The Sullivan Sisters

Blow It Up

The passing days were slow. As a matter of fact, they were so slow that they were beginning to feel like weeks and the weeks, well, they were starting to feel like months. Time dragged by like an anchor rooted into the Earth's floor and the way life seemed to stand still made the days seem infinite and unbearable by nature.

With school back in session, work in full swing, and no sign of any breaks in sight, the entirety of the Sullivan household found themselves busier than a bumblebee in the Spring.

But, even with a lack of free time—or perhaps because of it—both Ava and Quinn extended their gratitude to the continuous movement of everyday life because it made dealing with one another a whole lot easier.

Lately, their gazes only met with brevity during the few and far encounters each ginger shared in passing within the home and even then, those were becoming increasingly sparingly. It hadn't taken long for them to pick up on each other's reinvented routines because, really, it was, in fact, the most sensible and effective method for avoidance.

This technique, however, hadn't come without its fair share of difficulties. Not only were they burdened with the task of tiptoeing around one another, but it also meant that they had to pull off avoiding Paloma, too. Like a drug dog, the brunette had the irrefutable power to detect just about any ill-manner between the two.

That being said, with the increased responsibility that accompanied her promotion, more often than not, Paloma found her nut-brown eyes glued to a computer screen all day, every day for just about seven days a week. So, for the time being, her impeccable senses were mediocre at best—lucky for the redheads.

Though it was sort of a win (Ava couldn't determine when it was exactly that she began to label such a thing a positive aspect of her life), the woman hadn't felt all that victorious that night because, once again, she found herself home alone with Quinn, walking on eggshells inside of her own home.

Ava was more than aware that she made her own bed, with Quinn's help of course, and she didn't exactly have some master plan to fix the situation, nor had she attained the desire to do so, per se, but it still didn't mean she liked it.

"Damnit." She hissed, bringing her singed finger to her mouth in search for some relief immediately after.

Though substantially pissed at the painfully reddened throb in her digit, Ava was pleased that she got the rolls out of the oven before its golden-brown surface was tarnished with a burnt, blackened coat.

With a nutritious butter adjacent (just because life had been unpleasant didn't mean their health had to suffer, after all, two-thirds of the home's occupants wrote for a fitness magazine), she glazed the bread with delicacy; simultaneously pleading with her mind to focus on anything that wasn't the events of the previous weeks.

Just when she thought she had it down pat, the creak of the staircase demanded her attention. She looked up only to find Quinn descending its chiseled steps. Like every other day recently, the girl shared Ava's sense of discomfort. She proved this by starting back up the staircase just as she had climbed down not a moment earlier.

"You can stop avoiding me," Ava deadpanned, "for now, at least. Dinner's ready and your sister should be home any minute."

"Actually, Charlie and I were just gonna grab a couple of burgers from the diner and hang out at his place."

"Even if I didn't think that was a blatant lie," Ava spat, not bothering to look up from the platter of rolls she so elegantly orchestrated, "I still would've said no."

Eyebrows peaking in surprise, Quinn couldn't suppress her genuine laughter. "Well, lucky for me...I wasn't asking."

Hand retreating to her hip, Ava's sigh screamed of lassitude. It was remarks like that that made her question whether the teenager made a conscious decision to get under her skin or if she simply possessed the natural ability to do so.