Selling Satisfaction (12 page)

Eyeing Everett, I know he is waiting for me to admit the truth. I hate him for it. Looking to Emily once more, I shake my head. "No," I tell her. "He actually hasn't mentioned much about his family. I assumed he didn't have much. Are you from around here?"

She slaps his arm. "You didn't tell her about your favorite sister? What the hell!" I can tell she's being playful, and once again I'm a little envious of her.

He peeks down at her, the side of his mouth lifted in an adorable way. "You're my
only
sister." He looks over at me, perking up a brow. "Thanks for getting me in trouble."

Shrugging my shoulder, I make sure to tell him, "Your fault. Not mine."

He eyes me some more but doesn't say anything more, probably because Emily continues to speak. "His only sister that is carrying his only nephew. We don't have much for family, but we do have each other. Do you have any siblings?"

"No, I don't."

"That must have gotten awful lonely." She pouts her lip- sad for me. Not what I need.

"I had brothers and sisters growing up, they just weren't my siblings." The moment it all comes out of my mouth I realize that I revealed something about my past I hardly ever bring up unless to Kandy or Hillarie. I don't like to tell people I grew up in foster care. I ran away before I was eighteen, which could actually get me in trouble for one. For two, I don't want anyone digging around in my past. Then again, I don't see Emily doing much digging. Everett on the other hand, possibly. Maybe if I give him hints here and there, he'll back off from digging into situations he doesn't want to know about.

"That... doesn't make sense," Emily notes.

"Foster care," I admit. It
almost
pains me to admit. "I was in foster care for almost a decade. I had plenty of brothers and sisters in those years, but none of them were biological, and none of them I speak with anymore. Therefore, no siblings."

They're both silenced for a second, then Emily smiles, as if nothing were wrong. "I've always wanted a sister. Someone that doesn't shove a frog down your bathing suit when you're at the lake, or doesn't put ants in your sandwich during a picnic that you tried to make perfect, or that doesn't cut off one of your pigtails the day before school pictures." She glares at Everett, as he looks away from her, whistling silently. "Boys suck." As she rubs her tummy, she looks down and says, "You'll be different though, won't you Buggah? You won't do all those cruel things. You'll be a special Momma's boy that is innocent and perfect."

Everett snorts. "Don't teach him to be a pussy-ass."

"What?" She looks up in horror. "Why would you say that?"

"You're going to raise that kid to be shoved up your ass. He needs to be climbing trees and playing swords with sticks."

"He'll poke an eye out!"

"Okay, Mom." He gives her a pointed stare. "Good thing I won't be around much, I'd teach him how boys are meant to be."

She then swallows audibly, getting frustrated with something that was meant to be funny. I feel a little awkward, but for some reason I can't look away from their wreckage. "Why are you being mean?"

"I'm not being mean. I'm simply stating that the kid doesn't need to be a Momma's boy, he needs to rough house it and play in dirt, cut snakes in half, learn to shoot a BB gun. All those kinds of things, not bake cookies and watch Lifetime movies."

"You're being mean." Apparently that is all she can come up with. I have no say in the matter, I don't want to inform someone on how to raise a kid, because I know damn well I couldn't do it if my life depended on it.

Everett shakes his head, "No I'm not. Anyways." Looking at me, he perks up once more and again, I feel awkward. "Since we didn't get to do our fishing trip, and it's been over a week, want to do something... say this weekend?"

On the phone with Kandy earlier she mentioned that Winston wanted to schedule something for Friday night, due to having to cancel on him this past week, and that she had a new client for me for Saturday to take to a benefit dinner. "Sunday afternoon, I guess."

Emily snorts out a laugh. "You're just pissing everyone off, aren't you?" She storms off past both of us, leaving me questioned by what just happened.

Everett runs his hands over his face in frustration.

"What was that about?" I ask- unsure if I want to actually know.

"Pregnancy hormones."

"I don't get it."

"Well, when you get pregnant, the hormones in your-"

"I get that part," I interrupt. "I meant, why did she assume you pissed me off?"

His gray eyes look me over for a second, his expression hard to read. "You sounded like the idea of hanging out with me was preposterous when you mentioned Sunday. Maybe she took it as I upset you... again."

I'm not even sure what to say...

"I didn't mean to sound like that. I have plans this weekend, I was trying to think of which day would work better."

"So you want to hang out with me?" I almost hate that he looks so hopeful.

"Well it's not that I want to necessarily, it's that..."

"Don't do me any favors." Suddenly his voice goes from smooth and sweet, to irritated and upset. I realize a moment too late that what I said came out wrong.

"I didn't mean it like that," I try to hurry and say.

He shrugs it off. "Don't worry about it. Emily leaves in two days, I want to spend time with her." He starts to walk past me. I should let him go, I wanted to break ties with him, but for some damn reason I reach out and grab his shirt before he can get away from me.

Stopping, Everett looks down at my hand, then slowly makes his way to look me in the eyes. I try to plead with him from my stare alone. "That came out wrong. I do want to hang out with you, I'm just..." I drop my hand, exasperated.

"Brenna." I look up when he says my name with meaning. "I'm not forcing you to hang out with me. And if you do hang out with me, I'm not forcing you to do anything you don't want to do. Friends, remember?"

His words cause me to smile. I can tell he is being sincere in what he says- and I'm thankful he understands my anxiety over everything. Nodding, I say, "Friends."

"So if you want to hang out with me Sunday, great, if you don't... well, maybe one day I'll be good enough for you." He tries to play it off with a smile of his own, but he fails. I can tell it's not sincere, he wants more than friends, but I'll ignore it for now.

"You're too good for me," I correct him. "Sunday works great." Before any more can be said, I add in. "I really do have to get going. It was good seeing you." Then I walk away, because I'm pretty certain I've screwed up far too much already. For both him and I.

*~*~*

I pop a Styrofoam cup
of chicken flavored noodles into the microwave before answering my text. Hillarie wanted all the details of my interaction with Everett- including how I thought Emily was his pregnant girlfriend. I don't miss out on any details, embarrassing or not.

She calls it romantic, I call the altercation pathetic. She believes it all to be fate, preparing us for a beautiful future to tell our non-existent grandchildren about, I make sure to remind her there is nothing beautiful about my future, one of which will have no kids. The most recent message from Hillarie reads,
So what are y'all doing Sunday?

As I start typing out that I have no freaking clue about plans, someone knocks on the door. Looking down, I sort of laugh to myself. If it's Everett again, he's going to realize that my pajamas are never much of anything. Light pink silk shorts and a matching camisole. At least this time I have a bra on.

Except when I look through the peephole it's not Everett- although now that I glance at his sister from this perspective, I do notice how much they look alike. Opening the door, I smile at Emily. "Hey?"

"Hey! So um, I cooked far more than necessary. Sure you don't want to join us for dinner?"

"Ah, I see Everett's smooth entrapments are a thing of the families. Thanks for the invite, but I am in the middle of cooking my dinner right now."

"No trap, just thought I'd ask." The microwave beeps to signal my soup is done. Emily's brows both lift, along with the side of her mouth. "What'cha cooking?"

"Soup."

"Oh, delicious. Well, if you'd like some double battered deep fried chicken tenders or seasoned home fries, come on down. It'd be great getting to know you. And if you're not hungry, we're going to play some five card draw."

I look at her questionably. "Five card draw? I've never heard of it."

"Poker. You've never played?"

"Can't say I have."

"Awesome. Grab your soup, and a robe..." she looks my clothes- or lack of- over. "And come join us." I'm starting to think Everett didn't send her up like I had originally assumed, I truly think this is all a ploy of hers.

I bark out a laugh. "Smooth. I'm really not up for the company though. I appreciate it all the same, but I think I want to sit back and relax."

Everything cute and fun about Emily seems to evaporate before my eyes. "Listen, what is going on with my brother?" She crosses her arm. I can see her defenses pick up, and I swallow back a bit of fear. She thinks I'm playing games- but that couldn't be further from the truth.

"We're strictly friends."

"Friends play poker," she quips.

"I get it, why you're so defensive. You're being protective, and I don't blame you for that. If I had a sibling, I'd be the same way. You don't have to worry about me. I don't want a relationship with your brother, or anyone for that matter, which is why I'm keeping a distance. I haven't given him any pretenses or hope for something that isn't there. I'm not leading him on. I'm not being a flirt or a whore or any of that. I'm trying to hold back, and limit my time with him, no lines get crossed or feelings get hurt."

She sighs loudly, uncrossing her arms, only to rub her belly unconsciously. "He likes you, Brenna. Probably more than friends, but he won't say as much. I see the way he glances out the kitchen window at you, or in the way he says your name, and when you two were talking earlier, it wasn't hard to decipher his feelings. So whether you mean to or not, he's falling for you. If you honestly don't want anything with him, then maybe you should back off altogether. None of this
lets be friend’s
bullshit. Guys and girls y’alls age can't be friends without some lines being crossed."

"I've been nothing but honest," I start to plead, but she doesn't miss a beat when she continues.

"And he takes it as playing hard to get. Maybe that has a lot to do with it, why he's so smitten with you. Can I ask you why? Why don't you want a relationship with my brother?"

I hate that this conversation is taking a turn for a territory I don't want to touch, even more so over the fact it's in the doorway to my condo. "If we're going to talk about this, then can you come in and sit?"

She walks in without a word, and heads straight for the kitchen. She cozies herself up at the bar, while I get my soup from the microwave, grabbing a fork before I sit down beside her. I mix the noodles as I think of what to say, and to remind myself what to keep buried.

"I have a horrible past, the greater part of the last twelve years have been... awful. I don't like myself most days. I have addictions and secrets and a lot of self-misery. I don't have many friends. I do have a job I love, and I make a lot of money, and I don't want him to interrupt that, or anything for that matter. He wouldn't be able to accept me as I am. He looks at me and he sees a nice body, a cute face, a game as you said. He doesn't see me, and my scars, and the fact that I'd bring him down hill so fast he would resent me for years to come. It isn't worth it, not for either of us."

The way a mom would, she reaches over and holds my hand under hers. Her eyes try to read mine. I see the pity in them, which isn't what I wanted at all. I only wanted her to see the picture more clearly, and maybe she can find a better way to explain it all to Everett. I said far more than I wanted to, but everything that I
needed
to. Giving another reason as to why I need to stay away, I continuously give too many hints about who I am.

"What happened to your parents?" She asks.

Closing my eyes, I shake my head- not necessarily in answer, but to try and erase my thoughts. Any time I'm asked something like that- which with being in foster care for so long, it got asked a lot- I immediately picture their bodies lying there, lifeless and covered in the crimson red. "It doesn't matter." I open my eyes and can feel the moisture set in place, brimming to the point of almost falling down my cheek, so I try to blink the tears away. "It's all in the past."

"Our parents died in a car crash a few years ago. It was my graduation day. They got to see me get my diploma, but before the ceremony was done, it started to drizzle outside. I gave them hugs and kisses, and told them I was riding with my friend Sasha to the graduation party a few of the parents were putting together for a group of us. Apparently the brakes in their car were messed up, but no one knew, and with the slick of the freshly wet roads, they didn't get to stop at a red light. A big Mack truck went through the intersection. They both died on scene."