My Best Friend Left Me with Her Brother

"Dawnie! I'm gone for three months.

Who is going to look after you?" On the other end of the line, my best friend, who is worth nine figures, was sobbing like someone had died. "I've spoiled you rotten all these years.

There's nobody I trust with you!" I opened my mouth to answer.

Then a low voice came through from her end, already annoyed. "What kind of tortoise could possibly be this precious?" "I'll look after it for a while.

Is that worth all the screaming?" My heart came up into my throat. My best friend's brother. Six feet, abs you could count, a face that belongs on a screen.

And the man I have been quietly in love with for six years. I didn't say a word. I just started packing. Chapter 1 My best friend was leaving on a work trip.

Three months. "After I go, you eat on schedule. And no nutritionally empty takeout." "Eat fruit.

And take the vitamins I bought you, every day, on time." I had to cut in. "I'm twentyfour.

I'm a functioning adult." Bridget said, "Shut up, I'm not finished." I shut up. "Don't stay up late. It's bad for you." "Okay." "There's a cold front in a few days.

Layers." "Okay." Bridget's need to raise me went back to middle school. Because of my family situation, I was undernourished back then.

Small and thin, with a yellow cast to my face. Bridget's family had money, and even though we were the same age, she was a full head taller than me.

We met because she fed me a chicken leg in the cafeteria. Fine. I asked for it. Her Highness had decided the cafeteria chicken was too greasy and was about to throw it out.

I worked up the nerve to walk over and ask for it. That's where our lives started overlapping, and eventually we became the kind of friends who tell each other everything.

It took her two years to feed me into a healthy, round little person. She was extremely proud of that.

The old me would never have believed that by college I'd be actively trying to lose weight. Then we graduated and started working. Bridget kept taking care of me out of habit.

She said, "Do you understand how proud I am that you turned out this well?" She stroked my hair, which is thick and shiny now, and pinched the softness on my cheek.

Beaming at me. "So good. You grew up so good." Like a farmer admiring a prize hog. Me: … I owe her more than I can say. And I understand her. Bridget's family is well off.

Her father is a serious businessman, her mother is a respected designer, and there's an older brother who's been outstanding since birth.

By the math, she's the least remarkable one in that house. Which is probably why she's spent her whole life wanting other people's approval.

And why she goes looking for a sense of accomplishment anywhere she can get one. This overseas assignment, three months of it, came at her out of nowhere. It's the family company.

She couldn't say no. And the reason she couldn't let go of me. It isn't only that taking care of me became a habit. It's that she knows what my family is.

Chapter 2 She knows my father, the gambler who did ten years for felony assault, got out a few months ago. She's afraid he'll come looking for me. She's afraid I'll get hurt.

She cares too much about how I feel to ever say that part out loud. I listened to her run through her instructions with a great deal of patience.

Then Bridget let out a long, tragic wail. "You know what, I'm giving this trip to somebody else!" "Dawnie, I can't stand it!

Who's going to look after you when I'm gone?" "I've spoiled you rotten all these years. There's nobody I trust with you!" For the record, I am not spoiled.

And I am fully capable of looking after myself.

I was about to say something reassuring when a low voice came through from her end. "What is all the howling in here?" "You got a tortoise?

What kind of tortoise could possibly be this precious?" "I'm home on leave right now. I can look after it for a while." My hand stopped around my phone. That voice.

I would know that voice anywhere. Bridget's voice drifted off, like she'd turned to talk to whoever was next to her. "Grayson? What did you just say?" "Your tortoise.

I'll look after it for a few days." The man sounded like none of this was his problem. "I looked after Grandpa's sulcata for a summer.

He said I did a great job." Bridget went quiet for a second. When she spoke again, something was off in her voice. "I'm pretty sure the two of us are discussing different species.

But handing her to you might actually work. You'd really do it?" He agreed fast. "Yeah. I'll do it." "Babe. I want to run something by you.

What if you stayed at my place for a while—" "Okay." "Don't be weird about it! We're basically sisters!" "Okay." "And my brother happens to be home. You know him.

He's been doing MMA and Muay Thai since he was a kid, and yes, he's got a mouth on him, and he's smug, and he fights dirty, and he has the emotional range of a brick, but he's a good guy— wait.

What did you say?" She made me laugh. I said it again. "I said okay." … After I hung up, my palms were warm. I don't blame Bridget for being that shocked.

Given how much I hate being a burden on anyone, I would normally turn down an offer like that on reflex. The reason I said yes without hesitating is Bridget's brother.

The one she describes as loud, smug, dirtyfighting and emotionally illiterate has had a whole different set of adjectives attached to him his entire life. Handsome. Smart. Fair.

Considerate. Modest. Golden boy. Grayson Vaughn is four years older than us, and when we were in middle school he was already the name everyone in the high school knew.

I kept seeing him up on stage at assemblies, speaking as the student representative. Every time, Bridget would stand next to me looking disgusted. "Please.

What an act." Her version of Grayson was a different person altogether. Under her tireless instruction, I spent a while genuinely believing he was a sleazy little poser.

Until eighth grade, when I passed out on the track during morning laps from low blood sugar. Bridget panicked and went and got her brother.

Grayson crouched down in front of me and put a piece of candy in my mouth. The sweetness spread across my tongue.

And I heard him ask, "Do you mind if I carry you to the nurse?" Chapter 3 I shook my head, and a second later I was on his back.

I could smell that clean citrus smell on him. …None of the notshowering stench Bridget had described.

I watched him handle everything at the nurse's office—asking the nurse questions and getting me excused from class. …None of the coldblooded indifference Bridget had described either.

That's when I learned that Bridget's reporting cannot be fully trusted. Especially on the subject of Grayson.

To correct my previously incorrect picture of him, I started watching him. Casually. On purpose. And discovered that Bridget is a gifted slanderer.

The fact that I'm in love with Grayson didn't land on me until college. Because one day Bridget mentioned, in passing, that her brother might be seeing someone.

I sat there for a long time. That night I lay in bed and turned over and over and did not sleep. I worked my way around to asking Bridget what type his girlfriend was.

When the answer came back as tall, gorgeous, legs for days, I ate two bowls of rice about it. But I was done growing.

Two bowls of rice were not going to change the fact that I'm five three. Later Bridget reported that the girlfriend thing had been a false alarm.

Bridget was outraged about it. "A woman like that goes after him and he says no? Who does he think he is?" I pulled my mouth into something and tried to laugh and couldn't.

Are Grayson's standards that high? Hahaha. Sob. It's not that I ever expected anything to happen between Grayson and me. It's just. It stings. It stings.

He doesn't even seem to reliably remember my name. The next day I called Bridget and she shrieked, "What? Don't tell me you're backing out!" Me: "I'm outside your door.

Open it." A few seconds later the door flew open. Bridget stared at me with her eyes huge. Then looked at the suitcase next to me. She grabbed my hand. "YES.

This is how it should be." "Come in! My house is your house! Sit anywhere! Lie down anywhere!" Bridget's place could hold three of mine. Her parents bought it for her in Seattle.

The way she tells it, her brother stays here because going all the way home is too far. Plus he has friends in the city, so he figured he'd use this leave to see them.

I sat on the couch, a little tense. And glanced toward the guest room without meaning to. "Your brother—" I didn't finish the question. That door opened.

Grayson was in pajamas, looking out at us half asleep. "Who's here?" He'd just gotten up, so his voice had gravel in it.

The loose collar showed half his chest, and the tan muscle under it moved when he did. I pulled my eyes back like a stunned animal and drank some water with an unsteady hand.

He saw me too. Two seconds of nothing, then he turned around and went back in without hesitating.

When he came out again he was fully dressed, and he'd even done something about his hair. Bridget made the introduction. "Grayson, this is my best friend.

Dawn." He nodded and smiled at me. "Hi." I got out an awkward, "Hi." He didn't seem surprised to find me there at all, and he talked to me like we'd known each other for years.

I found out later. That day he had no idea what it was he'd agreed to look after for his sister. Chapter 4 "Bridget talks about her best friend constantly.

She leaves tomorrow, right? Did you come over to squeeze in some time with her before she goes?" I blinked. "Sorry?" He went on. "It's fine, you two talk. I'm heading out in a bit.

I won't be in the way." He went off to the bathroom to get ready. When he came back past me, I caught that citrus smell again. Bridget always says her brother is a lazy man.

Won't try anything new. Same body wash for years and years. I don't think lazy is the word.

I think the word is loyal. "Oh, right." Grayson turned to Bridget. "Where's this precious tortoise of yours? Where do you keep it?

Bring it home today so I can see what I'm working with." Bridget got vague. "Dawnie's easy. So easy.

You really don't have to do anything special—" "There's a technique to tortoises." He argued with her. "Some of them need to be scrubbed regularly or they get a skin condition—" "Speaking of.

You want me to bathe this tortoise of yours?" Bridget: … I spat the water I'd just swallowed halfway across the room. Both siblings turned and looked at me.

Grayson's eyes moved off me, slowly, and onto the suitcase sitting by the couch. He took about three seconds. Then something clicked