“Hamilton?” she says, totally shocked.
“Hey, sis,” I say, dumbly. I remember the pie and hold it
up, a weak offering. “Thought I’d drop by and bring you some dessert.”
She eyes the pie and her lips curve upward. “Did Renata make that pie?”
I scratch the back of my neck. “Yep.”
She grabs the dish in one hand and pulls me into a tight embrace with the other. I’m instantly assaulted with the spicy scents of cinnamon and sage. She leans back and looks into the apartment. “Hey, everyone!” she shouts. The living room is filled with a small collection of colorful people, all vaguely around Hollis’ age. “This is my baby brother, Hamilton. He brought pie!”
I’m greeted with a wave of welcoming, celebratory cheers, and for the first time in a long while, I feel like I’m home.
As it turns out, my sister has made her own family. They’re an eclectic mix of students, professionals, and hourly workers. One girl, who raved over Renata’s pumpkin pie, works at the bakery down the street. Another guy, covered in a wide expanse of colorful ink, is an artist at a tattoo shop. There’s a lawyer, a girl getting her MBA, and someone whose pronouns I’m not quite sure of turns out to be the owner of the bungalow out front. No one is like anyone else. That the idea of this confuses me really nails home the fact that I live in a tightly protected bubble, surrounded by nothing but clones of myself.
Except for her, of course.
I feel smaller here. Unimportant. Everyone is older than me, more experienced, smarter. It’s not exactly a bad feeling. It’s hours before everyone leaves, but I hang around until the place clears out and her roommate disappears into her bedroom.
Hollis slides a beer across the kitchen counter to me and says, “Not that I’m complaining, but to what do I owe the pleasure of you showing up on my doorstep?”
“Other than the promise of a long night spent alone in my room, so as to not disrupt Mother’s Christmas decoration planning?” Hollis laughs, knowing exactly what I’m talking about. “So, I’ve been talking to this girl—"
“Ahhh right, it’s always a girl, isn’t it?” Her eyes are full of bright humor. “No hate. I know the feeling.”
“Well, this girl is different,” I start, fidgeting with my beer cap. “But like, she has this big family.”
“A Preston girl?”
“Yes, but.” I take a breath, unsure of how to get across the essence of Gwen. “Not like the other Preston girls.”
“Is that even possible?”
I smirk. “I wouldn’t think so, but this one is. And not... not just because she’s hot.” I give Hollis a look. “I mean, she is hot. But the thing is, there’s five kids in her family. They’re all adopted, like... in this big, open, hippie kind of life. They’re all about helping others and community service. Two of the kids are bi-racial, one is flirting with transgender stuff. The oldest brother works for a mechanic and the other sister…” I chew on my lip for a moment, at a loss for how to describe Skylar. “Well, she’s been through a lot.”
“Okay, you’re right.” Hollis takes a sip of beer. “That is different from the normal Preston fare.”
“Exactly.” I nod. “Anyway, I was texting with her, and just hearing about the chaos made me crave some. And we’ve been at a deficit for that since you left home.”
“You’re saying I remind you of chaos.” Her lips twitch in amusement.
“In the Bates house?” I scoff, tipping the bottle to my lips. “You’re a fucking hurricane.”
“Speaking of unstoppable natural disasters, how are mommy and daddy dearest?” It’s the first time she’s brought them up so far. I’m surprised it took this long.
I swallow a gulp of beer, shrugging. “They’re the same. Elitist. Controlling. You know, same old, same old.”
“Yeah, I do know.” She leans over the counter, hair hanging around her face. “I also know that, the last time I checked, you were all-in on their bullshit narrative.”
I meet her searching gaze. “People can change.”
“Sure.” She eyes me warily. “But it’s because of the girl.”
I stiffen, but don’t respond.
“The girl with the family and the alternative lifestyle, she’s shown you there’s more out there than Ivy League, secret societies, fraternity keggers, and the perfect internship.” She grins. “Oh, I bet Daddy just hates her guts.”
I pull at the corner of the beer label. “Yeah, he doesn’t know.” I reconsider. “About us, I mean. But yeah, he does know who she is, and he definitely doesn’t approve of anything about her or her family. Truthfully, no one knows about me and Gwendolyn. Except you, now.”