28. Lillian
“Did I know you were coming?”Lincoln asks after we pull apart. He takes the suitcase from my hand, ushers me into the apartment, and closes the door behind me.
“No. I just missed you,” is my response. His answering smile makes me feel guilty all over again for not being here sooner.
“Linc?” a voice calls from down the hallway, and a few seconds later, Becca comes skipping around the corner. When she sees me, she stops skipping, shocked, I think. There are bits and flecks of paint splattered on her clothes and covering her fingers. This must be from the mural painting Lincoln mentioned in his voicemails. Becca breaks from her stupor and rushes over to hug me, the smell of paint fumes surrounding me. “How are you?” she asks when she pulls away.
Sad. “A little better now.” I give her a small smile.
“We were just about to order in dinner.” Lincoln’s voice is quiet as he observes his sister and I with a look of contentment on his face.
“Thai,” Becca agrees.
“I love Thai,” I tell her, even though I know I won’t be eating much. It does the trick, though, and she beams at me.
“Cool. I’m going back to painting. Call for me when the food’s here?” She directs that question to Linc, who nods his agreement. “I’m really glad you’re here,” Becca says this much to me and then skips back down the hall to her room.
When it’s just Lincoln and I standing in the entryway near the door, he says, “I’m really glad you’re here, too. In case it wasn’t obvious.”
“It was,” I say, humor in my voice. “The way your eyes almost popped out of your head made me a little nervous, though.”
He chuckles. “Sorry, but I was trying to figure out what bird made a nest of my girlfriend’s hair.”
With a stink eye pointed at Lincoln, I smooth down the stray hairs that must have escaped from my messy bun as I drove here with the windows down.
“You moving in?” he teases, looking down at my suitcase—the largest one I own, and stuffed full.
“What? The thirty-seven voicemails I have in my phone weren”t you asking me to? Did I read the signs wrong?” He throws a hand over his chest as if I’ve physically hurt him.
“Frasier, I already cleaned out three drawers for you. If you think I’m not taking advantage of your sarcastic ass showing up with half your closet, you’re mistaken.” My mouth pops open at the challenge in his words. He’s serious… “In fact, I’m going to go fill those drawers. Make yourself comfortable.” He taps my suitcase to show me exactly what he’s filling the drawers with and then wheels it down the hall.
So, there I am, standing in Lincoln’s entryway by myself after showing up completely unannounced and wondering if I really did just agree to move in.
But also wondering if I care. It might be nice to start fresh, and I love him. It may seem soon to everyone else, but it feels right to me.
The apartment is quiet except for a low hum of music from down the hall. I follow the noise and stop right outside Becca’s closed bedroom door. Curiosity getting the better of me, I knock, making sure to be loud so it can be heard over the music.
A few seconds later, the music gets turned down and the door swings in as Becca’s bubbly face appears. “No way the food got here that fast,” she says, but she doesn’t appear to actually be annoyed at the interruption.
“No,” I agree, “I just smelled the paint and wanted to be nosy.”
“Oh. Come in then!” She grabs my hand and pulls me into her room, shutting the door back again. When I look at her with a question in my eyes, she says, “I’m trying to keep the whole place from smelling like every addict”s wet dream.”
I laugh. “I guess that’s fair,” I say as I take in her space. It’s dark as hell, Lincoln wasn’t lying about that. Every wall is black. But one wall—the one Becca seems to have started on—does paint a picture of how the room will look when she’s done. No pun intended.
Becca started with a large white outline of different tropical-looking flowers. A few of them have already begun to get painted in various shades of neon pinks, purples, and a pretty coral color.
It’s going to be gorgeous, if not a little eclectic for my own tastes. None of the flowers on the wall are the same shape, size, or design. There are no stencils lying around anywhere, so everything on there is freehand.
It is immediately apparent that Becca is incredibly talented.
“This is beautiful,” I tell her honestly and walk deeper into the room until I’m perched on the edge of her bed, watching her work.
When she smiles at me, it’s genuine, if not a little shy. Either she is very humble about her work, or she’s never been told how good it is. Probably a little of both, even.
“Thanks. I told Linc I could paint Grace’s too if she want–” Her eyes bug out, and she looks at me, already shaking her head in apology. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t even thinking.”
My smile is sad but hopefully reassuring. “It’s okay. She would have loved that.”
Becca twirls the paintbrush in her hands, a nervous gesture. The song switches from something upbeat pop song I’ve never heard to a slow, sad song.
Of course.
A nervous chuckle slips from Becca before she shuts the music off. “Well, maybe I’ll paint her room anyway. For when she gets back. She likes princesses right?” Becca turns around and starts re-tracing a white outline in neon pink.
“Yeah,” I agree, but then I start to wonder how long it’ll be before I get to see her again. Will she like something new by then? Before I start to spiral, I move the conversation along. “How have you been adjusting here? Is Lincoln being an annoying big brother yet?”
Half of her face is turned to me as she continues to paint, but I see a little bit of a smirk stretching across her lips.
“The most annoying,” she quips, and we both laugh. I follow her hand as she finishes off a long, sweeping stroke and then moves to coloring the inside of the flower. “No, it’s been great. I like being here with him.”
The love between them warms my heart and reinforces how great of a guy Lincoln is. Which I already knew, but seeing the evidence has an almost embarrassing amount of pride for him growing in me. “Does that mean you’re staying?” I ask, and she gives me a look that has me backtracking. With a nervous laugh, I continue. “Wow, that sounded bad. What I meant was, you have all this freedom now. Is there anything you want to do? College, maybe? Travel?”
Her shoulders loosen as she relaxes at my clarification. “I haven’t really thought about it.” She shrugs, nonchalant.
And I don’t believe a second of it. When your whole life is chosen for you, when you don’t get to make any decisions for yourself, it would be impossible not to dream of something else. At my look of disbelief, she huffs out a laugh.
“Fine. I think college would be nice. Art school, maybe. I’ve never really had the travel bug, but I think I’d like to keep learning.” She turns her face completely away from me as she says it, but I see the redness creeping up her neck, and her ears turn pink.
“I think that’s great,” I say with complete sincerity. She deserves to be happy. “Have you talked to Lincoln about it?”
“Not yet,” she admits, stops painting, and moves from her crouched position to sit on the floor facing me.
“You should. He just wants you to be happy.”
She smiles. “You’re right. Let’s see what he thinks.” I nod and go to stand, but she calls out just a little louder than we were already talking. “What do you think, big brother?”
I frown and glance at the door, where no sound has come from.
Becca rolls her eyes. “You’re not fooling anyone. I know you’re eavesdropping.”
“Am not,” comes a muted voice from the other side of the door before it swings open, and Lincoln leans against the frame, arms folded across his chest. “Okay, fine. I was. Sue me.”
Genuine happiness bubbles in me as I feel the brotherly love emanating off Lincoln as he stares at his sister. Brotherly love and relief. That she is here maybe and not stuck under their parents’ thumb anymore.
This moment would be perfect if only Grace were here with us. Michael messaged to say he had filed the appeal, but there hasn’t been another message from him since. Not that I expect one.
That’s how the law works, he had said to me once during a meeting. Slow.
“Well? Give me your two cents then.” Becca waves a hand as if to say, let’s go, and I focus back on the two people that are here with me.
“Whatever you want to do, I’ll support you,” is all he says, and Becca purses her lips like she’s trying to read some deeper meaning on his face. I look too at her perusal, but all I see is relaxed, genuine features. But then his face scrunches up as he sniffs the air. “It smells like–”
“An addict”s wet dream?” Becca and I both say together and laugh as we side-eye the other.
Lincoln smiles warmly between the two of us but says, “Ass. I was going to say it smells like ass. But sure. That, too, I guess.”
He looks at us like we’re crazy, turns to leave the room, and hollers as he goes. “I’m ordering dinner. If you don’t tell me what you want, you’re getting leftovers because I’m not sharing mine.”
As if he thinks that would scare me. I love leftovers. That is, until I glance at the look of horror on Becca’s face and start to worry.
“He made chicken alfredo last night but didn’t have any chicken so he used a pre-seasoned barbecue loin. It’s awful,” she whispers to me, shivering in disgust.
We stare at each other for maybe ten seconds before we hear Lincoln greet someone on the phone, and we rush to the kitchen to give him our order.