I stand there frozen in place, my mouth hanging open. We don’t even own a fucking cat.
“I’m going to wait out there with Jersey,” Mick says, beating a hasty retreat.
I wish I could run out there with him, but I know I can’t. After the door shuts, I swallow with difficulty and try to speak. “Uhhh, Doc … gah … uh …”
He holds up a hand. “Listen … I know that no one in your family has asked your brother to lick … well, let’s just say … inappropriate things. But we need to keep in mind that he’s very vulnerable and still needs quite a bit of supervision. People take advantage of the weak.”
My face burns a deep red. “I know that. We all know that. Believe me, we live with it every day.”
“Hey, I don’t want you to feel like you have to watch him like a hawk, okay?” He bends at the waist a little and shoots me with his doe-brown laser beam eyes, making me want to cry. He’s too understanding to be a real doctor. “He needs to spread his wings a little and be out in the world on his own if he’s ever going to be independent. But let’s do this in baby steps, okay?”
“I don’t see why he needs to be independent at all. I think you guys are nuts.” I grab my purse and throw it over my shoulder, disgusted with the conversation already. Jersey is way too vulnerable to be independent. I’ve watch for twelve years while he’s been systematically been bullied, hurt, and manipulated by evil kids. I can only imagine what adults would do to him out in the real world.
“You don’t agree?”
“No. I don’t.” I’m more than irritated now. The holy mother of all cusswords is banging on the door of my mouth, begging to be let out. Man, it would feel soooo good, too.
“And what would you have us do?”
I throw up my arms. “I don’t know. Just … keep him busy and watched over.”
“Who’s going to do that? Your aging parents?”
“No.”
“You?”
I shrug, sticking my chin out in challenge. “Sure. Why not?”
“Because I assume one day you’re going to want to get married and have children of your own.”
“So? Jersey’s not going to stop that from happening.” I’m two seconds away from bobbing and weaving my head around in true home-girl fashion. Doc Harper has my back up now.
He presses his lips together and sighs. “You say that now… but you cannot possibly imagine how difficult it would be to raise a newborn with Jersey in the house.”
This is the first time I’ve ever been angry at the good doctor. I hate to think what he’s suggesting about my brother or me.
I walk over to the door and put my fingers on the handle before delivering my final parting shot. “Actually, I can imagine. I’ve been taking care of that cat-poo-licker his entire life. For twelve years. I’ve wiped his ass after he’s shit his pants during dinner, I’ve dressed him in clothes he hates and gotten a black eye for it, and I’ve watched over him and kept him out of trouble more hours than I could ever count, except for I guess that one time he licked cat shit. He’s my brother and my responsibility. I’ll make sure he’s fine, regardless of whether he’s ever independent, you can count on that.” I open the door and step out before the doctor has a chance to respond. I’m too pissed to debate Jersey’s issues right now. I just want to get home and forget this day ever happened. My mom is going to blow a major gasket when she hears about what Jersey said.
Mick is out in the waiting room listening to Jersey recite the capitals of all the states, nodding in appreciation even when he gets most of them wrong.
“…And the capital of North Dakota is South Carolina. See? It’s tricky like that. You have to really try to remember, but you can do it, Mickey Mouse. You can do it. I believe in you.”
“Come on, time to go home,” I say. I’m completely exhausted. All I want to do is go home and take a two-week-long nap.
Jersey stands without a fight. “Come on, Mickey Mouse. Time for dinner.”
“He’s not staying for dinner,” I say as we go out to the car. “He’s busy.”
We get in the vehicle and I start it up, looking in the back seat to be sure Jersey is putting his seatbelt on.
“Are you busy?” Jersey asks, looking sad.
“Yeah, I’m pretty busy,” Mick says, settling into the front seat next to me. “Maybe another time, J-man.”
I’m angry at his answer. Does it mean he’s regretting hanging out with my brother? Does it mean he hates me? Or is he really busy? Argh, I want this day to have never happened. Nothing with Jersey is ever easy. And no matter what Mick does, I’m going to assume the worst. I can’t even look at him.
“Who’s J-man?” Jersey asks, confused. I can see his scrunched-up face in the rearview mirror as I reverse out of our parking space.
“That’s you. J is for Jersey,” Mick explains as I pull out onto the main road.
There’s a giant elephant in the car, namely the identity of the person responsible for the poo-licking, but I’d rather die than discuss it in front of Mick. I’ve decided that I’m glad he got the hint and said he couldn’t come to dinner. I can only take so much humiliation coming from my family for one day before I snap. And when I snap, it’s never pretty. Not that I care what Mick thinks. Maybe it would be good for him to see me all snapped out. Then I could write off the errant thoughts of him naked as tiny brain aneurisms on my part and move on with my life.
Twenty minutes later after a car ride filled with lists of state capitals, we arrive back at our house. I realize then that I forgot to bring Mick home.
“Shit.” I rest my head on the steering wheel as Jersey gets out and sprints up the front walk and into the house, yelling the entire way.
“What’s the matter?” Mick asks.
“I forgot to drive you home.” I want to cry. I don’t think I can be alone with him now. Or ever for that matter.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll call my brother.” He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket.
“No, I’ll take you.”
“No, that’s fine,” he says, getting out of the car and turning his back on me.
It probably should be a relief, but his refusal to allow me to take him home feels like a rejection and just pisses me off more. My brain is making no sense. First I hate him and never want to see him again and then I wonder if he might like me someday.
As I watch him on his phone, I can’t help but wonder if the reason he’s saying no to my ride offer is because he really dislikes me or because he’s had enough of the Torres household to last a lifetime. Either reason sucks big donkey dong.
Jersey appears out on the porch with my mom in tow.
I get out of the car and rush up to meet them, my heart going way too fast. Screw caring about Mick and wanting him to like me. This cannot happen.
“Hey, Mickey Mouse!” Jersey yells, leaving Mom with me on the lawn.
“What’s this all about?” she asks.
“Mom!” I grab her arm and squeeze it, talking low and fast. “Don’t let him stay for dinner! Tell Jersey no! Tell him Mick’s busy! Tell him we don’t have enough food! Tell him … tell him … tell him you’re dying of a dread disease and don’t have time to host guests for dinner anymore!”
She smiles at me. “What’s gotten into you? Are you okay? How’d the doctor’s go?”
“Mom! Are you even listening to me?! I’m serious!”
Jersey walks up with Mick’s hand in his. “This is Mickey Mouse and I want him to come to dinner.”
Mick holds out his hand. “Hello, Mrs …”
“Torres. But you can call me Linda,” my mom the traitor says.
I glare at her but she ignores me completely. In fact, the smile on her face says she’s enjoying this way too much. I would pinch her on the butt if Mick wasn’t looking right at her.
“You’re welcome to stay, Mick. We have plenty of food.”
“That’s okay. I was just trying to reach my brother to get a lift home.”
She reaches out and takes his wrist. “Nonsense. You’re staying here for dinner and Quinlan can take you home after dessert.”
“Quinlan?” he asks me as he’s being led away, an evil grin lighting up his face.
I shake my head and give him the death-ray glare, mouthing every cuss word I know in his direction.
All he does is smile. And then he has the absolute gall to wink at me.
CHAPTER FIVE
I’M IN THE BATHROOM, SITTING on a closed toilet lid with my cell phone pressed to my ear. “Come on, come on, pick up the phone, Tea-Tea...”
“Hello, sweetie cakes, what’s up?”
I want to scream when I hear her say that. “What the fuck is wrong with all you people?” I say in a whisper-growl.
“Well, that’s an interesting way to start a phone call,” Teagan says, a smile in her voice.
“Since when did you start calling me sweetie cakes?”
“Since today, I guess. You got a problem with it?”
“No. But I do have a problem with everyone doing shit that I don’t expect, okay? So if you could just go back to being the old scowly grumpy Teagan for right now, that would be first-class. Seriously.”
“Wow, who shit in your Wheaties?”
“Good. That’s better. Mick shit in my Wheaties if you must know.”
“Mick? Mick as in Rebel’s Mick?”
“Yes. His little brother. The ass-kissing, hot sexy, liar, jerk face, … guy in my house right now, sitting down to eat dinner with my whole frigging family. That guy.”
My mother’s voice comes in faintly through the wood of the bathroom door. “Quuuiiinlaaaan … diiiiinnnerrr!”
“Fuck me sideways, it’s dinner time.” I rest my elbow on the counter and put my forehead in my hand. My head has suddenly become too heavy to be carried by my neck alone.
“So, go have dinner,” Teagan says.
“Stop acting all casual like that!” I yell, jerking my head off my hand so I can flap my fingers all over the place. “I can’t just go have dinner!”
“Uh … am I missing something?”
I bang my phone on my forehead a few times to get a grip on my temper. “Yes. I forgot to tell you about my shitcake of a day.”
“Okay, tell me.”
“You left Mick here and Jersey glommed onto him like stink on poo, and then Mick ended up following us to the doctor’s office where he heard all kinds of awful shit about Jersey doing shit he shouldn’t be doing and now he’s here for dinner too!”
“Wow, you move fast. When’s the wedding?”
“It wasn’t me! It was Jersey! And Mick! They’re in some sort of evil plan together to make me insane.” I huff out some air to push my hair off my forehead. “You won’t frigging believe what those two have been doing.”
“Maybe he’s just trying to get laid. By you, I mean, not Jersey.”
“You know what? That would be fine, because in all honesty, I do find him more hot than is probably legal. But this is not the way to do it. You do not get into my pants through mesmerizing my brother. That’s just wrong.” I’m sad, because as self-righteous as I sound, I’m pretty sure that’s not Mick’s goal. He seems more interested in just goofing around with Jersey than even talking to me.
“That sounded really wrong.”
“Yeah, well, whatever. Jersey licked cat poo. Did I tell you that?”
When Teagan stops laughing she responds. “What cat poo has to do with Mick getting into your pants, I’m not even sure I want to know.”
“It’s a long story. It’s not connected. Anyway, I have to go to dinner.”
“And Mick is there?”
“Yes. He’s here. And I want to know all about your lawyer appointment but not now. I have to go murder my whole family first.”
“Don’t murder them. Just pity them. And say hi to Mick for me. Does he need a ride home?”
“Yes! Come get him now. I’ll box up his dinner.”
“I’ll see you in an hour. Have fun,” she says, way too cheerily.
“Payback can be a real bitch,” I growl.
“I look forward to it.” She disconnects the call and leaves me alone on the toilet.
“Quin, it’s time for dinner,” my younger sister says through the door. “Mom says come or you’re on dishes.”
I leap up and throw open the door, reaching for the little turd so I can torture her until she cries uncle.
She’s too fast for me, though, and she runs down the hall ahead of me, sounding like a herd of screaming elephants. “I’ll get you later, Shasta!” You’d never know she’s sixteen by the way she’s acting right now. Some things never change.
I take a deep breath in and let it out, focusing all my energy on connecting with the calm, rational part of my brain. It’s been hiding for the last couple hours, but with enough effort, I know I can make it through this meal in one piece and without committing assault or battery against any of my loved ones.
Putting my now frizzy hair up into an elastic, I follow my sister down the hall and into the dining room.
CHAPTER SIX
I ARRIVE AT THE TABLE and find Mick sitting next to the only empty seat, the one I usually take. Acting like it’s no big deal at all, I sit down and put my napkin in my lap. I can feel the heat coming from his body near my arm and leg. Shasta and my other sister, Olympia, are busy whispering and giggling, glancing up at him every couple second. Idiots.
My father hands me a big bowl of rice. “So, smiley face, tell us about the doctor’s appointment.”
I keep my attention on the rice. Trying not to spill any of the grains helps me stay calm. “Well, let’s just say it was interesting and leave it at that.”
“No, let’s just have the details,” my dad says, handing me the next dish with a stack of tortillas on it.
“I talked to Doctor Harper Harper Harper and answered all his questions,” Jersey says. “He was nice. He’s always nice. I don’t want a rash. Clowns suck.”
I hand Mick the rice and his fingers brush up against mine. My heart does a flip as I try to pretend like I don’t notice how warm they are or that just being next to him is making me crazy. I swear my legs start to tremble over the idea of my skin being on his. Ugh, I hate myself.
“Did you see a clown at the office?” my mother asks.
“No. Mick has a clown face with a rash,” Jersey explains.
Everyone either nods or ignores him. Asking for explanations of his inner brain-workings are always an exercise in futility.
“So, Mick, how long have you known Quinlan?” my father asks. He uses that special father-tone in his voice that says ever so much more than his words actually do. While his mouth asks about the extent of our relationship, his tone is saying that Mick better think twice about trying any funny business with his daughter. My sisters are back to giggling.
I wish the floor would open up and just suck me into a giant sink-hole right now. It’s like I’m fifteen again. I hate living at home. I have to move out, like really soon. I wonder if my parents would let me take Jersey with me.
“Well, not very long actually. I met her at my brother’s garage the first time and then again at a club a few weeks ago where I work. And her friend Teagan is dating my brother, so I see her around.”
“A club, huh?” My dad has stopped serving himself. “And what kind of club would that be?”
“Yeah, what kind of club would that be, Quin?” asks Shasta. “A strip club?”
“Dad,” I drop my fork on the table, “could we not give him the third degree about my life? If you want to know what I’m doing when I’m not here, just ask me.” I don’t even going to look at my sister or acknowledge her comment. That’ll just throw gas on her teasing fire. Besides, I’m going to give her a nuclear wedgie later when Mick’s gone to straighten her out.
“Hey, hey, no need to get all sensitive over it. I was just asking the boy a question.”
Mick is looking at me; I can sense his gaze on the side of my fa
ce. But I can’t return the gesture. Our lips would be just inches apart and I’d probably do something really stupid with that kind of temptation so near.
“Let’s change the subject,” I suggest. “How was work?”
“Same old, same old…” My father goes on to detail the latest drama at the electric company where he works, and it all turns into one giant droning sound in my brain.
I’m casually eating a burrito, conscious of every movement Mick makes next to me. He’s not shy about digging in, a fact that’ll make my mom deliriously happy. She’s one of those people who equates food with love, which explains why my ass is almost an axe-handle wide. Thank God my actual waist is immune to caloric intake.
My mother is responding to something my father said when Mick’s bare arm rubs up against mine.
Deep breaths. It’s no big deal. Just act like nothing’s up.
I keep eating, but then it happens again. And again. I can hear my heartbeat in my own ears. Is he doing it on purpose? Does he feel it like I do?
He leans over and whispers in my ear. “Can you pass the hot sauce, please?”
“Ew, hot sauce,” says Shasta. “I like mild salsa.”
“Mild is for quitters,” Olympia says.
The two of them commence a minor girl-slap fight, but Mick ignores all of it. He’s staring at me as he waits for me to comply with his request.
Holy hot sauce. Breathe, Quin, breathe. I reach my arm out like a shot and knock the bottle over in my haste. “Oh, fuck,” I say as the cap flies off and lands in my sister’s plate.
“Hey, language, Quinlan,” my mom says, frowning. My sisters high-five each other. Jersey’s tapping the bottom of his fork on the table to some rhythm only he can hear as he stares off into nothingness.
“Sorry.” I hand the bottle to Mick.
He wraps his whole hand around it, trapping mine against the glass container.
I turn quick and open my mouth to complain, but he’s smiling and his mouth is just two inches from mine. “Nervous about something?” he asks, flicking his eyebrows up once.
I yank my hand away. “No. Should I be?” I take a bite of beans, acting like I’m not having a heart attack right here at the dinner table.