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My brother lays down the last o with a jaunty snap. Sitting back, he smiles wickedly, then says, “Escondido.” I glare at him. “Yes, thank you. I can spell.” “You can’t use proper nouns!” Seb calls. “Yes, you can,” Oliver and I reply in unison, locked in our mutual stare down. “Or more than seven tiles,” Seb adds. He frowns in confusion. “How did you get so many tiles?” “You get to sneak one extra tile per turn when you draw,” Oliver tells him, still holding my eyes, “unless someone catches you, then you have to return it.” “Bergman rules,” Ziggy explains. To which Gavin adds, grumbling, “It’s
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“Someone’s bossy.” A twinkle settles in his eyes. He grins. “I can be. But generally, I much prefer when it’s the other way around.”
Lolll omg Viggo
That’s how you know you really love something, Tallulahloo, when it feels worth the hassle, when even the hardest parts of it feel like a gift.”
“You think I’m delusional about favorite-uncle status? Consider the facts, Bergman. Does Linnie play magical unicorn and sorceress with you?” Viggo blinks, clearly thrown by this. “Not as such, but—” “I didn’t think so,” Gavin says, wrenching open the sliding door leading inside. “Enjoy that dose of reality with your tepid light-roast hipster coffee.”
Lolll gavin. Yessss
“Says who?” “Says who, what?” “Who,” she says calmly, but there’s an edge to her voice, “says you’re ‘grating’ to spend a lot of time around?” “Oh . . .” Heat creeps up my cheeks. I clear my throat. “Just . . . most of the people who’ve spent a lot of time around me.” “Then fuck them,” she says icily. “Fuck anyone who makes you feel like you’re too much. If they feel that way, they aren’t enough for you.”
He 100 percent crocheted those cushion covers. I’m concerned for that man’s joints. And sleep habits. When does he do all of this?
Tallulah and I . . . That’s a complete statement. That’s what I picture. Tallulah and I.
