I say yes, even though every time I step foot in my father's store, I end up running the cash and closing. I know my dad is prepping me for when I take over the business, and even though I'm pretty much getting my business degree just to keep him happy, I still have mixed feelings about the whole thing. It's like I haven't quite come to terms with the way my life is going, and I don't dare even think about it.
Gemma's elementary school is near the university, so I get in my Challenger (black, 1972, nickname: Mr. Mean), turn up Jack White's "Missing Pieces," and pull up to the usual spot. I smile broadly at the moms walking past, and even wider for the MILFs who ooze desperation and pent-up sexual frustration. They all know I'm gemma's brother by now and not some pedo, though I'm disappointed that I haven't been propositioned by any of them yet. Though there was that one time...
It's not long before I spot Gemma , and unfortunately I get to see her face fall the moment she sees me. It's not that Gemma doesn't like me, but we've only really gotten to know each other this last year. Despite our age and differences, I think we get on like Donkey Kong.
But I've been picking her up more and more these days, either from school or her friends' houses. My dad is always busy with the store, and because he's on the verge of bankruptcy, he can't hire any help. Angelica, my mom—gemma's mum—seems to always be working late nowadays. She's a corporate lawyer who just made partner eight months ago, and even though her pay raise means my dad's store can stay afloat for now, it also means more hours.
I'm not sure if the situation is helping them much, but I try and stay out of their relationship. My dad and mum divorced when I was young. I was born here in Victoria and when I was six my mum whisked me back to her hometown of Yorkshire, England. I've been here a few times, but until recently I wasn't exactly close with any of them, my father included.
"Hey, Harry," Gemma says to me as she opens the door, sounding like a despondent twenty-something stoner instead of a nine-year-old kid. Though with gemma's long dark hair and her penchant for wearing a cape to school sometimes, she could pass the part.
"Hey, loser," I tell her, reaching over to muss up the top of her head. She wrenches away from me with a look of disgust. "You know, you think you could sound happier about being picked up from school in the world's coolest car."
She glares at me, so sullen. "It's not the world's coolest car. It's the world's oldest car."
I bristle. "Well it's better than your friends and their lame minivans."
Good one, Styles.
"No," she counters with a haughty scowl. "Jill Carroll's mom drives a Porsche Cayenne. That's a Porsche. That's expensive and way better than this piece of shit."
"Hey," I snap at her. "No car is better than Mr. Mean. I bet Jill Carroll's daddy bought the car as a present, saying he's sorry for shagging the maid." I pause, gemma's eyes widening as she takes this new information in. "Also, don't say shit. It's bad and I don't want another lecture from father about how your language is going downhill over the last year."
He flops dramatically against the seat, his head lolling on the headrest. "Whatever. She doesn't care enough about me to even notice."
Ah, fuck. The little bastard has a way of cutting deep.
"She cares, Gemma . A lot."
"Then why isn't he here?" She mumbles.
"You know he's working."
"He's always working."
"Well, maybe he's trying to buy a Porsche Cayenne of his own so you don't have to ride in this ancient piece of shit with me." I grin at her, hoping she'll return the favor.
"Maybe," is all she says, staying just as sullen as before. I start the car and we drive off, and I don't even have to look to know that Mr. Mean's engine is turning the heads of all the MILFs in the parking lot. Take that, Jill Carroll's mum.
"How is Fluffy?" She suddenly asks me.
My grip tightens briefly on the wheel and I exhale. "Fluffy is fine."
"Not giving you any trouble?"
"No," I say, then mutter under my breath, "thank god."
"Have you given him lots of cuddles?"
I laugh and give him a pointed look. "Gemma. You know I'm not the cuddling type. No exceptions for family or pets. Or girls for that matter."
"I used to cuddle him all the time. Till mom got mad." She looks at me, her features softening so much that I'm suddenly aware of how much she's aged over the last year. It's like she's been hit with the frying pan of adulthood way before her time. "Thank you so much for taking care of him. I swear, Mom will let him back at home at some point."
"No problem, kid," I tell her. "Though I'm pretty sure she wanted him out because you cuddled him too much. Ever hear about Lennie in Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men?"
Gemma's look tells me no.
"It doesn't matter. You'll read it in high school."
"Aren't we going home?" She asks me when I take a left and start heading toward downtown Victoria.
" mother wants me to bring you to the store," I tell her.
