“Nah. I feel great.” He shifted in his seat toward me, and the trashcan slipped from his arms. It clattered noisily against the dash. “I want to find some pussy.”
Jeremy was four years younger than I was, but it felt like he was a generation beneath me. The age gap between eighteen and twenty-two had to be the widest one possible.
“Sorry, buddy. You’re welcome to look for pussy in my hotel room, but I doubt you’ll find any.”
I glanced at him when we rolled up to a stop sign. At first I thought he was upset I wasn’t taking him to the bars, but then I realized what was happening. I grabbed the rim of the trashcan and shoved it back into his lap.
I turned up the volume on the radio as Jeremy emptied the contents of his stomach into the can. It only lasted the chorus of Run the Jewels’ newest release, and then Jeremy’s head lifted upright.
“Better?” I asked.
He nodded. Under the light of the streetlamp, he looked ashen and waxy.
“Repeat after me,” I said. “No more shots until I know my limit.”
He didn’t speak. Instead he gripped the trashcan tighter and heaved a second time.
“Close enough,” I said.
-7-
KAYLA
When I came into the house after midnight, I was surprised to see Cooper was still up. My younger brother sat at the tiny kitchen table, leafing through the “College Football Preview” issue of Sports Illustrated while inhaling a bowl of Froot Loops.
“Oh my God,” I said, peering at the bowl and breathing in a whiff of the colorful sugary goodness. “I’m starving. Gimme.”
Cooper’s gaze swept over my bridesmaid dress critically, and he cradled his bowl of cereal closer, knowing it was in danger. “No way. Get your own, freak. How was the wedding?”
Our kitchen was what our mother called a “step-saver” which was a nice way of saying it was microscopic, but the house had been in our family since my grandparents bought it. I went to a cabinet, pulled down a bowl, then opened the silverware drawer and dug out a spoon. I struggled to put the evening into words. “It was nice. Marcy looked beautiful.” I moved toward the pantry, on a mission to put food in my stomach. “Mom and Dad in bed already?”
He nodded his head of golden-brown hair and turned the page in his magazine.
“Holy crap, Coop.” I stared into the pantry. “How much Froot Loops do you go through in a week? There are three jumbo-size boxes in here.”
“I like ’em.”
I grabbed the box in front, shook it, and realized it was mostly gone. “Apparently.”
The cereal rattled as I poured it into the bowl. I snatched the gallon of milk from the fridge, made my way to the well-worn table, and dropped down across from him. He seemed far more interested in studying the pre-season predictions than talking to me, but I couldn’t help myself.
“I met a guy.”
His gaze didn’t waver from the print before him. “Yay for you.”
What was I thinking, trying to talk to him? Cooper was about to be a senior in high school. He was at the pinnacle of self-absorption. Yet, I pressed on. “His name’s Jay.”
“Okay.” My brother couldn’t have sounded less interested if he’d tried. He turned another page, and the only sound was me crunching on my Froot Loops. He must have sensed my heavy gaze on him, because Cooper finally turned his attention to me. “You know,” he said, “I love all this bonding and shit, but why are you telling me?”
I frowned. Normally I went to my best friend Chuck for advice, but he was still in Europe with his family. “I don’t have anyone else to talk to about it tonight. I need—” Dear God, was I actually doing this? “I’m looking for some advice.”
Cooper glanced around, searching for who I was speaking to, because there was no way it could be him. “Advice from me?” His tone was pure disbelief. “About a guy?”
I skewed my mouth to one side. “My options are limited.”
He leaned back in his seat, considering. “All right, hit me. You met a guy named Jay . . .”
“Yeah. He was one of the groomsmen. I was into him and it seemed like he was into me.” My brother’s eyes glazed over. I was already losing him. “Except he left the reception early and didn’t say goodbye.”
Right after Marcy had demanded details about my “walk” with Jay, she’d asked my help using the restroom, and we spent a good five minutes trying to get her and her dress into the stall before deciding the safest bet was for her to get out of the dress altogether. It was no easy feat. Marcy had been secured inside the gown with buttons, hooks, and an invisible zipper Satan himself had designed.
Cooper looked indifferent. “Sounds like he wasn’t that into you.”