I figured as much. He’s almost never here, I’ve come to realize. He stays at his girlfriend’s place most nights.

I go back to finding the right T-shirt and jeans combination. As I’m pulling on a white shirt, my phone pings. I’m only a little disappointed when it’s Tara instead of Sydney.

Tara: Hey! Are you still coming home next weekend for my game?

Me: Planning on it.

Tara: Yay! Best big brother EVER.

Chuckling, I toss my phone on the bed. I can almost see Tara’s face and hear her voice through her texts. Only fifteen months younger than me, Tara and I are close. Our parents raised us like twins, putting us in all the same activities. If one of us wanted to play a sport or learn an instrument, the other one had to, too.

Those six months she thought she wanted to be a ballerina were rough. I totally showed up those little girls with my kickass pirouette though. And her interests did have some benefits. For example, I was voted the best dressed guy in my senior class thanks to Tara picking out my entire wardrobe. Sadly, I’m still hopeless without her help.

I button my jeans and walk to my bed and pick up the phone again.

Me: Are T-shirt and jeans okay for a sort-of date?

Tara: Define sort-of date? Where are you going? Is it just the two of you?

Me: Going to a bar and then maybe back to my place to hang out and no, there will be other people with us.

Tara: That doesn’t sound anything like a date.

Me: I said “sort-of”.

Tara: Boys are dumb.

Me: Noted. Now help me, please.

Tara: Send me a picture, full-length.

Me: Calling you so this is less painful.

I press the button to FaceTime her and prop up my phone on my desk. Stepping back so she can see my entire outfit, I feel a little ridiculous when her face appears on the screen.

“Where are you?” I ask by way of greeting. It’s noisy and people are walking around behind her.

“I’m at the lake house for the weekend.”

“Oh, nice. Did you take the boat out?”

“Focus, brother.”

“Right.” I hold my arms out from my sides. “Well?”

Her lip curls up and she tilts her head side to side. “It’s okay.”

My shoulders slump and I groan.

“I’m sorry, T, but it’s so boring. The white T-shirt is played out.”

“It’s classic,” I argue.

“Corinne,” Tara calls. “Tell Tanner his outfit sucks.”

My sister’s long-time friend, Corinne, appears next to her. “Hey Tanner.”

“Hey, Corinne. Help a guy out? I look okay, right?” Again, I hold my arms out. Corinne always takes my side. Ganging up on my sister is our favorite pastime. But the look on her face as she scrutinizes my outfit is not encouraging.