by V. Kelly
“Really? And how exactly do you think you came into this world, Everly?”
“Artificial insemination? Alien abduction? Adopted?”
“No, honey, do you need the birds and the bees talk again? Your dad’s penis entered my vagina . . .”
“Oh, hell no! We are so not talking about this. La la la, I can’t hear you.” I plug my ears and say the words at the top of my lungs.
“You and your brother are way too easy to make uncomfortable. All I have to do is talk about sex and you both turn into queasy virgins.”
“Mooom, stop!” This is the most warped conversation I’ve ever had with my mother. She’s not usually this vocal about sex. Why she’s picking now, of all times, to open up, is beyond me.
“Sorry Darling, the truth is your father and I do have sex. We made two beautiful kids because of it. Frankly, the fact that you and Max think I should pretend to be not sexually active is crazy. Your father and I have a very active sex life, like at least two or three times a week.”
“Mom there’s this thing called over-sharing . . . I’m pretty sure you crossed that line, at least, thirty words ago. I’m going to go find Max. At least, I know he won’t gross me out with sex talk.”
“Do me a favor. Get your brother to smile, okay? I hate seeing him like this.”
“I’ll try my best,” I tell her. She’s starting to scare me with all this talk about my brother being the Mopey Monster upstairs. Time to pull on my Everly charm. No brother of mine is going to sit up in a room sulking all weekend. My mission is simple—get Max out of that room and his mind off Breezy. If I have to force him into some girl’s vagina, then fine. Sometimes you have to sacrifice your stomach for the ones you love.
My brother’s door is open when I get up the stairs. For a moment, I just linger outside the door watching him. He’s hunched over, head in his hands, and staring down at his phone that has a picture of Breezy on it. It’s almost depressing to see him like that. My brother has always been the one person I’ve looked up to. Max is one of those guys that will do just about anything for the people he loves. According to every girl in the female population, he’s also insanely good looking. I personally think he looks goofy. He’s close to six feet tall and covered in muscles. His olive skin shows off our Italian heritage perfectly, and his coal-black hair is spiked up on his head. Only, I think it’s styled wildly because he keeps running his fingers through it, not because it’s meant to look the way it does right now. When I see an actual teardrop fall from his eye and land on his pant leg, I can’t take it anymore.
“You look like shit,” I tell him.
He looks up at me with tears in his eyes. He quickly wipes at his face, pretending to be happy, but I can see behind his fake smile—he’s hurting—he’s hurting badly.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in. The college girl. That whisper of a sister I know I have but never see.” He gets up from the bed and gives me a hug that practically squishes me. “It’s great to see you, Ev. What are you doing here?”
My brother always makes me laugh. Even depressed, he knows how to bring a smile to my face. “Mom said you broke off your friendship with Breeanne. She said you look like shit and could use a friendly face. She was right.” I hit him with my English accent, hoping that it will make him smile and turn his frown upside down.
“You’re talking funny,” he tells me.
No shit Sherlock . . . I’m fucking British right now.
“I’m dating a guy who’s from England. I’ve sort of picked up his accent,” I lie.
“Weren’t you dating a Spanish guy last time I talked to you?” Great, does he have to bring up Jesus? I hate to admit it, but I was a little attached to the sexy Spaniard. Every time someone brings him up, I get depressed.
“Yeah, we broke up,” I say cheerily.
“How come?”
“He didn’t like the tacos I made him.” It’s true, he hated my tacos and said they tasted like cat puke.
“Seriously? What guy breaks up with a girl over tacos?”
Jesus does.
“I might have sorta lied about being Spanish,” I shrug.
“When my accent started to falter and my broken Spanglish didn’t hold up anymore, he started questioning my authenticity, but it was when my Mexican cuisine didn’t taste Mexican that he dumped me for lying to him. At least, our tanned Italian skin and dark hair got me by for three months.”
“What is it with you dating guys with accents?”
“I don’t know . . . They’re hot. Gets my panties all wet and stuff.” The look on Max’s face is absolutely priceless. Now I know exactly how to get my brother to smile once again. Time to bring out the little sister sex arsenal; older brother is going down.
“Do me a favor, never talk to me about your wet panties again!”
“Aww Max, does it embarrass you?” I tease.
“It grosses me out.”
“Yes!” I pump my fist in the air and shout from the top of my lungs. Max rolls his eyes at me. As much as I love my brother, making him squirm tops my list when it comes to things that make me happy.
“So what’s with the new accent?”
“I told you the boyfriend is from England. I sorta adopted it and his culture.” Okay, so I’m lying to my brother, but if Max found out that Leo tried to force himself on me, he’d probably kill him.
“So now you’re English?”
“Have you tried tea and crumpets? It’s amazing!” I have no idea what tea and crumpets actually taste like, but it sounds good.
“What’s the new boyfriend’s name? Does he realize you’re not English?”
“Leo, and no. He thinks I spent a couple years in Cambridge. I have the accent down pretty good, don’t you think?”
“Holy fuck, you really are an accent hussy!” I love it when he calls me that. He started calling me that a couple years ago after I had dated my third . . . maybe fourth guy with an accent.
“Damn straight I am! Give me an accented man over your average run-of-the-mill Joe any day of the week. I plan on marrying a man with an accent, that way when I have sex, I’m wet all of the time.” I am totally making him squirm now. It’s perfect. I’m also giggling like an idiot.
“Stop it! No more sex talk. You’re killing me, Ev.”
Yes! This is actually working.
“Fine, no more sex talk. What’s your plans this weekend?”
“Nothing yet, you’re looking at it.”
“We should go out,” I exclaim happily. “Let’s do something fun to keep your mind off Breezy.”
“Okay, like what?” he asks. My mouth opens to answer, but his phone interrupts me. He looks down and spends the next five minutes texting, ignoring me in the process. I’m hoping it’s Breezy, otherwise, his blatant rudeness calls for more teasing.
“Looks like we’re going to a karaoke bar tomorrow night.”
“Yes! I love singing,” I shout. I really don’t love singing. I actually like going just to watch the people who can’t sing. It’s quite possibly the most humorous thing in the world.
“I know; be ready by seven. How long are you staying this time?” he asks.
“Just the weekend; however, you’re stuck with me after next month.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m moving back home after graduation. I’m going to have to find a job, but I miss you and the ‘rents and want to come back.”
“What about Luther?”
“Leo. He’s going to find out I’m not English sometime. No use pretending that the relationship will last after he finds out I’m lying.” Little does he know, I already kicked that fake ass Limey to the curb. I still can’t believe he was lying to me this whole time.
“Exactly how many boys with accents have broken up with you because of your lying, anyway?”
“Seven.” At least, I think it’s seven—could be eight . . . maybe nine.
“You’ve dated seven guys in the last five years?”
T
hat’s a small number compared to some people I know. Ahem Max. My brother is a man whore. Straight up auctions his dick off to any girl who gets on her knees and offers to suck him off. Okay, maybe he’s not that bad, but he seriously gets a lot of pussy.
“No, I’ve fucked seven guys with accents in the last five years. I’ve only had two relationships, meaning that they lasted longer than a month—not including Leo.”
“I’m buying you a chastity belt. Then I’m throwing away the key.”
“Face it, Max, your little sister isn’t so little anymore. My vagina has almost been to all seven continents, and dipped in, at least, nine different cultures.”
“Nine? Why is the number increasing?”
“I may have forgotten a couple. The number is closer to ten.” Yes, definitely closer to ten. I forgot about that one-night-stand with that Arabian dude that claimed he was a prince. Yeah, he was so not a prince.
“Holy shit, not only is my sister an accent hussy, she’s also a floozy.” Max looks completely derailed by my little confession. This is seriously the best.
“I’m so not a floozy. It’s more like I’m expanding my horizons. I’m cultured now.” Cultured, I like the sound of that. I almost sound like I know what I’m talking about.
“Cultured in dick,” he gripes.
If he thought all the talk before was too much, wait until I hit him with this . . . “That too, did you know Jamaicans are really well-endowed?” I smile evilly.
“Fuck, Everly. Just stop.” He’s groaning and I’m loving it.
I’m laughing so hard my side hurts. “You’re way too easy, Max. Come on, let’s go find something to eat. I’m thinking Mexican.”
“Not English?”
“Max, they don’t make English food, you idiot. Now come on, this will be your treat.”
I practically have to drag him down the stairs, but somehow get him to leave the house. Mom and Dad stay home because they know Max needs some serious sister time and that’s exactly what I’m going to give him.
“Sooo, wanna talk about it?” I ask Max over my enchiladas.
“No,” he grumps, taking a bite of his burrito.
“Come on, Max. What good is having a little sister if you don’t open up to her about your problems? Think of me as your own personal therapist. I promise to be as objective as I can. Okay, that’s a lie, you’re going to get my opinions whether you want them or not.”
“Yeah, because that makes me want to talk.” He takes another bite of his food and looks down at his plate.
“Don’t even think about it!” I scold him.
“Think about what?” He asks, looking confused.
“Touching that hot plate to numb whatever pain you have going on inside of you. I’m not going to let you do it, Max.” Why do Mexican restaurants bring food on such hot plates anyway? I mean, hello, lawsuit!
He shakes his head. “At least, I wouldn’t feel sad anymore. Pain is better than this emotional crap I’m feeling.”
“Your hand is already messed up. Why intensify that by sending yourself to the hospital again? What happened anyway? Your hand looks like shit.” He looks down at his cast and shrugs.
“I got in a fight with a mirror and the mirror won.”
“It must have been one big bad mirror to leave your hand looking like a mummy. At least, you picked a good color for the cast; blue has always been your color, but then again, so has pink.” I expect him to smile but he doesn’t. “Okay, Humorless Hal, who stole your cookies?”
“Humorless Hal? You’re a dork. I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Too bad, you’re going to spill your guts. Otherwise, I’m going to tell Mom and Dad about that time you threw a party at the house, broke that vase worth ten grand only to replace it with a cheap knockoff.” Yes, I will blackmail my brother to get what I want. What good is being a little sister if you can’t use your arsenal of useless information against your sibling?
“You wouldn’t dare,” he argues.
“Watch me. Now spill.”
“You know blackmail is a federal offense,” he groans. “Fine, Breezy has a boyfriend and I moved out.”
“There has to be more to it than that. You’re a freakin’ zombie, Max. That’s not how you are. You’re a happy person. You don’t just shut yourself up in a room and sulk.”
“Well, now I am.”
Max pushes his plate away from him and puts his head in his hands. “I told her I loved her. I told her to pick me instead of him. We made love, Ev. That’s big! It was the first time I’ve never worn a condom. I was saving that for her—the only girl I wouldn’t mind getting pregnant. I want to marry her, but she chose the douchebag Numbers Man.”
Well, that changes everything. If he was just jealous that Breezy had a boyfriend, I could understand him being all mopey, but making love . . . that’s difficult even for me. I’m not even sure his usual fix-me-fuck can help him get through this. The only person who can fix this mess is Breezy.
“Wow, I can’t believe you two finally had sex . . .”
He cuts me off. “We didn’t have sex. We didn’t fuck. We fucking made love. I’m serious, Everly, making love is in a whole different realm. It was so much more than me sticking my dick in her. It was filled with emotion, and love, and just everything.” An actual tear drips down his cheek, and my entire body wells up. I want to console him, but that wouldn’t help the situation at all.
I nod like I understand, but the truth is, I’ve never made love to anybody before. Sure, I’ve said I love you a couple times in the past, but love could smack me in the face and I still wouldn’t have a clue what it was.
“Maybe she will come around. Maybe this time apart will make her realize that she really loves you, leave Numbers Man, and knock on our front door, professing her undying love for you. It would be total movie material; she’ll probably bring a boom box and play your favorite song while standing on a car.”
“Really? Say Anything and John Cusak are not going to help my situation.”
“You just need to find some other girl to distract you. You used to do that all the time before. What about tomorrow night? Find a cute girl, take her back to her place, fuck the shit out of her, and forget all about Breezy being gone.”
“I think I just want to drink. I’ve cried so much in the last seven days I’m borderline dehydrated. I’m not the kind of guy who cries, and look at me . . . losing Breezy has me pretending to be a water fountain.” He wipes his eyes. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to cry in public anymore.”
“Okay, Max. I hope you know that I love you. I wouldn’t have come all this way if I didn’t.”
He takes my hand and smiles. “You truly are the best little sister a guy could have—even if you did try to blackmail me.”
“What can I say? I’m a closet extortionist.”
“You’re also a floozy and a master impressionist. You totally live up to the accent hussy nickname I gave you.”
I laugh. “I can’t help it if I prefer foreign cock.”
He shudders. “Oh god, not this again. Please, I can’t handle the cock talk anymore. Why can’t you go back to being the little sister who wore her hair in pigtails and jump-roped all the time.”
“Oh, I still wear my hair in pigtails, especially when I’m role playing as a school girl in the bedroom.”
“La la la, I can’t hear you,” Max yells.
“You don’t want to know what I do with my jump rope now, either.” I make the sound of a whip and Max pales.
“I’m just messing with you, Max. I would never dishonor a jump rope like that . . . that’s what riding crops are for.” I wink at him and he groans.
“You suck, Everly. Now I’m not going to sleep tonight with that vision of gross stuck in my head. I was really looking forward to spending some quality time with my pillow, too.”
I pretend to curtsey and laugh, “Looks like my job is done for the day.”
At least, I got Max smiling a
gain. That moping around the house he was doing was quite possibly the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever seen in my life. There’s no way I’m ever letting him get that bad again. Tomorrow, I’m fixing this . . . there will be no more Mopey Monster, just the fun, easy-going brother I know and love.
Chapter Four
Ahhhh, there’s nothing like the smell of skunky alcohol, cheap perfume, and a really bad rendition of a Kelly Clarkson song to set the right karaoke mood.
It’s Friday night, Max’s friends have somehow talked him out of the hole he walled himself up in. I’m actually ecstatic to be here. Since Jessi hasn’t been around to keep me company and I don’t really have any friends, it will be nice to get to know some of the people that have kept my brother busy while I’ve been away.
The pathetic look on my brother’s face as we enter makes me want to punch him. I know he doesn’t want to be here, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to let him bring down my karaoke buzz. I don’t have the guts to get up there and sing myself, but watching the other people try is on my list of the top five things that make me laugh. For instance, right now, there is an overweight Asian woman singing, Because of You. She sounds like a donkey mating with a cat that’s being fucked by a horse. Yup, she’s that good.
Max’s sad eyes migrate to the bar, and he ogles it like there’s not enough alcohol in the world to make him feel better. I smack him hard on the arm. “No wallowing. Tonight, we’re having fun, possibly getting you laid in the process.”
“I’m not sure having fun and getting laid is possible tonight. My dick just doesn’t get happy anymore.”
“Well, I’ve heard pussy is a natural cure for an unhappy dick. Seriously, it’s like a reverse enema.”
“You’re disgusting.” He’s laughing and smiling. I’ll take being disgusting if it makes him happy.
“Sorry, I had to take a basic nursing class while in school. I learned a lot.”
“What does a basic nursing class have to do with business?”
“Nothing, I took it before I picked my major. I saw blood and had to change a bedpan, one semester and I ran for the hills. Everly and bodily fluids don’t mix like that,” I smile. “So where are these friends of yours?”