45. Josie

45

Josie

B y now, I know better than to go to the grocery store two days before a major holiday. And I definitely know to stay away from the store hours before a storm hits.

But we needed food, so off I went.

The only good thing about grocery shopping is that I don't have to carry in the bags or put the food away. My work here is done and I am looking forward to an afternoon of reading by the fire. I open the door that connects the kitchen and the garage and holler inside. "Guys, help bring in the bags and unload them, okay? And put the cold stuff away first." It takes a minute, but eventually, they all shuffle downstairs and do as they're asked.

I pluck my Kindle from the side table and grab my favorite blanket from the basket.

"Hey, Levi, how'd the shoveling—Van! What are you—Oh my god, are you tied to that chair?"

"Yeah, but Levi got me a beer with a straw, so it's all good."

"It's not ‘all good'. Levi, what the hell?"

My older brother puts his hands up in mock surrender. "Woah, Josie, I didn't tie the guy to a chair or wrap him up execution style. And I sure as hell didn't decorate him like a fucking Christmas tree. In fact, I was downright friendly. He's on his second beer and he's thoroughly enjoying this marathon of preschool television that Zane cued up. I've been a damn good host."

I just shake my head and start untying my boyfriend—correction, my ex-boyfriend. I'm still mad as hell at him. And hurt, too, but unbinding him is the least I can do. "Are you okay? How's your knee? What happened?" The questions tumble out of my mouth but before Van can answer, my three youngest siblings come in the door, drop the grocery bags they were carrying, and fold their arms defiantly. And triumphantly.

"We caught the perp," Iris says proudly. "He came to the door looking for you and we weren't going to let him get away. Don't be mad, Josie. We had to do it. He hurt you and he has to apologize."

These kids. Their love is so fierce. Misguided and a little crazy, too, but fierce.

I look at each of my three youngest siblings in turn. "Um, did it occur to you that if he came looking for me, maybe you didn't need to tie him up to keep him here? You could have just let him sit on the couch like a normal guest. And, I don't know, maybe texted me to let me know I had a visitor?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Levi smiles.

"We couldn't do that," Milo protests. "Because you guys vetoed using the basement as a holding cell. That was our idea," he continues, pointing to Tillie and Iris, "but noooooooo. You said it was ‘debrafed'. And you let Levi and Zane turn it into a gaming room, which is cool, but not appropriate for prisoners, or suspects who've been brought in for questioning."

"The word is ‘depraved,' " I tell him. "With ‘p' and ‘v'."

Van starts laughing. "That's what you're leading with? Your siblings are holding me hostage and you're concerned about pronunciation, Jos?" His smile is no less devastating than it was a week ago, his eyes still a clear blue, his skin a little too tan for the dead of winter, his curls pulled back in a lazy bun at the nape of his neck. He looks every bit as beautiful—and every bit as strong—as he ever did. For a moment, it's easy to forget about the past few weeks. Right now, I'm not thinking about his injury or our breakup or even our tutoring arrangement and his finals. I'm just thinking about how much I've missed him.

But that's dangerous. And foolish. He's probably here because his finals are coming up and he needs help.

"I'm always concerned with pronunciation," I tell him.

"True," he laughs. "Christ, I've missed you, Jos. I have no right to, I know that. I pushed you away and all you wanted to do was help. I was angry and hurt, but none of that matters. All that matters?—"

"Hold up, Romeo," Milo interrupts, stepping in between Van and me. "You can save all that for the judge."

I turn to see Iris climbing up on Dad's uncomfortable chair in the corner. He loved that chair as much as we all hated it, and he would laugh now, seeing Tillie help Iris scale a mountain of pillows to perch up high and preside over us all. She looks the part, too. She's wearing my high school graduation robe (that's doubled many times as a wizard robe) and she's got a white wig on that's probably part of a zombie costume. It's quite a look, but the intention is clear: she's gone full barrister. The outfit is accessorized by the mallet from Zane's drum kit, which is no doubt serving as her gavel.

"Order in the court!" she calls, and she really must be the boss of us all, because we turn our attention to her makeshift bench.