Filed to story: Penny and Navy Brother Asher
Nope.
Not today.
I stomp over to the TV and crank the volume up another couple notches – just enough so that the sound of idiots arguing about instant memen drowns out the storm chewing the sky apart outside.
Not that I’m scared.
I’m not.
Storms are just weather.
Water.
Electricity.
Cloud drama.
Totally normal.
Totally fine.
Definitely not the prelude to being murdered by a guy wearing a knock-off clown mask
Nope.
I stir the chicken with a spatula that might actually be a pasta server, I’m not sure, and lean back against the counter, watching the storm batter the street outside.
It’s weird, how quickly the day flipped.
One minute you’re sunshine and iced coffee and feeling like you’ve got your whole life together.
The next you’re one thunderclap away from googling “can fear actually kill you.”
I shake my head, laughing under my breath.
It’s line.
Everything’s fine.
Dinner’s cooking, the house is clean, my homework’s mostly done, Tyler’s a text away, and my show is waiting to rot my brain in the most beautiful way possible,
It’s not a bad night.
It’s just… little loud
Another rumble of thunder shakes the windows, and the lights blink again, longer this time.
I scowl at the ceiling.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn, wagging my spatula threateningly at the overhead lights.
They flicker once more petulantly, I swear but stay on.
Victory.
The hot water runs over my shoulders, sluicing down my hack and taking most of the mud and grime from the day with it.
There’s something about physical work that makes sense in a way almost nothing else does.
The roof patch nerded fixing before the nest heavy storm wrecked it.
The fence was leaning like it was trying to make a break for It.
Minor things, but my parents couldn’t handle climbing ladders or digging of rotten posts anymore.
When the rain finally came in the afternoon, I took the hint and come inside.
Now I dry off change into sweats, and start chopping vegetables at the counter while the wind rattled the window frames.
Carrots, onions, celery – just to make it easier later when my parents decide to make dinner.
I work quietly, knife flashing, the cutting board filling up with neat piles
Until I hear the bag crinkle.
Tyler drops onto the stool from me at the island, a bag of chips in one hand, the other already shoving a handful into his mouth.
“You want some?” he asks around a mouthful.
I glance at the e greasy mess of artificial cheese dust and salt and shake my head.
He shrugs, like it’s my loss, and keeps eating.
“You don’t eat chips?” he asks after a minute, genuinely curious.
“No,” I say shortly.
He leans back, cranching loudly
“Is it, like, a Navy thing?” he asks, gesturing vaguely with a chip.
I scrape diced onions into a bowl.
“It’s a staying-alive thing.”
He laughs, like he thinks I’m joking.
I don’t bother correcting hin
He crunches another chip, watching
“So, seriously,” he says after a moment, “how hard is it? The Navy, I mean,”
I pause, chaning the knife.
He’s not asking to be noty. He’s asking because he genuinely doesn’t know..
Because the last time he saw me, he was sixteen, and I was already halfway out the door.
I rinse the blade and answer without looking up.
‘Harder than you think. Easier than it could
He sports. That’s not an answer.
It’s the only one you’re getting
He throws a chip at me. It bounces off my arm and hits the floor.
“You’re so annoying,” he says, laughing.
“Better than being stupid,” I mutter.
He laughs harder and grabs another handful of chips.
The house creaks around us, the wind howling las low and steady outside.
The storm’s getting worse.
Not dangerous yet, but close.
Tyler’s phone buzzes on the counter. He checks it, grinning. wh he says, answering. “Nah, nothing. Just hanging out.”
He laughs at whatever the other guy says.
“Oh really? I’m so down. Yeah, I’m coming”
He hangs up and grabs his jacket from the chair.
Tell Mom and Dad I’m heading out,” he says, shoving his arms into the sleeves. “Shouldn’t be long.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“The storm’s getting bad.”
He waves it off
“It’s, like, a ten-minute drive. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re an idiot,” I say flatly.
He just grins and slaps the counter twice.
“Love you too, big bro
And then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him, the wind immediately howling louder in the sudden absence.
I finish tidying up the counter, dumping vegetable scraps s into the trash, wiping down surfaces until they shine.