New Brother

The Meeting

Hailey

"Do we seriously have to meet them today, Mom?" I groaned, tugging on my boots while lounging on Mom's bed. It wasn't the boots bugging me, but these out-of-the-blue meetups she springs on me.

"Yep, that's the plan," she said, brushing on some blush, forever classy. "Before you jump into the 'why didn't you tell me sooner' spiel, I knew you'd run off to spend the night and day with Isla. That's why I dropped it on you now."

She had a point. If given the choice, I'd rather chill at Isla's than go to this sudden family gathering. Like, seriously, what's the big deal?

Coby and I already knew each other. This whole shebang seemed set up for that little demon—yeah, I'd nicknamed him that. Coby's kid, Damien or whatever, is around eleven or twelve, I guess. I was too busy on my phone when Mom mentioned him.

But here's the problem —the new brother.

Man, if he is annoying, as I suspected, I'd probably snap and grab his ear. I had no clue how small it was, but it should do the trick.

"You know I'm not a fan of kids, right?" I rolled my eyes. Mom's second marriage was cool; Coby mostly made her happy, the only person after my dad—thankfully dead—who put a smile on her face.

"Yeah, I know you hate kids," she chuckled, "But trust me, you won't hate him."

"Of course, I will. Siblings are so annoying," I cringed, "Especially the younger ones. I've seen how Isla suffers. The last thing I want is my own little demon. Couldn't you have found someone else? Someone with no children at all?"

"Hailey, calm down," Mom chuckled, adjusting her hair as she rose, looking stunning—she had that about her—always stunning and perfect, "He won't be much trouble. Damien is quite sensible."

"Sensible? That's an eleven-year-old kid, Mom!" I eyed her incredulously.

Seriously, was she kidding me?

Once again, her laughter filled the room, this time while spritzing some perfume.

"Enough talk, put this on." She handed me a delicate bracelet. She always helped me get ready because I was a disaster. Whenever I attempted it, the closet turned into chaos—messy and careless, that was me. Frankly, I couldn't care less about it. Today, with a slight chill outside, I wore a simple beige sweater and black leggings, along with a hat and chunky boots. I thanked every deity that my mother didn't force me into some elegant attire because I was terrible at that.

"You're the one getting married. Why do I have to dress up so nicely?"

"Because you're my daughter."

"That's hardly a valid reason."

"It's perfectly valid. If it doesn't suit you, find your own reason," she retorted. Spotting that I hadn't put on the bracelet yet, she seized my hand and slipped it around my wrist before dousing me with her perfume.

Ugh, I fucking hated that smell.

"Mom, no!" I hastily pulled away, scrunching my nose. "I hate that scent!"

"I hate the one you use. It's too sweet," she retorted, cringing, attempting another spray, but I pulled away.

"I prefer sweet scents. Yours are too fiery," I groaned, reaching for my usual perfume on her vanity and dousing myself in it to mask hers.

"Fine, do as you wish," she relented, donning her white overcoat and grabbing the car keys. "Come on, we can't afford to be late."

I breathed a sigh of relief when she set her perfume down, but as she headed out of the room, a thought struck me.