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"Brooke, can you please stop looking through my fridge and help with the lights."
"I'm hungry." Brooke pouted as she dragged herself to my staircase.
My parents like to go all out with Christmas lights, that we actually get dozens of visitors that come by our house every year. It's kind of embarrassing if you ask me. Imagine your own parents walking around with glow in the dark reindeer antlers.
"How many lights do you have—?" Brooke raised her brows as she wrapped the wire around the stairs.
"There's eight more boxes in the back." I looked over my shoulder.
"Damn." Brooke shook her head. "That must've cost more than my birth."
I glanced at her, snickering at her weird reference. I quietly continued to hang the lights around the house, while Brooke worked on the staircase.
"So. . ." Brooke pursed her lips as she grabbed another box.
"I hate that word." I gave her a quiet laugh, knowing what she would ask right after.
"How was work yesterday—?" She raised her brows twice as if I were supposed to get her hint.
"Work was work." I shrugged my shoulders. "Some kid spilt his milkshake on my new pants." My eyes brightened as I remembered.
"Rae." She glared at me, lowering her brows. "You know what I mean."
"It's fine, okay." I gulped, thinking back to the emotional conversation him and I shared.
"You don't look fine." Brooke slightly pouted as she looked at my gloomy face.
"We're good now." I loudly clasped my hands together. "That's all you need to know."
Brooke laid her head back, groaning. "You're so confusing."
"Why are you confused—?" I lowered my brows, before throwing a Christmas ornament at her.
"First of all." She rubbed the back of her head. "That hurt."
I bit my bottom lip, trying not to crack a smile while she complained.
