make you miss me • q. hughes

37

Christmas mornings for the Schuylers are always slow. At least for me and my brothers. Our earliest wakeup ever was maybe last year at 9:30. Because I fell right off my bed and the thing about the attic being your room... everyone heard the fact that I didn't stick the landing. I got put on concussion watch.

Like every morning, I wake up at 5. Usually on Christmas morning, I go right back to sleep. This time when I go to stretch I kick something and it goes tumbling off the bed. I am not the kind of person for clutter. Especially not on my bed.

I'm not happy about it but I make my way to the foot of my bed, laying on my stomach and looking over the edge. A box. A cardboard box that isn't even taped closed. I'm surprised whatever's in it didn't fall out. There's no writing on the top. I pick it up and check each side. Nothing.

This better be worth more than extra sleep. I can never get back to sleep unless I try immediately— My sunglasses. Holy shit. I throw the box away after taking them out and putting them on as soon as possible. It may be winter but I've missed these things way too much to go any longer without wearing them at least once.

The box landed upside down. Or I guess right side up. Whoever opened it did it from the bottom. The shipping label's from... Oh my god. I know that address. It's a struggle of tangled-up blankets and a too-dark room with sunglasses on to get to my phone. It's not a struggle to get the person I need on the line.

"Do you know how early it is?"

"Do you know how to leave a note with a gift?" I retort. "C'mon, didn't we go over this, bud?"

Quinn half-sighs, half-groans making more of a groggy groan. "Fucking Finch."

"You enlisted Birdy's help?" I ask.

"Wait, did you call me bud?"

"Did I?"

"Don't do that."

"Quinny, babe, you enlisted Finch's help and expected anything but the bare minimum?" I laugh. "He's a seventeen-year-old boy who's taken a few too many hits up high."

"I was already on the phone with the kid when I got them back so it was easier that way."

"Already on the phone?" There's no quick answer so I huff and say, "Don't fall back asleep."

"I don't know if I'm allowed to tell you," he says.

My gut reaction is to tell him he's supposed to tell me everything, especially gossip-wise and regarding my brothers. Except that's not actually how it works. He doesn't owe me that.

Apparently, Quinn's a mind reader. "Okay, it's your brother so whatever. You deserve to know. He called me for some help with his defense. He was
beating himself up over it. I calmed him down and helped him out a bit. No big deal."

No big deal? No big deal? It's the biggest of deals. Has he managed to miss how important family is to me? How important my brothers are? It's pretty damn obvious. I've made it pretty damn obvious. This is a heart-melter move. If he keeps doing things to me like this, my heart's gonna start boiling in my chest.

"Seriously, it's not a big deal, Scout," he says.

"It is."

"It's like if you helped Jack or Luke out in a rough patch—"

"Funny you should say that," I mumble.

Silence. That's right. Let's see how he likes finding out the person he's... hanging out with talked down his brother. His heart should be melting right now exactly like mine did. Quinn should be having this weird feeling that makes your head a little lighter and your gut a bit heavier in some sort of dread that things are a bit too complicated to be only hanging out.

Oh, god. No.

I take a deep breath. "Thanks for tracking down my glasses for me. Get back to sleep."

"Scout," he tries but I'm already hanging up and climbing out of my bed. Sunglasses on and all.

It's a trip I've made maybe a million times in my life. From the attic to the bedroom with the sign that says "No Girls Before 10" on it. Atticus isn't quite a morning person in case that wasn't the most predictable thing ever. That sign is often ignored. It has been since it went up in 2009. By me and by Atter bringing girls home.

So I burst right in. I flop down on my back over the top of my brother's legs and let out an agitated groan. When he doesn't wake up immediately, I send an arm smacking into his back. That makes him groan but in pain. And agitation.

"Jean Louise, I'll kill you and leave you buried where they'll never fucking find your bitch ass," he grumbles out, muffled by his pillow.

"Merry Christmas to you too," I say. For a moment, the lightheadedness and the gut feeling are gone until it comes barreling into me at full speed and I groan again. "I think you need to kill me and leave me buried where they'll never fucking find my bitch ass."

"If you insist."

I sit up. Despite the fact that I run miles every morning, my cheats heaves with a struggle to breathe. "I'm done for."

"When I manage to get downstairs and get a knife, yeah," Atticus says while slowly but surely sitting up to join me on the edge of the bed. He yawns. "What'd you get yourself into now?"

"Quinn."

"Didn't think he'd be into that."

I fight the urge not to smack him again. "Shut up."

"Alright, whatever. What's goin' on with you two now?"

"Nothing official." I laugh without my heart really being in it. "That's the issue."

Atticus laughs a more real laugh than mine was. "My sister. The wannabe WAG."

"You are an unhelpful asshole."

"Says the worst advice giver ever."

"Quinn gave Finch advice and I gave Jack some attempted advice and now I want him to be my boyfriend so," I say.

"Yeah, I don't really see how that shit fits into the boundaries of a casual thing."

"What do I do?"

He yawns again. "Let me go back to sleep." I punch his leg as hard as I can and he winces. "Dude! Ask him to be your boyfriend."

"I—"

"Schuy, I'm begging you to either swallow your damn pride and ask the dude out or cut him off. Anything else and you're going to be crying to me on the phone and I don't like that shit. You're an annoying crier."

I punch him a little more gently. My way of saying he's right. Not about the annoying crier thing. That it's either have Quinn all the way or have no Quinn at all. Even no Quinn will hurt less than having only some of him.