Vick, my beloved sister, is making everything much, much worse.
For one, she keeps smiling, teeth practically a beam of light, shining in my kitchen as she glances between Noah and me, reading between the lines when there’s nothing really at all to be read.
Noah dutifully puts my groceries away while I instruct him where things go: fridge, pantry, cupboards, stays on the kitchen counter for ease of access, and the like. He follows my directions, and impossibly, Vick’s smile gets even wider.
It’s enough to make me worried.
“So, Noah,” Vick starts, and I know for certain, just like I know the very color of my underwear set, that Vick is going to start some trouble for me that I won’t be able to apologize for.
“Yes?” Noah, bless him, turns around, his hands empty now, his face blank an
