Kids These Days

Chapter 21: Ronan

Andy's eyes widen. "Oh, shit. I thought everyone knew."

"Well, they don't," I say tightly. "So I'd appreciate it if you don't tell our friends."

"Don't tell them that you have horrible morning breath?"

"That's not what I meant."

"I won't tell anyone. Really. Cross my heart and hope to die." Andy drags me off the couch, wrinkling her nose at my t-shirt. Or her t-shirt. I'm not exactly sure why I decided to switch up my wardrobe last night. "Ah, I forgot I loaned you my Stevie Nicks shirt. Your suit is in the wash, by the way. Talia may have spilled ranch dressing on it."

"Accidentally?"

"Maybe. It was hard to tell." Andy flicks a dust bunny off my shoulder. Her forehead creases like she's trying not to ask for the shirt back, even though she clearly has a thing for Stevie. "You drank a lot last night. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Okay? Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"Well, we found you wandering around town in a three-piece suit, already drunk, and looking like Becca and Finn just kicked you out of their band. I know I would be upset if my two closest friends got together behind my back."

"They're not together," I say instinctively. "It's complicated."

"Tell me about it." Andy studies my face, and the concern in her honey-brown eyes makes my chest ache in a way I don't understand. (I'm just going to blame it on the hangover.) "You know I was joking earlier, right? I would never out you. I know how shitty it feels when other people try to label you, and I know that you probably don't want to talk about it, but if you ever change your mind, I'm here. I'm sure that sounds cheesy as hell, but it's true."

"You can be my gay Ariadne," I say, attempting a wry smile.

"I'll try my best to lead you out of the labyrinth." Andy frowns at my shirt again. "I don't know why I gave you Stevie. You deserve at least the B-52's."

"Rock, rock, rock lobster," I sing, and my voice is so hoarse and out of tune that Andy actually bursts into laughter, and the tension from earlier fades away.

"C'mon, I'll give you the grand tour," Andy says, helping me off the couch. We wind our way through the maze of clutter, tripping over mounds of Lego's and Lincoln Logs and a hissing tabby cat. There's an old man sleeping in the den (Angie pokes him to prove he isn't dead) and a scattering of cousins in the kitchen and dining room.

Oliver is playing Solitaire on the floor of his bedroom, which is about as depressing as it sounds. I grimace as he slams the door shut in Andy's face. My memory from last night is hazy, but there's no way I could forget Oliver's doomed crush on Talia.

Andy scowls at the "enter at your own peril" sign on his door. "When I tried to talk to him yesterday, he turned off his hearing aid and closed his eyes. Can you believe that? My entire family is conspiring against me."

I don't comment on that. One of my life rules is to not get involved in sibling rivalries.

My eyes flit from the discount furniture to the peeling floral wallpaper, taking in the outdated wood paneling and grass-green carpets that haven't been washed in years. I want to ask Andy why her house is so messy, but something tells me she might not appreciate the question. If I had to look after my extended family (half of which still live in China, and act like we don't exist) my apartment would probably be falling apart too.

"What do your parents do for a living?" I ask as we climb the stairs to the third floor.

"Well, before my dad got arrested for being a total douche-bag, he worked at the auto repair shop. Turns out his boss didn't appreciate forged checks." Andy guides me around a corner, past a wall decorated with crayon scribbles and furniture dents. "My mom was a trapeze artist in Vegas. Dad met her at a show, they did the whole shotgun-wedding thing, and the rest is history. Then mom died in a car crash and dad got married to Joyce."