George was my brother. My elder brother, and the man who thought himself responsible if anything happened to me. He had been the only one with the sense to advise me to wait a few more years before I decided to marry Peter; we all thought that at the age that I was, I was capable of making a lifelong choice like that. George had tried to make himself the closest one to me as I suffered through the separation. He cared so strongly for me, even after he got married. As far as I knew, their relationship was going fine, but George, in my opinion, spent far too long at my house…sometimes more than he did at his own.
“Oh, hell,” I groaned, a fully formed picture of my dear George, there in my head, reprimanding me for lying in.
“He’s coming over, and I look like I’m hungover.”
“Are you hungover?”
“Of course not, what do you take me for? I haven't touched a drop since…”
Steven coughed. This was quickly becoming a taboo subject.
“Anyway. I’ve come to clean up the house, and your act, et cetera, before he comes. If George sees you in this state-”
“I know. Really, I’m fine. Yesterday was just…a bit disappointing.”
“Nothing,” I said quickly, “Work wasn’t interesting… It wasn’t at all productive.”
I just hoped that Steven didn’t know that I was taking time off work, as they had organized.
“Take it from me- that’s life.”
“Steven! Where did you get such a terrible attitude?”
And by that, he meant the childhood exit of his father.