Page 109 of Things I Read About

Nate laughs quietly in front of me.

When the giggles subside, I open my eyes to see him exploring the space. It’s a cute room, if a bit overstuffed.

“Was this a hand-me-down?” he asks, fingering the edge of my too-bright comforter.

I chuckle a bit more. “Sam and I shared a room for a while. She wanted us to match.”

“You never mentioned Harry Styles?” Nate points to a signed poster on the wall.

“Eh, Mal and Val are big fans and Sadie got us amazing tickets. Got the VIP poster and stuff.” He points to the poster next to it, which is from the AJR tour. “Skye’s favorite. She took me with her. Front row.” He tenses, in his jaw and shoulders. I finish the thought. “And the Meghan Trainor poster is from a memory with Sam. The musicals are shows Sadie was in. They’re all sentimental.”

“Uh huh. And are books sentimental?”

“What?”

“Got a whole set of shelves filled with Sadie’s books, then a row with all the Stories of Loya books, which you said are your sister’s favorite, and one teeny tiny little section here of mafia books.” He touches a spine. “So, you say this is your room, but I don’t see much Sally in here.” He sounds angry as he looks up. “Except for that.”

I smile, looking at my masterpiece. “It took forever.” I decoupaged the ceiling of my room with the sheet music from my favorite piano pieces. Susan freaked out about the idea when I started. I remember laughing with Skye when she gasped at me up on the stepladder, like I was setting the house on fire, or something equally dramatic.

“It’s pretty cool. But, I mean, that’s it. The ceiling and twelve smutty books in the corner.”

“Quit calling my books smut,” I say, mad about way more than the end of his commentary. “They are way more plot than sex. And you don’t get to comment on books unless you’ve read them.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Wait.”

He turns away, looking at picture frames on one of the shelves.

“Wait, have you read them?!”

He sighs. “You said we came up here for boxes.”

“Answer the question.”

“No.”

I march up to him. “No you haven’t read them or no you won’t answer my question?”

“No, I won’t answer your question.”

“Youhaveread them.”

“I read one.” He holds up a finger. Now he’s mad, too, his voice growing louder with each word. “Because a woman I met in Park City said they were her favorite. But turns out, that woman doesn’t exist. Now, if you’ll remember, tonight is my night off from babysitting duty. So, where is the stupid box, Sally?”

Babysitting.

What an asshole.

“I haven’t finished packing it yet,” I yell back. Then I calm my voice. “I’ll just bring it down tomorrow when you pick me up. Have a good night off.” I turn and leave, rushing down the stairs.

He can go to a bar and find himself someone else to talk down to. So what if my room is filled with mementos about my sisters? They’re my family. I love them. It’s fine.

Crap.

All I could think about was getting away from Nate, upstairs.

I didn’t think about the women downstairs, now staring at me, waiting for an explanation.