Chapter 3

3: 3

3

Early the next morning, I was about to leave for work.

Chester suddenly knocked on my bedroom door.

“Hey, let me use that most expensive bottle of cologne of yours!”

His voice carried in from the doorway, like it was his by right.

It wasn't that he had none of his own. He had a whole cabinet packed with cologne, while I had exactly one bottle.

I said no.

“Why not use your own?”

He gave a little laugh.

“I want it for spraying my shoes. Every bottle I own costs a fortune. That'd be a waste, throwing away good stuff.”

So he figured he'd just use mine.

But my one bottle wasn't cheap either.

I'd been so careful with it, rationing every spray, and the very first day I brought it home he'd knocked over more than half of it by accident.

It hurt so much I didn't sleep all night.

And now here he was, acting like he had every right to borrow it.

“You can't.”

I refused without hesitation, and Chester ran off with red eyes, crying.

Not long after, someone kicked my door open.

Hazel walked in, her face full of anger.

“It's just borrowing your cologne. Why are you being so petty?”

“Your brother thinks of you whenever he gets anything good.”

“How can you be this selfish?”

Hazel had an easy temper. Even when we argued, she'd never lost it at me like this.

But right now, it was as if I'd done something unforgivable.

“Hazel, get it straight—who's your boyfriend here?”

“I've got that one bottle. If someone wants to borrow it, do I have to hand it over on a silver platter?”

“I'll ask you one last time. Are you lending it or not?”

Hazel's face was cold, no room for discussion at all.

“No.”

“Fine!” Hazel laughed in fury, and suddenly pulled out her phone. “It's just a bottle of cologne. What's the big deal?”

She snapped a photo right there and ran an image search.

Then placed an order for Chester—ten bottles of the same brand, in ten different scents.

Chester froze, then it clicked and he leapt up, thrilled.

“Hazel, I must've saved the universe in a past life. You're so good to me!”

“Ten bottles! I could spray my shoes for the rest of my life and never run out!”

And I just stood there, watching Hazel, digging my nails into my palm until it ached.

That one bottle was a birthday gift from Hazel, three years ago.

I'd used it so carefully every time, terrified of wasting a drop.

And now Hazel was using it to get back at me, hard.

I didn't say anything. Lips pressed tight, I picked up my bag and walked off, and knocked over the glass figure Chester had set on the couch by accident.

It shattered into pieces.

Chester's scream came right on its heels.

“Ah! Zane, what are you doing? Even if you won't let me use your cologne, you don't get to take it out on me like this!”

Chester cried until his eyes went red.

“That figure was a limited edition I bought from overseas—it costs more than your cologne!”

I didn't know what to do with myself. “I didn't mean to…”

“Zane!”

Hazel's face darkened. “I really never realized before—you're this vindictive!”

“You're the one who broke Chester's figure, so you pay him back for it!”

Hazel ordered me to take a side job in my free time after work, and earn back the money for the glass figure.

And just like that, I remembered how it used to be.

Every time, I was the one doing the chores and the cooking while Chester lay around bingeing shows.

The moment I so much as complained,

Hazel would jump on me.

“Your brother's so thin, you can tell he isn't eating or sleeping right, always getting the short end. You're his older brother—shouldn't you feel a little more for him?”

“Instead of standing here sulking like a jealous kid, go help your brother with something.”

She was always finding me some side job or another, saying a man ought to stand on his own.

Then she'd turn right around and take my brother to the movies.

To Disneyland.

The two of them built up so many memories that even the living room wall in my house was covered with their photos.

And in none of those photos was there any sign of me.

Maybe I should have been used to it by now.

Over the next few days, I went to work, came home, ate, slept, same as always.

Hazel was busy as ever, sending me a few messages here and there, and I kept my replies short.

She seemed to sense something, but not quite all of it.

She just figured I was still sulking over the gift.

So on Friday night she left work early on purpose, saying she'd take me out for sushi.

“Chester said a friend of his recommended a new place, really good. Let's go try it.”

She talked while she drove.

I sat in the passenger seat, staring at the streetlights sliding past the window, and didn't answer.

“What's wrong? Don't feel like sushi?”

“We can go somewhere else. What do you want?”

I turned to look at her. “You're taking me out to eat. Why bring up which place Chester says is good?”

The question caught her off guard, and then she smiled.

“I was just saying it offhand. Why are you taking everything to heart lately?”

“Is that so.”

I looked away. “Sushi's fine, then.”

There was still a message sitting in my phone, one the company had just sent.

“Zane, you're the only young guy going on this Australia transfer, so get everything ready ahead of time. A car will come pick you up for the airport tomorrow.”

Five minutes earlier, I'd looked down and typed back a single word. “Okay.”

Because tomorrow I was leaving.

This was our last meal. I'd just treat it as a proper goodbye.