“Take the fuel cylinders out to the garage immediately!”
“I tried! She physically blocked me! She claims the stainless steel towers are crucial to the ‘industrial chic aesthetic’ she is trying to cultivate for the influencer!”
“Carbon monoxide poisoning possesses a terrible aesthetic, Kyle. It tends to leave the corpses looking flushed.”
“That is essentially verbatim what I told her! Please, Rupert. Just come.”
I didn’t go over to fix the furnace. I didn’t go over to salvage Brooke’s delusional career trajectory.
When I barged through Mom’s front door, the atmosphere was chaotic and surreal.
The ambient temperature in the living room hovered around a bleak fifty-two degrees. Mom was pacing the floor, wearing a heavy, fur-lined parka directly over her sequined birthday dress.
And then there was Brooke.
She was wearing her pristine, structured cream blazer. Underneath the blazer, however, she was wearing skin-tight, waffle-knit thermal underwear.
