Page 71 of The Publicity Stunt

My eyes chance another glance at Holly’s outfit. “Is that my top?”

She frowns, looking down. “What?”

“That’s my top,” I repeat. “You’re wearing my black turtleneck.”

Holly snorts. “No, I’m not.”

“Hol, if there’s one thing I know, it’s my clothes. That’s my top.”

“Sisters are supposed to share,” she says.

“I agree. But they’re not supposed to steal. And that’s not fair, since I don’t even like any of your clothes.”

Holly’s mouth falls open and she faux-gasps. “My clothes are brilliant.”

“Which is why you’re wearing my top,” I parry.

“We’re really arguing about this right now?”

I shrug. “I’ll forgive you on one condition.”

Holly doesn’t look impressed. “I haven’t even apologized.”

“Let’s go get some ice cream.”

“Now?” Her face contorts with confusion. “April, it’s two in the morning. Nothing’s going to be open right now.”

“You don’t know that. How often have you gone out looking for ice cream at two in the morning?”

“Can’t I just promise to never wear your clothes again?” she offers and I shake my head.

“Sadly, that’s not gonna be enough,” I say and head inside to change into a pair of sweatpants.

* * *

Most days, Holly and I don’t see each other until the weekend. She’s too busy with her residency and I’m too busy with drafting up last-minute press releases. Sometimes not even the weekend allows us Moore girls to spend quality one-on-one bonding time. And it’s no one’s fault. Our work is just that demanding. So it’s a nice change of pace to be sitting here on an early Wednesday morning with my sister, enjoying a cup of butter pecan.

A woman with a headscarf flips through the pages of her magazine, snatching glances at other patients occupying the blue plastic chairs. The little girl next to her is clenching a glossy picture book, the cover unopened, looking lost and vulnerable in clothes that billow around her shrunken body.

“And you thought nothing would be open,” I say to Holly, taking another bite of my ice cream.

She sports her trademark death glare and shoves a spoonful of her mint chocolate-chip into her mouth. “You’re lucky I love you enough to not cause you bodily harm right now.”

All right, her crankiness is somewhat understandable. If someone dragged me to my office at two in the morning for pasty vending machine ice cream, I’d be pretty pissed too. Fortunately for me, I don’t work at a hospital, and it’s not the law for my place of work to remain open twenty-fours a day.

“You can try, but you’re the one who’s gonna have to fix me too. Hippocratic oath and all.” I give her a cheesy smile and she rolls her eyes.

As I take a particularly chunky bite of my butter pecan cup, Holly nudges me with her elbow. “Let me know when you’re ready to talk about it.”

I frown. “About your abysmal taste in ice cream, or the fact that you made me pay for it?”

“How about the reason why I’m sitting in the hallway of EGH an hour after my shift ended, eating said abysmal ice cream? Let’s start there.”

“Because you’re a good person?”

“April,” she chides as if that wasn’t a compliment.

“I told you, I couldn’t sleep.”