Say You'll Remember Me(25)

I was shaken up for the rest of the day after my near accident with Mom. I had vowed that tomorrow would be better, but the next morning at 6:00 a.m. the door to my room swung open and a tall backlit figure stood in the frame. “You’re in my room, bitch.”

I groaned. Tristan.

“Get out,” I said, punching my pillow under my head and putting my back to him.

“Uh, this is my apartment.”

“You haven’t lived here for two years.”

I heard him drop his duffel bag. “Samantha, I’m too fucking hungover for this. Give me back my bed.”

I rolled over to glare at my little brother. “Does this look like your stuff to you?”

He had his arms crossed. “Uh yeah, it does. That’s my headboard.”

“I kept the bed. The rest of the furniture is mine—What are you even doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in Banff or something?”

“I’m home.” He scowled around at my stuff. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a frozen lake somewhere?”

“Ha ha.”

He sighed and stalked across the room. “Move over.”

He pushed me to the edge of the mattress and got under my comforter. He smelled like cotton candy vape.

“Your shoes better be off,” I grumbled.

Tristan was twenty-four, our parents’ youngest, and a pain in everyone’s ass. He was usually walking the earth somewhere, planting trees for the forest service or guiding white water rafting trips in Colorado or something equally random that kept him out of our hair.

He shifted dramatically next to me and the bed jostled like he was jumping on a trampoline.

“Ugh, why are you even home?” I moaned.

“Not for you.”

Pooter came down from her cat tree and climbed the bed, purring.

“What the hell is that?” my brother asked, sitting up.

“My cat.”

“The butthole one?”

“Yes, the butthole one. And thanks for not donating, cheap ass.”

“Like you needed it? By the time I saw it, you were a millionaire.”

He picked up Pooter and hovered her over his face. She hung there, paws dangling, completely chill as always.

He made a dismissive noise. “Mid.”

“Did you just call my cat mid?”

He plopped Pooter at the end of the bed and leaned on his elbow to look at me. “So I hear you got locked in a UFO with some hot vet.”

“Oh, so you do check the group chat.” I stared at the ceiling. “He lives in Minnesota. I’ll probably never see him again.”

“Why? I flew to Monett, Missouri, like seven times once for this guy I met on Hinge.”

I lolled my head to look at him. “Wasn’t that the bartender who got your name tattooed on his calf?”

“No. That was Ned. In Nashville.”

“Ahh. Right. Nashville Ned. How could I forget.”

He pursed his lips. “I missed your stupid face.”

“I missed your stupid face.”

Then he lifted his leg and let out a long, squeaky fart. I bolted up and turned on the light. “Oh my God!”

“I told you to get out.”

I hit him with a pillow. “Disgusting! Go sleep in the house. I’m serious.”

He got up and smirked at me. “I want you to know that I’ve done unspeakable things on that mattress. Unspeakable.”

I threw the pillow at him and he dodged it.

He grabbed his duffel bag and paused dramatically in the doorway. “I will get my room back.”

“If you come in here again, I’m killing you and burying you under federally protected florals.”

“Your vet boyfriend probably looks like Lord Farquaad.”

“He looks like the High Lord of the Night Court and you could never,” I snapped.

“Hag.”

“Pick me.”

He gasped. Then he pulled something from his bag. “I brought you peanut brittle from that place you like in Washington. I hope you choke on it.”

“I won’t, just to piss you off.”

He held the box of candy by the corner, dropped it on the floor, slammed the door, and left.

I rolled my eyes and fell back in the bed. I couldn’t go to sleep after that.

I googled homeware stores and Is it illegal to burn a mattress in your yard. Then I fed Pooter, put on slippers, grabbed my shattered peanut brittle, and crossed to the house in my pajamas, eating the candy straight from the box.

When I got in, Tristan was sitting at the kitchen counter with Jeneva’s boys while Grandma made everyone eggs. My brother looked at me and raised a slow middle finger and I stuck my tongue out before biting into a piece of my brittle and taking a seat at the counter.

“How long are you here?” Grandma asked him, standing over the stove.

“I don’t know. As long as I feel like, I guess. By the way, Sam’s in my room, you need to tell her to leave.”

Grandma laughed. “Well if it isn’t Zanzibar himself asking me for a favor.” She turned to look at him. “Request denied.”

“But, Grandma—”

“Nope. You put us through hell. I haven’t forgiven you yet.”