“Bring some vodka.”
“Celia, no,” my mom chimes in. “You know you can’t mix alcohol with your meds.”
“It’s for Sawyer, Mom. Jeez.”
I mouth to my mom, “I got it.”
“Hurry up.” The phone goes dead.
“Is she okay?” I slide my gaze between my parents, noticing the odd nonverbal exchange they’re having with each other. “Mom?”
“She’s fine, honey.”
My dad scrubs his face with one hand. “She’s been a little cranky lately.”
“Well, then, I better hurry and get up there.” I grab a cold bottle of vodka from the freezer and kiss my parents good night.
“Help yourself to whatever you need.” My mom hugs me a second time.
“I will. Night.”
Dropping my shoes off at the bottom of the stairs, I take the steps two at a time until I’m at the door to the bedroom my sister grew up in. It still has a Foo Fighters sticker on it as well as a biohazard sign that I think she stole from a processing plant the summer of our junior year.
The flickering blue light of the television spills through the crack in the doorway. I push it open and find my sister in the same spot she was in the last time I saw her just a few days ago. Pillows propped behind her back, remote in hand, oxygen tube resting on her upper lip and a bored expression on her face. Her eyes come to mine and she smiles. “Get in here and tell me what happened.”
“I called you from the Uber but you were on a rock face in Utah.” She sniffs like it’s no biggie.
“Last week you were exploring caves in Phong Nha-Ke Bang National Park.”
“Yeah, I just like saying Phong Nha-Ke Bang.” She scoots over and pats the mattress. “Sit.”
I close the door, just like I did when we were kids and we wanted to talk about boys without our parents hearing. As I settle in next to her, she mutes the TV and tosses the remote to the foot of the bed.
“You and Mark broke up, huh? Not surprised. The guy has the personality of a sheet of paper.”
Picking at the label on the cold vodka bottle in my lap, I shrug. “He wasn’t right for me, that’s all. I’m not in love with him.”
She sits up and turns her body to face me. “Let me guess . . . he wore socks with his Birkenstocks.”
I stare dumbly back into her face and even though hers is rounder because of the medication and her hair longer it’s still like staring in the mirror.
Celia’s my identical twin sister.
“Real funny.”
Her lips curve into a grin and she shoves my shoulder. “I’m right, aren’t I? You broke up with him because he wore Birkenstocks.”
“No.”
“Crocs?”
“No!”
“Liar.”
“I swear!” Laughter bubbles up in my chest.
“I don’t believe you.” She crosses her arms over her chest. Waiting.
“It wasn’t any of that, it’s just . . .” I stare at my sister’s lifted brow and sigh. “He wore tennis shoes without socks. You could make penicillin off the bacteria living in those shoes.” I shudder.
“I knew it!” She throws her head back, laughing. “You’re sick, Sawyer Forrester.”
“That’s not the only reason.”
“Oh, I’ve gotta hear this.” She grabs the vodka bottle out of my hand, unscrews the top, and moves to take a sip.
I smack the bottle away from her lips. “Celia, no! You can’t drink.”
“Pfft! Of course I can.” She takes a full mouthful of clear liquid and I rip it from her hand.
“Stop it!”
She cringes as she swallows the straight booze, one eye pinched closed and her lips pursed like she just sucked on a lemon. “Your turn,” she grunts out.
I pull a tissue from the box on the nightstand and wipe the mouth of the bottle, earning an eye roll from my sister, then take a healthy swig and cringe as I force the fire down my throat. “Ugh . . . I hate this.”
“I know, it’s awesome, right? Go on.” She settles back in next to me and pats my thigh. “Nice hose, Sawyer. Those are your Friday night hose, yeah? What shade is that? San Tropez tan?”
As if the liquor went straight to my head instantly, I giggle and hold up one stocking-covered foot. “No, it’s called medium buff.”
“Huh . . . it’s about five times darker than your natural marshmallow skin tone.”
“Shut up.”
“Don’t get me wrong, it looks good, but if you want to pull it off you’ll need an extra pair for your arms.” She motions to my neck. “And your face.”
I dissolve into a fit of giggles and she follows.
“All right, either you drink or I do.” She motions to the bottle.
I take a sip and she glares so I take another until she’s satisfied.
“So . . .? What else?”
“We work together and live together. It’s just a lot of together, ya know?”
“Hmm . . .”
“He clips his toenails in bed. Oh, and I’ve caught him scrolling through my text messages, did I ever tell you that? He said he was looking for a message from someone at work, but really . . . who does that?”
She looks thoughtfully at the television, then turns back to me. “I think I know what this is about.”
“It’s not about anything. I’m just not in love—”
“You’re scared.”
I gasp and find myself sitting up a little taller. “I am not.”
“Yeah, you are. This is the first serious relationship you’ve been in since you were ‘cured.’ ” She uses air quotes. “First sign of trouble and you’re running.”
I laugh, loud, because that’s absurd and strangely it makes me feel defensive. “He’s mean to waiters, and he breathes through his mouth, not when he sleeps, but like always. That has nothing to do with fear.”
“I’ll give you that, Mark is kind of a douche, but don’t you see what you’re doing? You’re secluding yourself again.”
“I am not—”
“How many friends do you have? And don’t just throw out a number, I want names.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Name ’em.”
Taking another sip of vodka gives me a few extra seconds to think. “There’s Dana—”
“Your assistant doesn’t count. She’s paid to like you.”
My jaw drops, but my sister looks unapologetic as she asks me to continue.
“Maggie is my—”
“Your hairdresser?”
“Oh, so I can’t be friends with her either?”
“Fine. Maggie. Go on.”
I chew my bottom lip, thinking. “I still talk to Anna from high school.”
“Commenting and liking on social media does not count as talking to, Sawyer.”
“What, you want me to admit I have no friends? I admit it. I have no friends.” Tears burn my eyes, stupid booze.
Her expression softens and she frowns. “Life is too short to live being afraid of everything, trust me, I know.”
“You’re not afraid of anything.”
“That’s not true.” She seems to sink deeper into the bed. “I’m afraid of what’ll happen to you once I’m gone.”