Chapter 4: Big Brother, Big Crush

That night, my brother came home, tired and apologetic. He said, “I have to fly to New York for a business trip tomorrow. I’ll hang out with you when I get back.” He ruffled my hair and tried to sound casual, but I could tell he felt bad.

Then he told Ryan to take good care of me. He pointed a finger in Ryan’s direction, all big-brother authority, as if Ryan ever listened to him.

I saw Ryan answer indifferently, then turn his back and keep cooking. He was stirring something in a pan, looking as if nothing in the world could faze him.

My brother kept telling me not to stay up late, but I wasn’t really listening. I was too busy thinking about the next two weeks—being alone with Ryan in this apartment. My head buzzed with nerves.

Thinking about being alone with Ryan for half a month, I lowered my head, both excited and nervous. My stomach flipped, but I pretended to be totally chill.

“Ryan, take good care of my sister, or I’ll kick you out when I get back.” My brother’s voice had a fake sternness, but there was a smile behind it.

“Let her starve.” Ryan shot back at my brother with his usual attitude, not even glancing up from the stove.

My brother laughed and pretended to punch him. The two of them horsed around for a bit, like overgrown kids. I watched them, feeling a mix of envy and amusement.

I watched them laugh at the dining table. Their friendship looked effortless—years of inside jokes and shared memories. A little envious of my brother. I don’t think I could ever interact with Ryan so naturally.

The next morning when I woke up, my brother was already gone. I stared at the empty coffee mug on the counter—a silent goodbye.

I glanced at the message on my phone—his worried instructions. After washing up, I went downstairs and made some Kraft mac and cheese. The box was almost empty, the kind of emergency meal you only eat when nobody’s judging.

Halfway through eating, Ryan came down. He was wearing a faded Red Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt and looked half-awake, hair sticking up in all directions.

My brother once said he had a terrible temper when he woke up. Seeing his annoyed, irritable face, I swallowed my greeting and quietly buried my head in my noodles, not daring to make a sound.

“Hey, Emily, that’s not very polite.” His tone was gruff, but not actually mean. More like a dad scolding his kid for texting at the dinner table.

I ducked my head, poking at the mac and cheese, wishing I could disappear into the orange powder. “Morning.”

He came over, glanced at me in disdain. “No nutrition. Next time, wake me up. I’ll make you something real.”

It was as if he came down just to say that, and then he went back upstairs. The apartment creaked with the sound of his steps on the stairs.

I watched his tall, thin back in confusion. Did he really come down just to scold me? That was peak Ryan—showing he cared in the most roundabout way possible.

But Ryan has always had a bit of a temper, so I didn’t think much of it. Some people yell; he just gets grumpy and then brings you food.

At noon, Ryan came down with messy hair to cook. The kitchen filled with the smell of onions and pepper.

I heard him in the kitchen and spoke up awkwardly, “Sorry, Ryan, for making you do this.”

He sneered, didn’t look back, and snorted, “You don’t even call me big bro. Be careful or I’ll let you starve.”

I laughed behind him. Ryan is fierce, but his bark is worse than his bite. He’d probably feed me even if I forgot his birthday.

“You wouldn’t.”

His back seemed to pause for a second, then he brought the food over and said, fierce as ever, “Come eat.”