I try to ignore the rational voice in my brain pointing out that breaking things off with him because I’m mad that I might not have gotten the chance to tell him how much he means to me is a twisted mess of idiocy.

Once I’m sure I won’t start crying, I head downstairs to find Marcus and Pops setting up Monopoly. Some of the tension eases from my chest.

“I get to be—”

“The banker,” they finish my sentence in unison, grinning at each other as I roll my eyes.

“Am I that predictable?”

Marcus smirks. “When it comes to being in control? Yes.”

I stick my tongue out at my older brother, and he chuckles while passing me the fake money.

We’ve gone around the board a few times before Pops addresses the big, fat elephant sitting at the table with us.

“So, your man left here in a bit of a huff. Something go wrong between you two?”

I grimace, getting the urge to brush the topic off. But then I’d be doing the exact same thing I’m mad at Ben for.

“We argued. But the transplant is still going forward.”

I shoot Marcus an apologetic look, but he just smiles and rolls the dice.

“What did y’all argue about?”

“Gosh, Pops. Nosy much?”

Instead of answering, he stares at me. Waiting.

I sigh before giving in, telling them the gist of what we yelled at each other about.

“And then he tricked me into agreeing to drive to the surgery together.”

Pops coughs, but I would swear it started out as a snort. “Just so I understand, you’re mad at the boy because he got sick and didn’t tell you?”

“No. I’m mad that he lied about it when I asked him.” My roll comes out of my hands harder than I intended, and the dice go bouncing onto the floor. I huff in irritation, crouching beneath the table to retrieve them.

“Hmm. Okay. I agree that was a bad move on his part. But, sweetie, I think you might be going a little hard on the boy.”

His words shock me, and I swing my head up to tell him just how wrong he is. The only problem is, I haven’t cleared the table, so I end up whacking my head so hard that the game pieces rattle.

“Ow,” I wail, clutching my throbbing skull.

Pops clucks his tongue in sympathy, kneeling down in front of me to gently take my head in his hands. He skims his fingers over my scalp, and I hiss when he reaches the sore spot.

“Didn’t cut yourself, but you’re gonna have a knot the size of a chicken’s egg.”

I settle back in my seat, Marcus running his eyes over me in concern, and my dad leaves the room, only to come back with a bag of frozen peas.

“Hold this on there.”

The icy vegetables help take away some of the tenderness, but my mood is officially as sour as a whole bucket full of lemons. A box of lemons? A tub? I don’t know how large quantities of lemons are transported, but let’s just agree that it’s a gigantic amount of lemons.