My back clenched, but I went down the stairs like usual, ready to be the usual Markos.
“You look rough ,” Dev declared as soon as he saw me.
“Yikes!” Cal echoed.
“Oh, Markos,” my mom said, and hurried to pour me an orange juice.
Brian leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his uniformed chest. “You make it hard for me not to arrest you sometimes, dude.”
“Whatever.” I opened the cabinet door and stared at the boxes of cereal.
“Don’t ‘whatever’ me. If someone else at the party had called the cops on you, I would’ve been in big trouble.”
“No one did, did they?”
Dev spoke through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “If you’re going to binge, at least be a funny drunk.”
Cal cackled. “You told me I was a phony, selfish dickpocket. What’s a dickpocket?”
“Like a pocket for your dick, duh,” Dev said.
“What, like a pouch? Or a sock with a pocket sewn on it?”
“Boys . . .” Mom murmured from her seat by the window. She didn’t care what we said, but occasionally felt the need to remind us that she could hear that we were saying it.
“Regardless,” Brian said. “Maybe try to have a little self-control next time.”
I slammed the cabinet door shut. No one even flinched. They all blinked at me—Brian, Dev, Cal, and Mom—as if I hadn’t done anything at all.
It didn’t matter what I did. I would always be the youngest, the baby, the fuckup. They didn’t see me when they looked at me; they saw a Markos-shaped animatron. I could slam doorsand scream and tear the place apart and they’d barely look up from their cornflakes.
“I’m going out,” I said, and left before anyone could stop me.
I called Diana North. We hadn’t hooked up, so I didn’t have to wait a few days. I hadn’t been an ass to her, which meant she actually answered the phone. She met me at the bagel place with a patio out back, and we bought bagels and sat at a table in the sun. The light was too bright and hot—it was past noon already and my head ached—but I did not suggest moving to the shade. The hurt was what I deserved for forgetting Win the night before.
She looked prim in a dress with a collar, though her long, thick hair was still a color red not found in nature and the bruise on the side of her face looked both tender and angry. She ate her bagel in tiny bites, wincing when she had to move her right cheek, and stared at me with her bloodshot eyes when she thought I wasn’t looking.
“How’s your face?”
She shrugged, which made her wince again. “Nothing broken.”
“You could tell people you got into a fight.”
She snorted. “Yeah. Very believable. Did you have a good time the rest of the night?”
“Fine,” I said. I didn’t mention my brothers, and I didn’t say the thing about forgetting Win was dead, but I must’ve been thinking about Win because of what came out of my mouth next. “Usually Win would come by with coffee and donuts. On July fourth, I mean.”
Diana scraped cream cheese off her bagel carefully. “UsuallyAri would sleep over. I guess we sort of did because we slept in my car. My mom’s car.”
“What?”
“I didn’t feel like going home.”
“Why not?”
Diana spoke to the bagel. “My mom kind of freaked out over my face. Knew she would.”
“It’s not like it was your fault.”
“She’s super protective. I didn’t want to have to hear the whole routine: should’ve been more careful, should’ve watched where I was going, shouldn’t have been running—or at a party—to begin with.”
“That’s crazy. Tell her to shut her face.”
Diana looked up from the bagel, her good eye wide. “I could never do that.”
“Why not?”
“You tell your mother to shut her face?”
I thought of my mother, who’s been distracted most of my life. By the store, by one of my brothers, by a series of disasters—illnesses, injuries, money troubles. But when it was your turn to have a crisis, she would claw anyone’s eyes out
“You look rough ,” Dev declared as soon as he saw me.
“Yikes!” Cal echoed.
“Oh, Markos,” my mom said, and hurried to pour me an orange juice.
Brian leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his uniformed chest. “You make it hard for me not to arrest you sometimes, dude.”
“Whatever.” I opened the cabinet door and stared at the boxes of cereal.
“Don’t ‘whatever’ me. If someone else at the party had called the cops on you, I would’ve been in big trouble.”
“No one did, did they?”
Dev spoke through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “If you’re going to binge, at least be a funny drunk.”
Cal cackled. “You told me I was a phony, selfish dickpocket. What’s a dickpocket?”
“Like a pocket for your dick, duh,” Dev said.
“What, like a pouch? Or a sock with a pocket sewn on it?”
“Boys . . .” Mom murmured from her seat by the window. She didn’t care what we said, but occasionally felt the need to remind us that she could hear that we were saying it.
“Regardless,” Brian said. “Maybe try to have a little self-control next time.”
I slammed the cabinet door shut. No one even flinched. They all blinked at me—Brian, Dev, Cal, and Mom—as if I hadn’t done anything at all.
It didn’t matter what I did. I would always be the youngest, the baby, the fuckup. They didn’t see me when they looked at me; they saw a Markos-shaped animatron. I could slam doorsand scream and tear the place apart and they’d barely look up from their cornflakes.
“I’m going out,” I said, and left before anyone could stop me.
I called Diana North. We hadn’t hooked up, so I didn’t have to wait a few days. I hadn’t been an ass to her, which meant she actually answered the phone. She met me at the bagel place with a patio out back, and we bought bagels and sat at a table in the sun. The light was too bright and hot—it was past noon already and my head ached—but I did not suggest moving to the shade. The hurt was what I deserved for forgetting Win the night before.
She looked prim in a dress with a collar, though her long, thick hair was still a color red not found in nature and the bruise on the side of her face looked both tender and angry. She ate her bagel in tiny bites, wincing when she had to move her right cheek, and stared at me with her bloodshot eyes when she thought I wasn’t looking.
“How’s your face?”
She shrugged, which made her wince again. “Nothing broken.”
“You could tell people you got into a fight.”
She snorted. “Yeah. Very believable. Did you have a good time the rest of the night?”
“Fine,” I said. I didn’t mention my brothers, and I didn’t say the thing about forgetting Win was dead, but I must’ve been thinking about Win because of what came out of my mouth next. “Usually Win would come by with coffee and donuts. On July fourth, I mean.”
Diana scraped cream cheese off her bagel carefully. “UsuallyAri would sleep over. I guess we sort of did because we slept in my car. My mom’s car.”
“What?”
“I didn’t feel like going home.”
“Why not?”
Diana spoke to the bagel. “My mom kind of freaked out over my face. Knew she would.”
“It’s not like it was your fault.”
“She’s super protective. I didn’t want to have to hear the whole routine: should’ve been more careful, should’ve watched where I was going, shouldn’t have been running—or at a party—to begin with.”
“That’s crazy. Tell her to shut her face.”
Diana looked up from the bagel, her good eye wide. “I could never do that.”
“Why not?”
“You tell your mother to shut her face?”
I thought of my mother, who’s been distracted most of my life. By the store, by one of my brothers, by a series of disasters—illnesses, injuries, money troubles. But when it was your turn to have a crisis, she would claw anyone’s eyes out
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