“Me, either. But you can’t pick when accidents happen, right?”
That word, accident, felt like knocking into a bruise that wouldn’t heal. It was the same for Anna, too. Grief passed over her face like a shadow. I had to look away. On her desk I saw a framed picture from Christmas a year and a half ago, all of us wearing Santa hats and grinning like loons. We were still four Blakes then. A four-pack.
“What are you doing here, Gideon? Why aren’t you at home?”
What she meant was why aren’t you bedridden, but I took the questions at face value. “I thought you could look after me here. That way you don’t have to miss any classes.” Then I nodded at her phone, ready to leave the subject of my non-injuries behind. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
She shrugged, smoothing her hands on her pajama pants. I’d given them to her the same Christmas from the photo. Red flannel with Eiffel Towers stamped all over them because her dream was to study in Paris. My sister was an artist. Growing up, Anna made beautiful collectible drawings and paintings and pottery. I broke shit. Bikes, bats, surfboards. Hearts. Just kidding on that last one.
“Oh. Just stuff with Wyatt,” she said.
“Wyatt?” I knew the guy. He was a spoiled idiot from a private high school near our hometown. He and Anna started dating senior year when they met in a mock-Senate club. I was pissed when I found out he was coming to the same college. High school should’ve been the end of Wyatt Sinclair. “I thought you broke up with that loser.”
“I did break up with him,” Anna said. “It was mutual. I mean, we decided to end it together. He said he wanted a time-out so I gave it to him.”
“Like he’s a freakin’ toddler? That kind of time-out?”
Anna ignored that. “He thought we were getting too serious. He said he wanted to ‘experience college.’” She made air quotes. “I thought we were really done. I know he’s been with other girls since. But we were technically on a break, so it shouldn’t matter, right?”
What technically mattered was that Wyatt was an ass, but Anna clearly didn’t see it that way. I looked around at the pile of clothes thrown over her chair and the coffee mug on her desk. I couldn’t believe I was talking relationships with her when I’d fallen out of a plane a week ago. And had no injuries to show for it.
Anna lifted her phone. “He just called and said he was wrong about leaving me. He said he made a terrible error in judgment and that he wants me back.”
“And you told him to screw himself, right?”
“I love him, G.”
“Anna. My ears.”
She laughed. “Okay, maybe not. But I do like him. He’s smart and he treated me well when we were together. He’s coming over to talk. I feel like I should at least hear him out.”
“He’s really coming over? That’s great! My fist is dying to talk to his face.”
“No, Gideon.” Anna’s smile disappeared. “Stay out of this. It’s my business.”
As I stared into her eyes, I wondered if this was my fault. When our dad died I was always gone, off on my own. Camping. Driving. Just hiding out alone. I couldn’t be around anyone. I didn’t trust myself to be. But my sister had needed someone in those days like I’d needed no one, and Wyatt Sinclair had been there for her. He’d stepped in and been her someone, and if there was one thing I understood, it was that grief was an opponent you didn’t play fair with. You did whatever it took to not let it beat you. You fought dirty against grief, period. So I understood. Anna didn’t love Wyatt. She loved that he’d been there for her during the worst time in her life.
“What is that?” Anna pulled my sleeve up before I could stop her. “Is that a cuff?”
“Yeah, so?” I tugged it back down. “Can’t I wear jewels?”
“It’s called jewelry, for one. And you can’t hate it your whole life and suddenly start liking it.”
“I don’t hate jewelry.” I just didn’t like having anything on me that didn’t have a reason to be there.
“Hogwash. You don’t even wear belts.”
True. Belts and bracelets shared a lot of DNA, in my view. I’d avoided them up until recently. In the Army, belts were a must.
Anna suddenly looked like she’d won the state lottery. “You met someone! You did, didn’t you?”
I’d never had a girlfriend, officially, and for some reason that made my mom and Anna lose their minds. In general we Blake twins were pretty screwed up when it came to relationships. Anna stayed in a bad one. I avoided them completely.
“Easy there, Banana. It’s called an XT3 Band. It stands for Experimental Therapy Band, third generation. Highly classified so that’s all I can tell you.”
I said all this, but I still had no idea what the cuff really was. Maybe I was right?
“Seriously, what’s her name?”
“You know how I feel about this. If I wanted a commitment, I’d get a dog.”