“I am not above slashing my own tires to avoid going to this family brunch,” I grumbled under my breath as I sat down in the passenger seat.
“What?” my older brother turned to me from the driver’s seat, a question in his eyes.
“Nothing, Ian,” I smiled forcefully, while my mind swarmed with bitter anger.
Ian grimaced, but turned his head away from me to look down the driveway. We backed out of the parking garage of my small studio apartment. As we stopped at the intersection, waiting to cross, my mind hummed with all manner of excuses. I know they sent Ian to pick me up. The probably thought I wouldn’t show if they hadn’t. They were right.
“How are you, Sunshine?” asked Ian, one hand on the wheel, his eyes fixed on the road.
“You know I don’t like to be called that anymore,” I gritted out, my hands fisting at my sides as I stared out the window. Soon we’d be back to the land of country clubs, blonde housewives, and polo shirts.
“Sorry, old habit,” Ian said, rather remorsefully.
Guilt bit me on the ass as I stumbled over my words, “I’m ok.”