* * *
Back at the office, I threw myself into work for a solid three hours, organizing towels, making deliveries, and doing checkups. Then, at a minute to five, I clocked out and went home to change.
Theo was getting off work early, for once, and he’d made plans for us to have what he called the Best Outdoor Date Ever. All I knew was I’d been instructed to be at the Washroom at 6 p.m. sharp and wear flats. Which was in itself hilarious, as I never wore anything else. But Theo liked to cover all his bases when it came to his Best Evers. The least I could do was follow directions.
At my house, I let myself in and headed down the hallway to my room. The door was slightly ajar, and I could hear voices just beyond it. Dammit, I thought, feeling that familiar annoyance rise up in me. I pushed it open.
There, on the bed, were Morris and Amber. They were sharing a bowl of popcorn, watching my TV, and both of them had their shoes on. I did not even know where to start.
“Why are you in my room?” I demanded.
Morris swallowed the popcorn he’d been chewing. “You weren’t home yet.”
“Dad’s painting the kitchen trim,” Amber said. Today, suddenly, she was wearing hair extensions, rounding out a retro-feathered look. “It stinks up there.”
“So you made popcorn and got into my bed with your dirty shoes on.”
“My shoes aren’t dirty,” my sister, who knew better than to vouch for Morris, said. She held out the bowl to me. “Want some? It’s still warm.”
I glared at her. Then I remembered I’d skipped lunch because of Margo. Experience had taught me that I really only had the energy to be annoyed with one sister at a time, so I took a handful. “I’m still not happy about this.”
“I know,” she said, as if she’d had nothing to do with it. Morris, beside her, helped himself to some more as well. “Why are you home so early?”
“I told you,” Morris said. “She’s got a date.”
“She always has a date these days,” Amber told him, like I wasn’t even there. Then she tossed her fake hair, a move she’d clearly been practicing. “She’s seeing a dater.”
“A dater?” I repeated, getting my towel and stepping into the bathroom. The door was superthin, so I could still hear every word.
“A guy who likes to date,” she explained, chewing. “As opposed to one who just wants to hang out.”
“What’s the difference?” Morris asked.
“Do you plan extravagant events and outings that make for special moments?” she asked him.
“What do you think?” I called out, stripping off my shirt.
“Exactly,” Amber said. “A dater likes dates. Theo’s a dater. The guys I get involved with just like to hang out. Preferably with cheap beer or video games involved. Ideally, both.”
“What’s wrong with video games?” Morris said.
“They’re passive. Dating is active. Which means you don’t do it sitting on the couch.” I heard her eat another handful of popcorn. “Which is why I, myself, am not a dater. I like the couch. And the beer and video games. And I love the boys who love them.”
Usually, I found Amber’s theories to be far-fetched, if not outright ludicrous. But this one, I realized as I started the water, was not so off. Theo was the planner, the cruise director of our relationship. He planned, he paid, he engineered the Best Memories Ever. And on days like this, especially, I was really fortunate to have him.
When I got out of the shower, my sister had vanished, leaving just Morris and the now-empty bowl of popcorn. “Where’s the dating expert?”
“Went to get another Diet Coke,” he replied, studiously avoiding looking at me, even though I was wearing a towel that covered everything. Having a guy for a best friend required certain modifications, especially when it came to undressing. But Morris and I had been best friends a long time. Like me and Daisy, we had our rituals.
I grabbed my clothes, then went back into the bathroom, leaving the door only a crack open. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Wanted to talk to you.”
I raised my eyebrows at my own reflection. “About what?”
“Daisy.”
“Oh.” This sounded serious. “Okay. I’ll just be a sec.”
I got dressed, then combed my wet hair, put on some makeup, and dug my nicer sandals out from behind the hamper. When I returned, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at his phone. I joined him, then waited. Morris talked, as he did everything, at his own pace and on his own schedule. Finally he said, “I have to break up with her.”
“Excuse me?”
“Daisy. I have to break up with her.”
“Why?” I turned to face him, narrowing my eyes. “I swear to God. If you fooled around with another girl—”
“Of course not.” He sat back, leaning on his palms. “She’s going to college in, like, four weeks. Once she gets there, she’ll want nothing to do with her stupid loser high school boyfriend.”
I felt a pang just hearing this. “Morris. Don’t—”
“We both know it’s the truth,” he said, cutting me off. “And Daisy’s so sweet, she’d feel like crap having to dump me, especially long-distance. She’d be miserable. Someone’s gotta be the bad guy. I’m better at it.”
I bit my lip, thinking of Daisy studying her dress dummy, acknowledging in her own way how far-fetched their chances of staying together were. Different languages, same message.