“Damn it,” I mutter, smiling, as I let him hug me again. I catch Fred’s eye and he shrugs, signaling that he’s already well aware of Milo’s charm. “Just come inside,” I say into Milo’s shoulder.

* * *

“So how long has it been since you’ve been home?” I ask as Milo and Fred settle into the couch. My apartment, which is a glorified room above a garage, is tiny; one room with my bed, a couch, and a small, round kitchen table, with a sloping ceiling that means you can only stand up straight if you’re directly in the middle of the room. At the back is the kitchen, separated from the rest of the apartment with a half wall, and only big enough for two people to squeeze in.

Milo shifts on the couch. “It’s been . . . a while. Things have been busy.”

“But now you’re back,” I say slowly, waiting for him to explain what he’s here for.

“Now I’m back,” he says, staring at me. A long silence hangs between us.

“This coconut cream pie is divine,” Fred says, holding up the slice I gave him from the pie I had chilling in the fridge.

“Thank you, Fred.” I smile. Frankly, Fred seems great. He’s polite, he never abandoned me while I was taking care of my father, and he likes my coconut pie; what more could I want in a person? But right now, I’m a little more concerned with what my brother’s doing here.

“Listen, I want to be here for Dad, all right? I know I missed a lot—”

I snort-cough.

“But I’m here now, okay?” Milo leans forward and looks at me with those big blue eyes that are also my big blue eyes and we’re back to being seven years old, to me giving him all the cheese from my Lunchable because he asked nicely. I’ve never been able to resist him.

“Why are you really here, Milo?” I ask quietly.

“To see Dad,” he insists. I look at Fred for help, but he’s curiously focused on his pie.

“Is that the only reason?” I ask, familiar with Milo’s belief that lies of omission don’t count.

He shrugs and rolls his eyes. “I mean, I don’t know, maybe the lease on our place was also up so it seemed like good timing. Among other reasons.”

I stare at him. “You’re not here for Dad. You’re here because you need a place to live.”

“Can’t it be both?” Milo says, charming smile aimed in my direction.

“You can’t stay here,” I say, standing up and grabbing their empty plates. Milo follows me into the kitchen.

“I know. I know. I forgot that your place was so small.”

“At least I have a place,” I say icily, turning on the water and rinsing off the plates.

“Touché.” Milo sighs. “I think we can stay with Mikey Danger. Remember him?”

I eye Milo. “How could I forget a high school classmate who tried to convince everyone his last name was Danger?”