6. Noah/Macey #2
“Maybe we can collaborate on some posts,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “If you want.”
I barely had time to process the suggestion before Daphne cut in.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, way too casually.
I froze, my attention snapping down to my sister. What was she up to?
Macey hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Yeah, I could eat.”
Macey
Mariano’s overflowed with people, the line stretching out the door. What started off as a hole-in-the-wall pizza joint had transformed into a fan favorite. It had only opened a few months ago. How did it get so popular?
Memories of attending the opening and writing an article about their life-changing pizza came to mind.
Right.
Magazine writers like me made it popular.
As a travel writer, I preferred to, you guessed it, travel.
But that wasn’t always possible. We were a Chicago-based magazine, so I covered a lot of events in the city: restaurant openings, store pop-ups, festivals, whatever.
I didn’t mind it, though, especially when it involved sampling food.
Writers weren’t exactly rolling in dough.
However, we were great at making pizza puns.
Noah, Daphne, and I pushed through the crowd and lucked our way into a corner table. The long red-and-white checkered tablecloth hid my clammy palms, my body’s response to nerves. There was no reason to be nervous, I knew, but I was well out of my comfort zone.
Maybe I’d be less nervous if Noah weren’t acting weird. It was like a switch flipped in his head the moment we walked inside. He was still Noah but more…uppity. Like he and his fancy clothing labels were too cool to be here. Ironic considering it was him and his sister who decided on the location.
It was exactly the image he portrayed online: rebellious and cool. An image I had recently begun to realize wasn’t entirely real.
I wondered if he’d try to act this way in Aruba. I wasn’t sure how well I’d survive being around Mr. Cool every time we walked into a new room together.
A young waiter in a crisp white button-up and black apron stopped beside our table, pen poised over his notepad. Daphne didn’t hesitate. “Sausage and mushroom pizza. Side salad.”
I resisted the urge to gag. Mushrooms . I absolutely despised the fungi that snuck itself into the category of vegetable and ruined perfectly good pizza. But I didn’t want to be that person and complicate the order.
Just as the waiter started to jot it down, Noah spoke up. “No mushrooms.”
Daphne frowned at him. “What? We always get mushrooms.”
“Macey doesn’t like mushrooms,” Noah said simply.
The waiter, who seemed too busy to care about their sibling argument, tucked his notepad into his pocket and walked away.
I leaned forward. “How did you know that?”
“You posted something dramatic about a pizza place in Avondale that tried to push their ‘Fun Guy Special’ on you.”
Huh. I remembered that day, though I’m pretty sure that happened what, eight months ago? Maybe Noah just really had a vested interest in pizza joints .
Unsure of how to respond, I turned to the other Hansley sibling. “So, Daphne, what brings you to Chicago?”
Noah sipped his water eagerly.
Daphne seemed like a sweet girl. Young, confident. By the suitcase in the door, I guessed she was staying with Noah for a few days. She chewed on the edge of her cuticles before she answered.
“Spring break,” she said. “I thought I’d come hang out with my favorite brother.”
Noah set down his glass. “I’m your only brother.”
“My point stands.”
I laughed as the familiar pang of envy pricked me. Sometimes, I wished I had siblings. Sure, it was nice not having to share my things with anyone or spend my youth in petty arguments, but it would be nice to have someone to relate to. Someone who stuck by your side no matter what.
I had my friends, but it wasn’t quite the same.
“Where do you go to school?” I asked, folding a napkin onto my lap.
“St. Louis Community College,” Daphne answered. “I’m transferring to another university soon, though.”
“That’s great,” I said. Noah’s eyes narrowed at me, like he wasn’t sure if I was being sincere or not. “Noah, I didn’t know you were from St. Louis.”
He had the air—read: arrogance—of someone from an elite Los Angeles neighborhood. I would have never guessed he was from Missouri.
“He is.” Daphne answered for him. “Though it’s been a few years since he’s lived there.”
Mentally, I tried to calculate when he could have moved to Chicago. After high school? After university? I turned to the man I knew very few trivia facts about. “Did you also go to SLCC? ”
Once again, Daphne stepped in. “No, he went to?—”
“I didn’t finish college,” Noah finished, voice stony. A little threatening. Maybe a different person would have cowered beneath it, but it made me push harder.
“That’s okay too,” I attempted to reassure him. “You technically don’t need a degree to?—”
Noah suddenly stood. His wooden chair rocked back before all four legs fell to the ground. “I’m going to order garlic bread.”
I mean, I loved carbs as much as the next person, but that was rude. It didn’t matter to me if he went to college or not. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t. I’d probably be paying off these student loans until I retired.
I wished someone had told me that there were alternate paths in life. Despite what my high school academic advisor preached, you weren’t required to go to a good school and get a good degree in order to get a good job. It was okay to take a different road, even if it was narrower.
Noah’s shoulders were stiff as he leaned against the counter. Behind the counter held a glimpse of the bustling kitchen: pizza chefs rolled out thick dough, layering it generously with cheese and chunky tomato sauce.
As Noah chatted with the waiter, I found myself drawn to his thick forearms. I could almost picture his workout routine: a long morning run, followed by bicep curls as everyone in the gym stared in awe.
Just then, a pretty college-aged girl approached Noah with a smile.
He stepped into a selfie with her, and I blinked, feeling uneasy.
Daphne stared at me knowingly, a grin on her face as she played with the straw wrapper.
When I made eye contact with her, she threw it, and the paper bounced off my forehead.
“Hey.” I unconsciously rubbed my temple. “We’re not on that level of friendship yet.”
She reached across the table to grab the wrapper. “Noah’s a little sensitive when it comes to his degree. Or lack of, technically. Which is dumb considering how smart he is.”
I nodded, arranging my fork and knife next to my plate. Though I’d probably go full savage and not bother with culinary items during the meal. “Seriously, it doesn’t matter?—”
Daphne prattled on like I hadn’t opened my mouth. “I mean, it’s not his fault he had to drop out of Cornell to take care of me.”
My fork slipped between my fingers and clanged when it hit the ground.
Noah went to Cornell.
Noah dropped out of Cornell.
And he took care of his younger sister, which implied that there was no one else to do it.
I ducked below the table to grab the fork, but I let myself linger longer than needed. Just so I could let my face make a series of surprised reactions without anyone seeing. When I came back up, Daphne was chewing on her cuticle again.
“I probably shouldn’t have said that.” She sounded stressed. “Can you not tell him I said that?”
I only had enough brain power to mumble an agreement before Noah returned with a basket of garlic bread. He held it in front of me, waiting for me to take a piece. When I didn’t, he placed two on my plate.
Noah, with his one million followers and perfected online presence, was a Cornell dropout. I wondered why he never went back to school. One million followers, Macey. He’s probably rich. I guess you didn’t need to finish college if you had that many followers and a constant stream of brand deals.
I felt a little bad as I bit into the garlic bread. Maybe I should be a little less judgmental.
“So,” Daphne drawled. “Can I go to Aruba, too?”
“No,” Noah answered. “You’ll be back at school next week. ”
Daphne stole the bread from his hands in retaliation. He rolled his eyes and gave me a look of Can you believe this?
The waiter returned with a tray full of colorful drinks and different types of coffee.
“Oh, we didn’t order those,” Daphne said.
“The manager sent them. They’re on the house.” He set them down on the table. “Your food will be out shortly.”
This wasn’t the first time I had been offered something for free—it usually came in exchange for the hope of a positive article. This probably happened to Noah all the time, considering he was way more recognizable than me.
Noah and Daphne reached for a glass.
“Macey, it’s free!” Daphne said when I didn’t touch anything.
I grabbed hold of my water. “There’s a very fine line as to which things I can accept for free and which ones I can’t.”
“What does that mean?”
“My contract with Roamer’s Digest is pretty strict,” I explained. “If I’m hired to cover an event, I can accept free gifts as long as they’re disclosed in my article. If I’m not writing about it, I usually turn down free gifts because it could turn into a conflict of interest.”
“So you’re not going to take the free drinks because you don’t want them to think you’re going to write about them. But you get to go to Aruba for free, and in exchange you write a few articles?” Daphne asked.
That was the simplest way to explain it. There were a million other technicalities that went into contracts: spending limits, hours of work spent on the event, disclosure agreements, taxes, and more.
“Basically,” I answered.
Noah continued to sip from one of the free sodas, so I assumed there weren’t any qualms for him.
“Maybe I should change my major.” Daphne ruminated as she stirred the orange liquid in her glass. “I don’t think nurses get to go to Aruba for free.”
The waiter brought the pizza then and set it in the center of the table. Noah sliced it, and I ignored the frown on his face. I gave Daphne my full attention as she rattled on about majors and minors, and why did finals count so much toward your grade, anyways?
“Well,” I said through a mouthful of cheesy goodness. “Enjoy spring breaks while you still can. I think it’s nice you planned to visit your brother.”
I didn’t realize I had stepped onto a landmine until it exploded. The full force of it hit Noah’s face, as he stared at Daphne, who pointedly looked away from the disaster.
An unplanned visit, then.
“I missed him,” Daphne said, then admitted, “Also my friends told me it would be best if I didn’t go to New York with them.”
“What?” Noah exploded. “Why?”
“It makes sense,” she said in a small voice. “We wanted to do different things. And they wanted to stay in these expensive, five-star hotels?—”
“ Daphne .” Noah covered his face with his hands. “We’ve been over this. If you need money, just come to me.”
“And as I’ve told you, I don’t want to spend my life depending on you?—”
“You’re twenty years old. You’re not in any way dependent on me?—”
“I am,” Daphne said decisively. “And it stops now.”
Suddenly, I felt very out of place. The wallpaper behind them became fascinating to me. Black-and-white swirls spiraling into the abyss. If I stared too long, I swore they moved.
Moving. Great idea . I should move. Relocate. Flee the premises and let the two Hansley siblings duke it out without me.
I shifted toward the edge of my seat, but Daphne stopped me with an arm. “Macey, what do you think?”
From Noah’s glare, I gathered I shouldn’t have any opinions on the matter. Unfortunately for everyone involved, I did.
“Based on the limited knowledge I have of this situation”—I met Noah’s eyes—“I think it’s understandable that you’d want to be independent and handle things yourself.”
Daphne nodded, satisfied. Noah, on the other hand, looked like he was mentally drafting my obituary.
“But,” I continued, hoping I could hop out of the grave he was ready to dig, “it’s also okay to accept help from other people, too. I wish I had someone like Noah in my corner when I was in college.”
Noah’s glare shifted from murderous to mildly offended. “You make it sound like I’m a rare Pokémon.”
Daphne smirked. “A charitable, overprotective Pokémon.”
Noah groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I swear?—”
But Daphne was already humming the Pokémon theme song under her breath.
Noah tilted his head an inch, and I had a bizarre urge to run a hand through his hair. Check if it was as soft as it looked. He looked not at all like an Instagram bad boy. Just an older brother. A lot of concern. A little vulnerability. Watching me quietly.
“True friends would have met you in the middle,” I added.
Daphne nodded. “I know. Chicago’s better anyways.”
Noah tried to force salad on my plate, but I waved him away. Only carbs for me tonight. “Now that, I agree with.”
For the remainder of dinner, I focused all my attention on Daphne, trying to ignore the way her not-so-bad older brother was staring at me like he had just learned something that tilted his world on its axis.