“Now you want to talk?”
“I know you don’t want to talk to me, Mo, but let’s be grownups, okay? For a few minutes?”
“Yep, yep. Let’s do that. I’ll text you the address. And, Michaela?”
“Yeah?”
“You might want to wear something other than a T-shirt and jeans. Maybe dress like a woman for a change.”
I felt like shit the second the words made their way past my lips, but my ego had been knocked down with a battering ram, and the monster that lived inside me wanted to knock her down too.
She sucked in a breath, then another. “I’m sorry I don’t live up to your rock star standards. I’ll try not to embarrass you.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to apologize, soothe away any hurt I’d caused, but I was too caught up in being angry with her to see past it.
“I’ll text you the time and address. See you tomorrow, Mickey.”
“Goodbye, Moses.”
I stood there, clutching the counter, trying to catch my breath. I’d known she would pop back into my life someday, with the cat and mouse game we’d been playing with the divorce papers she’d shoved at me, but I hadn’t been prepared for the reality of it.
Eventually, I got dressed and walked out into my living room, an unlit joint hanging from my lips. My boy and bandmate, Murray, was spread out on my couch, his skateboard under his feet. He must’ve gotten here while I’d been in the shower.
“The monster has risen,” he said, eyeing me.
He had no idea.
Rolling my eyes, I picked up the lighter from my coffee table and held it up to the end of the joint. Taking a puff, then another, I held it out to Murray, but he shook his head.
“I’m going skating after this. Skating high makes me paranoid.”
Yael emerged from the kitchen holding a plate and mug. “Your breakfast, sir.” She set it on the coffee table, then plucked the joint from my lips and placed it between hers, inhaling deeply. “Out with it. What’s crawled up your britches?”
Murray cackled. “Britches?”
She flipped him off. “I’ve been spending too much time with Maeve. Her Georgia is wearing off on me.”
“It’s adorable,” Murray said.
Yael flipped him off again.
They bickered for a while, and I ate the omelet my dear, brash sister had made for me. I considered spilling my guts, but my guts were fiery and raw, so I kept holding it all in, just like I’d been doing since I woke up alone in that hotel room.
“Anyone heard from Santi?” I asked.
“He emailed and said he and Maeve were going on a road trip. They’re driving from Baltimore to the Grand Canyon, which is my own personal hell, but I’m certain they’ll be adorable,” Yael said.
“I thought I was your personal hell,” Murray said.
She gave him a withering look, and he laughed. “Hell has many layers. Ever read Dante? You’d be the eighth circle.”
He squinted at her. “What’s that one? Lust?”
She turned toward me, face stony. “Your friend is harshing my mellow.”
I palmed her face. “You have never been mellow once in your life.”
Yael and I met Murray when our parents uprooted us from our childhood home in Long Island and moved us down to Baltimore for our dad’s work. She’d been starting her junior year of high school, and I’d been a senior. She met Murray first, and she was pissed when Istolehim, but that was the last time they’d gotten along. I wasn’t naive, didn’t think it was impossible there were some type of feelings between them that created this tension, but Murray knew better than to ever touch my sister. Not because I’d kill him for it—although I would—but because Yael would chew him up, spit him out, and convince him he’d loved it.