48. TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-FIVE
ALEX
I finish adjusting the last of the new art pieces that we’ve hung on the wall and step back to survey our work.
Where the apartment used to be a sterile box of black and white, it’s now splashed in shades of mauve, taupe, and rose.
From the throw cushions, to the art, to the vintage rug that Aspen is straightening on the living room floor, to the peonies on the coffee table, the place looks like something straight out of Eden’s Pinterest board.
We didn’t even need to repaint. All it took was setting Aspen loose in the homeware store with free rein of my credit card.
It turns out that it’s actually pretty easy to transform the aesthetic of your apartment if all the walls are white.
That said, the black tiles are proving somewhat of an issue, which is why the several rugs we bought today are all so fucking big.
But if Eden wants me to retile, then I’ll retile.
“Do you think she’ll like it?”
“It looks like a cotton candy machine exploded in here.” Aspen looks up from the rug, slapping at a curling corner with more aggression than necessary. “She’ll love it.”
“You don’t think she’d rather have done it herself?” I chew my lip. “Like, what if she hates the rugs? Or the new lamps? Or the bedding? Or—”
“Will you relax?” Aspen clambers off the floor and dusts off her bedazzled jeans.
They’re threaded at the bottom with feathers in every color of the rainbow, and her t-shirt reads Pass me the fucking vino in red, sequined letters.
“She’ll appreciate the effort. And if she hates it, then at least you have the cash for her to do it all again. ”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“I’m always right.” She flashes a mega-watt smile. “It’s you that’s the fuck-up.”
To say Aspen has been civil with me today would be a gross fabrication. When I picked her up in front of her dorm earlier, she had a (sharpened) kitchen knife in one hand and what looked like a hatchet in the other.
I admire her spirit and the fierce protectiveness she feels toward her sister—I would also threaten a man with sharp objects if he did to Brynn what I did—but I wasn’t feeling particularly receptive to weaponry this afternoon, so I made her throw them in a bush before getting in the car.
Whether they’ve been seized by the police department while she’s been gone is her problem to deal with later.
But what she couldn’t exact in grievous bodily harm, she certainly made up for in cutting words.
Over the last several hours, I have been called—and this is by no means an exhaustive list—a fuckwit, a turd-tumbler, a gibberwhore, and an ass-shitter.
To which I argued that, technically, we’re all ass-shitters, so it doesn’t really count as an insult, and promptly earned myself a slap on the back of the head.
She’s mean.
And frankly, I’m a little scared of her.
“Will you cut me some slack?” I ask her. “I’m trying here.”
She tips her head to one side. “Has Eden forgiven you yet?”
I don’t know. I didn’t really stick around long enough last night to finish the conversation and find out.
I could hazard an educated guess, though.
If anything, she’s probably more confused and angry that I did the exact same thing I’d come to apologize for.
Running away. All because of one throw-away comment about car accidents.
Shit. I need an appointment with Dr. Sharma ASAP.
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, you’ve gotta earn her forgiveness before you can earn mine.” She pauses, narrowing her eyes into slits. “And let me be very clear: mine is a lot harder to come by, especially where my sister is involved.”
“Noted.”
She studies my face for several beats and, seemingly finding whatever it is she was looking for, nods to herself and sighs.
“I’m exhausted. Interior decorating is no joke.
” Much to my dissatisfaction, she slumps down onto the newly plumped cushions of the couch with a huff.
“I need to be horizontal for the next five to seven business days.”
I glare at her, unimpressed. “You unrolled a rug, Aspen. One. You didn’t even help me bring all this shit upstairs.”
She flings an arm over her eyes and yawns. “You seemed to have it all under control. I didn’t want to get in the way.”
“It took me eleven trips to the garage.”
“And I was supervising, which is hard work in itself.”
“Oh, really?”
“Mm-hmm. Telling people what to do is a tiring job.”
I hum a sarcastic agreement. “Dictators must be so burnt out. There should be more awareness about it.”
Behind her arm, her head bobs in agreement. “We’re a deeply misunderstood group. It’s tragic, really.”
“More people should be talking about it, for sure.”
Another nod of her head. “We should start a GoFundMe. Maybe write to the local press, see if they can run a spotlight article, really drive up the donations.”
“Aspen?”
“Mm?”
“I need you to leave now.”
She finally drops her arm, scowling up at me with more petulance than is appropriate for her age. “I hope Eden never forgives you, you know? You are extremely rude.”
“And you are a menace to society, but I put up with you for Eden’s benefit, so perhaps you should extend me the same courtesy.”
I smile so she knows this exchange is just part of our regularly scheduled programming, at least on my end. It’s a dynamic I wonder if I would have had with Brynn, had our relationship not been dictated by the trauma of premature parental death.
Technicolor fringing sways as she peels herself off the couch and dusts down her jeans. “I don’t know how my sister finds you even mildly appealing.”
“I don’t think she does anymore.”
“Good, you were an asshole.”
She makes for the door, and something possesses me to call out after her. All I know is that she’s Eden’s sister, the person she’s closest to in the whole world, and I don’t want tension between us, not when it will cause more stress for Eden.
“I didn’t mean to hurt her. You know that, right?”
Aspen stares at me for a long moment. “Maybe not, but you still did.”
“Yeah.” My hand finds the back of my neck. “I know.”
“Because you freaked out.”
I nod.
“Because you realized you’re in love with her, and your brain—which, evidently, is the consistency of overcooked spaghetti—couldn’t cope with it?”
“I’m not–”
“In love with her?” she finishes for me, shaking her head with a bewildered sigh. “Yeah, you are, big guy. But I have neither the energy, nor the crayons, to explain it to you.”
It takes me a moment too long to realize she’s just insulted my intelligence. Not once, but twice. I let it go, though, because it’s not the worst thing she’s said to me before. Hell, it’s not even up there with the worst things she’s said to me today.
She gives me one last withering glare and lets herself out, leaving me alone to process that yet another person has accused me of falling in love with Eden…and wondering how many more people have to tell me the same thing before I start listening.