“You’re right. I don’t,” Charlie replies, pushing back his chair so hard it tips over.
“Jesus, Charlie,” Sam shouts. “She knows Taylor and I aren’t together. Not that it’s your business.”
“You’re right, it’s not,” Charlie snaps, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, anger radiating from him.
“Charlie?” I take a step forward. “Are you okay?”
He looks at me with a stunned expression, like he’s surprised to find me standing there. His eyes soften.
“Yeah, Pers. I’m fine. Or I will be after I roll a joint and take a long walk,” he says, and heads toward the house. “Get her some dry clothes,” he tells Sam over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.
I start grabbing the dirty paper towels and empty bottles with unsteady hands, not looking at Sam.
“Here,” he says, taking the empties from me and bending down to my eye level. If it were anyone else, I’d say he was strangely calm for someone who was just told off by his brother, but it’s classic Sam, and I can see the scarlet streaks staining his cheeks.
“Will he be all right?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he sighs and looks toward the sliding door that Charlie disappeared through. “He doesn’t think I’ve changed much since we were kids. He’s wrong about that.” He looks at me carefully, slowly, and I know he’s deciding whether he should say more. “But you do need something dry to put on.”
“I can’t wear her clothes, Sam,” I tell him, my voice as wobbly as my hands.
“Agreed,” he says, gesturing toward the house with his head. “You can wear something of mine.”
In some ways, this whole trip has been a time warp, but I’m still not ready for the wave of nostalgia that bashes against me when I follow Sam into his old bedroom. The dark blue walls. The anatomical heart poster. The desk. The twin bed that seems so much smaller than it once did.
He hands me a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. “I’ll let you change,” he says and steps outside, closing the door behind him.
Sam’s clothes are about six sizes too big. I fold up the sleeves of the shirt and tie it in a knot at the waist, but there’s not much I can do about the pants, except to tighten the drawstring and roll up the legs.
“You’re going to laugh when you see me,” I call as my eyes catch on a yellow-and-red box on the top of the bookshelf. It’s no longer standing upright on display, but it’s there nonetheless. I’m reaching for it when Sam walks back into the room.
“I can’t believe you still have this,” I say, holding the Operation box out to him.
“You know, that dress was hot, but this is a much better look on you.” He smirks and motions to the pants. “Especially the saggy crotch.”
“Leave my crotch alone,” I tell him. One of his eyebrows quirks up in response. “Shut up,” I mumble. He takes the box from me and puts it back on the shelf.
“Unless you want to play?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“What else do you still have?” I wonder aloud, leaning closer to the shelves.
“Pretty much everything,” Sam says from beside me. “Mom didn’t pack up my stuff, and I haven’t touched it since I’ve been back.”
I squat down in front of the Tolkien novels and sit cross-legged on the carpet.
“I never finished this.” I tap The Hobbit and look up at him. He’s watching me with a tight expression.
“I remember,” he says quietly. “Too much singing.”
He kneels beside me, his shoulder touching mine, and I nervously adjust my hair so it falls over my face, putting a barrier between us. I run my fingers over the thick medical tomes. I stop on the anatomy textbook, remembering what happened in this room when we were seventeen.
The thought enters my head unbidden and leaves my mouth at the same time: “That was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.” And then: “Shit.” I keep my sight clamped to the shelf, wanting to die in an avalanche of out-of-date science books. Sam lets out a breath that sounds a little like a laugh, and then moves my hair behind my shoulder.
“I’ve picked up one or two moves since then,” he says, his voice low and close enough that I can feel the words on my cheek. I put my hands on my thighs, where they’re safe.
“I’m sure,” I say to the books.
“Percy, can you look at me?” I close my eyes briefly but then I do, and I immediately wish I hadn’t because his gaze drops to my mouth, and when it returns to my eyes, his are dark and wanting.