“Of course. Where do you wanna go?”
She wrings her hands at her waist. “It’s a surprise. I really wanna show you something.”
Before I can ask for more details, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I hit Hannah with a look that says we aren’t finished and glance down at my screen.
Dubs.
“Sorry, I gotta take this.”
Hannah waves me off and heads to the dining room to get started on the second coat. I tap toacceptthe FaceTime call.
In typical Dubs fashion, he’s mid-sentence before I say hello.
“Fixed your ball cock,” he announces. No greeting. No warning. Just…ball cock.
Hannah appears beyond the screen, upper body leaning past the doorjamb like a floating head. Forehead crinkling, she mouths,“Ball cock?”
I count to three in my head, summoning the energy for this conversation.
“Shaw! You hear me? Your ball cock. I fixed it.”
“Yes, Dubs,” I exhale. “I heard you.”
“Why are you still saying these words?” Bri chimes in off camera.
“Don’t mind Bridge. She’s struggling to come to terms with her feelings for me.”
The stepsister in question sidles up next to him looking like she’s got no gas left in her tank while Dubs sports his trademark shit-eating grin.
I bite back a laugh. “Okay, tell me what’s?—”
“Tell you about your ball cock? Thought you’d never ask,” he interjects. Hannah snorts from the dining room. “It was defective. Toilet runs like a dream now. You’re welcome.”
Bri rolls her eyes. “Seriously, who named it that?”
Dubs turns to her. “Mygoddamnhero, that’s who. A legend. Show some respect.”
Hannah slaps a hand over her mouth in the next room, body shaking with quiet laughter.
“Yes, let’s give a Nobel Prize to the man who named a mechanism designed for human waste disposal after his own genitalia,” Bri says, sarcasm thick.
“Listen, babe. I can call ittesticlepenisif that’s really what you want, but you and I both know that’s worse.”
I’m not even here anymore. Bri rubs her temples, teeth grinding. I imagine her clicking her heels together wishing she could be literally anywhere else.
Meanwhile, Hannah’s dying.
“Yes, Rowan,” Bri says, fully composed, nostrils flared. “What you’ve heard is true. Chuck fixed the toilet and thusly called you to collect hisatta boy.”
“What can I say, B? Words of affirmation is my love language. You’re gonna need to practice some praise.”
Bri doesn’t look at him. Just lifts a hand—her middle finger to be exact—and casually scratches her cheek. Dubs has stars in his eyes.
“Thank you, Dubs,” I offer, bringing the conversation back to center.
“You’re welcome, man. Means a lot.”
“How are things there?” I ask.