1.7

This was not a time for a loud sibling altercation. There were party guests to tend to, dips to refill, bottles to place in the recycle. He hadn’t planned the party; it had been a surprise, but he did consider himself a consummate host. That and he was a bit fussy.

“Sweep up the pieces and put them into a bag, so I can try to fix mini-Eddie. I can’t handle this right now, Pen!” He was clearly angry in his tone, as he wandered, wet, with a fiesta-appropriate smile on his face off into the throng of guests in his living room.

It didn’t matter to him that they were confused about his abrupt departure to bathe. It didn’t even bother him that he only knew a fourth of the people in his apartment, walking on the carpet with their shoes, despite the line-up of shoes by the entrance doorway, signifying that this was a shoes-off house. No. What bugged him was the tinge of concern he felt for his sister, who in his periphery he noticed was crying into the dustpan and broken pieces of the statuette.