
Through the glass in the booth, I can see Meredith fighting a smile. Greta and I have always made a great comedy team within the family. It’s gratifying to see someone else appreciate our humor. Hopefully that bodes well for how an audience will enjoy the podcast.
I’ve been trying to get sponsors, but I need a few episodes out before anybody will show interest. Greta’s interview is the last bit I need for the first episode, and I can’t wait to see how Meredith edits it all together. But right now I need to focus on wrapping this up and not on the rare smile Meredith aims at us in the booth.
Greta takes off her headphones and places them on the hook next to the window and watches as Meredith takes her own off. “She likes you,” Greta mutters even though we’re in a soundproof room. I don’t expect the giant thump inside my chest.
“You’re deluded. She barely tolerates me.”
“If that’s what barely tolerates looks like, her crushing on you would, what, have her grinding on your lap in the break room? Wake up, baby brother. I know what crushes look like. She’s trying to hide it, but she likes you.”
Now I’m sweaty because half of me wants to believe every word Greta says, and half of me wants to rein in this stupid spark of hope.
Meredith tilts her head at us, probably wondering why we’re still in the booth when the recording session is over. I take another moment to calm my thundering heart before opening the door. I’m going to steal all of Greta’s forks next time I’m at her place, because this jumbled, fizzy feeling deserves revenge.
“That was so much fun,” Greta tells Meredith. “I can’t wait to hear the final product.”
“You were a natural. Both of you did a great job at keeping the conversation going. Really interesting stuff.” Meredith’s subtle smile is aimed at Greta, so naturally I want to shove my sister out of the way so Meredith can aim it my way instead. In the hierarchy and chaos of my family, I’m not usually the petty one. But Meredith makes me feel like I’m constantly on the edge of something, dancing along a tightrope. It’s exhilarating.
“I’ll walk you out,” I tell Greta. “You sticking around or heading home?” I ask Meredith. Our recording session lasted longer than expected, and it’s almost half past nine at night.
“I need to wrap some things up, and then I’m out of here. Have a good night.” She nods at Greta and folds her arms across her stomach. “See you tomorrow.” Her eyes don’t quite meet mine, and I notice a faint blush on her cheeks.
“Yeah, sure. Thanks for your help.”
I walk Greta to her car in the back lot. “I swear to our lord and savior Dolly Parton, if you don’t go back in there and wait for her, I’m going to tell Clay you’re the one who lost his favorite Hot Wheel.”
“Barely tolerates, remember?” I’m determined to keep my expectations low, which makes me uncomfortable because it’s not how I’m wired.
Greta scoffs. “Please, you two are so hot for each other, I have to go home and take a cold shower.”
I scoff, ignoring the little hopeful gremlin in my chest. “Whatever, get out of here.” I squeeze her in a tight hug. Me, Greta, and Michelle are the huggers of the family. The rest of them are shoulder squeezers. “Thanks for coming today.”
After she pulls away, I debate getting in my own car and going back to my small, crappy apartment, or going back inside to wait for Meredith so she’s not alone. Wavecrest is an extremely quiet town, and she can take care of herself. But I welcome any excuse to spend more time with her. Plus my mom would kick my ass up and down Front Street if I didn’t at least make sure Meredith got in her car safely.
There’s no way of knowing how long she’ll be up in the studio, so I sit down at my desk and start doing some work I’d originally put off until tomorrow. I love my job, Sylvie as a boss, and the members of The Base, but I especially love the spreadsheets I use to keep track of the running of the office.
“What are you still doing here?” Meredith’s suspicious voice has me jumping up, and my chair slams against the wall behind me.
“Fuck, you scared me.”
“What are you still doing here?” she asks again, a little softer. My palms start sweating, so I shove my hands in my pockets.
“I didn’t like the idea of leaving you alone here so late.”
She folds her arms across her chest, and I lose the ability to swallow. The dim lights overhead cast shadows on all her dips and curves. “I can take care of myself.”
“See! That’s what I said.”
“To Greta?”
“No, to myself, but I didn’t want you stealing Post-its if you were left here unsupervised.” I wink at her, which I think she hates. “I figured while you finished with whatever I could get a jump start on some of tomorrow’s tasks.” She nods and pulls the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder.
“Did you eat dinner?” I ask before we walk out the back door together.
There’s a long pause before she turns around, like she was debating something weighty. “I have leftovers at home I was planning on heating up.” Disappointment settles like a stone in my gut.
“Okay, well...have a good?—”
“Do you like fried rice? I always order too much, and I have enough for at least two people. You know, if you’re hungry.” A mild gust of wind could knock me over and I wouldn’t even notice. I’m so shocked, I don’t answer right away.
“Never mind.” She starts to turn away.
“I love fried rice. So much it had to take out a restraining order because things got weird.” Shut up, for fuck’s sake.
Meredith raises her eyebrow at me, but I can see the corners of her mouth twitch. I’m determined to get more than a twitch out of her—a guy can dream. Earning a full-blown grin from her would probably feel better than beating Wesley at Scrabble.
“Okay then. You’re welcome to come over as long as you don’t make the rice feel uncomfortable.” Her dry delivery is the hottest fucking thing I’ve heard out of her sexy mouth.
Be cool, dude. Be cool.“Yep, I can control myself. I swear. Should I follow you?”
She holds out her hand, palm side up. My eyebrows draw together as I glance between her hand and her face.
“Give me your phone so I can text you the address in case we get separated.” Why am I so sweaty? Thank god I keep a stick of deodorant in the car. I unlock my phone and hand it to her.
Her lips quirk at the wallpaper image I have. It’s my brother Mason putting my brother Clay in a headlock at the dinner table while my mother takes a bite of chicken. “Nice,” she whispers.
Her phone buzzes when she sends a text to herself. She hands me back my phone, reaches for hers and then taps out a text. My phone buzzes.
Meredith: Here’s my address.
It’s a couple miles inland, in one of the older neighborhoods of Wavecrest. I scroll up to see what text she sent herself from my phone.
Me: This is Stuart’s phone.
Knowing me, I’ll spend hours decoding that later.