The Rest of Us Just Live Here Read Free

little sister, Meredith (and yes, I know, Michael and Melinda and Meredith and even Mary Magdalene the cat. We once even had a Labrador called Martha, but she bit a porcupine one day and that was the end of that. Apparently you
can
put a price on love. It’s slightly less than $1,200 for doggy face surgery).
    Anyway.
    Meredith is ten, a loon, maybe a genius (our mom is certainly counting on it), and is hopelessly, painfully ensnared by Bolts of Fire, the country and western boy band specifically created to hopelessly and painfully ensnare ten-year-old girls, even the geniuses. She’s played their biggest song, “Bold Sapphire” (by Bolts of Fire, get it?), exactly 1,157 times. I know, because I checked, after begging my parents for mercy from having to hear it a 1,158th. We’re all a little obsessive, us Mitchell kids.
    Jared is a firm second in her affections after Bolts of Fire, though. He’s big, he’s friendly, and there’s the whole cat deal. If there’s one thing we all, every one of us, agree on, it’s that Jared is going to be a great dad.
    Not that any of us have first-hand experience of one, really, except Jared, which figures.
    “German lessons,” I tell him. “My mom didn’t think she was being challenged enough at school.”
    Jared blinks. “She’s ten.”
    “They’re still hoping they’ve got one left who isn’t screwed-up,” Mel says, flicking on a downloaded TV programme we’ve all already seen as background noise.
    Henna looks at me. “You’re not screwed-up.”
    “No one in this family is screwed-up,” says our mother, coming through the front door. “That’s the official campaign line and we’re sticking to it.”
    She drops her purse on the table by the door, already frowning at the four teenagers draped across her couches. She’s two hours early. “Hello, everyone,” she practically booms, seeming friendly enough, though Mel and I can already tell we’re going to pay for this later. “Look at all the feet up on the furniture.”
    Jared and Henna slowly put their feet on the floor.
    “Hello, State Senator,” Jared says, politely.
    “Just ‘Senator’ is the protocol, Jared,” my mom says with a tight smile, “even for a lowly state government official. As I’m sure you must know by now. Hello, Henna.”
    “Mrs Mitchell,” Henna greets, her voice three sizes smaller than a minute ago.
    “You’re early,” Mel says.
    “Yes,” my mom says. “I can see how you might think that.”
    “Where’s Dad?” I ask.
    “Still with your grandma.”
    “How is she?”
    Mom’s smile gets even tighter. “You two staying for dinner?” she asks Jared and Henna, somehow communicating clearly that they’re not actually invited.
    “No, thank you,” Jared says, getting up, downing his energy drink in one. “We were just heading out.”
    “You don’t have to leave on my account,” my mom says, meaning that yes, yes, they do.
    “Homework,” Henna says, gathering her things quickly. She leaves her energy drink on the coffee table. It’s already sweating beads of water down the side, and I can feel my heart start to race at the need to either put a coaster underneath it or wipe the water away or something.
    One glass of energy drink. One.
    Mel sees me staring at the glass, picks it up off the table, and drinks it down, even though she particularly hates Lotusexxy.
    I give her a pleading look of thanks.
    While I’ve been trapped, Jared and Henna are at the door already, waving their goodbyes. The door shuts behind them. It’s just us family now. Embrace the warmth.
    “It’s bad enough you’re friends with that boy–” my mom starts.
    I get up so fast, she stops mid-sentence. I don’t put on my jacket. I don’t take anything with me except the car keys I’ve already got in my pocket. I’m out the door before she can do anything more than give me a shocked look.
    I catch Jared and Henna out on the walk. “Ride home?” I say.
    It takes about three seconds to drop