Page 10 of P.S. I'm Still Yours
A low groan erupts on the second floor, and Gray’s bedroom door creaks open.
Heavy footsteps thunder down the stairs just seconds later. Gray barely ever leaves his room since he put a TV in there. All he does is play video games these days.
I can’t believe we’ve only got two weeks of summer left before we’re officially freshmen at Easton High, the local high school, and this is how he chooses to spend his time.
I intend to spend my last days of freedom painting in the shed Mom and I turned into my art studio.
My grandparents had this old shed installed in their backyard a few years before they left the convenience store they owned to my mom.
Well, technically, they left her the store and the family home. Both are located in the same two-story building, and the store takes up part of the first floor while the rest is all habitable space.
We’ve only ever used that shed for storage. Until Mom decided that I needed a place to focus on my art—which isn’t easy to do with my brother constantly blasting music and blowing up zombie brains.
We emptied out the shed, cleaned it from top to bottom, and filled it with my canvases and the few supplies I’m able to afford because of my babysitting on the weekends.
Mom even called a guy she knows to wire the shed to the electrical panel.
She might not be in a position to pay for all of my painting supplies, but she was determined to support my interests in any way that she could, and for that, I’m grateful.
She’s a single parent, and it’s not like she can turn to my dad for help.
That would require us having a dad.
Mom says she knew what she was signing up for the day she turned to a sperm bank to have a family, but sometimes I wonder if she would’ve done things differently if she’d known she was going to have twins.
Gray breezes into the kitchen moments later, wearing black sweats and one of his signature quote T-shirts. This one reads, “Can’t spell awesome without me. Coincidence? I think not.”
I snort at his appearance. “Nice hair.”
Every strand of my brother’s red hair is pointing in a different direction, some falling in front of his blue eyes, some aimed toward the ceiling.
He also looks like he hasn’t showered in a while, and I’m pretty sure he’s been wearing that T-shirt for two days straight.
“Aw, thanks, baby sis.” He gives me a wet willy right before sitting down.
“Grayyy!” I bleat, guiding one hand to my ear and punching him in the shoulder with the other. “You’re disgusting.”
“Love you, too, brat.”
Oh, and remember when I said he looked like he hadn’t showered in a while?
He also smells like it.
I crinkle my nose. “When’s the last time you showered?”
“What was that? You want a hug?” He has me in a headlock before I know it.
Our proximity makes the smell ten times worse, and my gag reflex kicks in. He starts ruffling my hair, and I just know he’s enjoying every second of my misery. My ponytail is a mess by the time I manage to slip out of his hold.
“Kids, please,” Mom calls us to order, and we quiet down, although I’m mentally plotting my revenge. I just might have to reconsider the Nair cream in his shampoo idea.
Mom clears her throat. “Evie and Kane have been through a lot these past few months. Their lives changed overnight, and I’ve tried to keep you out of it for as long as I could, but there are things you should know before they get here.”
It feels like the air just got sucked out of the room.
“Do you know what a will is?” Mom’s question causes my anxiety to spike.
Gray shrugs. “Isn’t that the thing people write before they die?”