Sunday morning light filters through our bedroom curtains as I pull a blue button-down over my shoulders. Lana sits cross-legged on our unmade bed, wearing one of my old t-shirts, her hair piled ssily on top of her head. She’s scrolling through her phone, occasionally murmuring notes to herself about questions she needs to prepare for her podcast interview.
“You sure you don’t need anything before I head out?” I ask, buttoning up my shirt. “I could make you so coffee.”
She looks up, her eyes softening. “No, I’m good. Just trying to get my head in the ga for this interview. Amber is usually easygoing, but she can be kinda an to so girls. I don’t want to sound like an idiot after all.”
I walk over and plant a kiss on her forehead. “You could never sound like an idiot.”
Twenty minutes later, I’ve got my keys and wallet ready to go. Lana follows
to the front door, her lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout that sohow still manages to be genuinely adorable.
“I really wish I could go,” she says, leaning against the doorfra.
I give her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, honey. It’s cool you’re so popular that you get invited to podcasts, isn’t it?”
Lana’s expression shifts, her pout transforming into a slight frown. “I guess,” she says, not sounding entirely convinced.
“Hey, co on. We can hang out all night like always, okay? I’ll make that pasta you like so much, and we can watch more Love on the Spectrum.”
Her face brightens, the frown lting away. “Of course we can. It’s a date.”
She rises on her tiptoes, pressing her lips against mine in a soft, lingering kiss that makes
montarily forget everything else. Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, holding
close for just a second longer than necessary.
When she pulls back, there’s a warmth in her eyes that makes my heart skip. “Have fun with Sarah. Tell her I said hi.”
I nod, giving her one last quick peck before heading out to my car. The drive to Maple’s, our local breakfast spot, takes less than ten minutes. It’s one of those small-town diners where the coffee is perpetually burnt but sohow still comforting, and the waitresses know half the custors by na.
Sarah is already there when I arrive, sitting in our usual booth by the window. My sister looks up from her phone as I slide into the seat across from her, her expression a mixture of affection and judgnt that only siblings can perfect.
“You’re late,” she says, but there’s no real irritation in her voice.
“By, like, two minutes,” I counter, grabbing a nu I don’t need to look at. I always order the sa thing.
Sarah sets her phone down, studying
with those sisterly eyes that have always made
feel like she can see straight through my bullshit. We look alike, with the sa dark hair and eyes, but where I’m soft around the edges, Sarah is all sharp angles and precision.
“So,” she begins, that single syllable sohow loaded with aning. “How’s... everything?”
I know what she’s really asking. How’s life with your pornstar girlfriend? Are you still pretending it doesn’t bother you? Have you co to your senses yet?
“Everything’s great,” I say, forcing enthusiasm into my voice. “Lana’s got a podcast interview today. Should be good exposure for her.”
Sarah’s lips press into a thin line. “Exposure. Right.”
“That’s not fair,” I say, feeling a sudden spark of anger. “You know, when I was in high school, you treated Lana like your sister. You loved her.”
Sarah’s eyes narrow as she sets down her coffee mug with deliberate precision. “Lana’s a pornstar, Adam. She fucks random n for money.”
“And you’re supposed to be my sister,” I snap, my voice low but intense. “You’re supposed to have my back, not judge my relationship every chance you get.”
The waitress, Doris, who’s worked here since we were kids, approaches with her coffee pot. She senses the tension and wisely just fills our cups without her usual small talk.
Sarah waits until Doris is out of earshot before leaning forward. “I do have your back. That’s why I’m worried. You’re living in a fantasy world, Adam. This arrangent, it’s not healthy.”
“You don’t know anything about our arrangent,” I mutter, dumping three sugar packets into my coffee.
“I know you’re unemployed and living off her porn money,” Sarah says bluntly. “I know you’re pretending to Mom and Dad that you’re so hotshot programr while your girlfriend gets railed on cara.”
“That’s a low blow,” I say, my knuckles turning white around my coffee mug. The unemploynt comnt stings more than I want to admit. “You know how bad the tech industry is right now.”
Sarah’s face hardens, her eyes flashing with frustration. “It’s true, Adam. You’re staying in this relationship because it’s comfortable. You’re letting her bankroll your life while you write your little stories and play house. When it ends, and it will end, you’ll have fuck all to show for it and no way to support yourself.”
I set my mug down with more force than necessary, coffee sloshing over the rim. “You don’t get it, Sarah. I honestly think she’s the Love of my life. This isn’t so temporary arrangent. I really think I’ll marry her.”
Sarah’s eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly disappear into her hairline. She stares at
for a long mont, then lets out a short, humorless laugh.
“Marry her? Are you fucking kidding
right now?” She leans forward, lowering her voice. “What exactly is your plan here? To be Mr. Lana Lust? To sit at ho writing Pokémon porn while your wife gets gangbanged for a living?”
The words hit like a physical blow. I feel my face burning, partly from anger, partly from the humiliating truth of it.
“It’s not like that,” I mutter, though even I can hear how weak my defense sounds.
Sarah’s eyes narrow, her coffee forgotten as she leans across the table. “Why don’t you just ask her to quit?” she demands, her voice sharp with frustration. “Give her an ultimatum, it’s either the porn or you.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “I don’t even know if she can quit,” I sputter, setting my mug down with shaking hands. “She has contracts and obligations. And I would never give her an ultimatum like that. That’s not how relationships work.”
“That’s exactly how relationships work when one person is doing sothing the other can’t handle,” Sarah counters, jabbing her finger on the table for emphasis. “Boundaries, Adam. Healthy fucking boundaries.”
I run a hand through my hair, feeling trapped. “Look, it’s more complicated than that. She makes good money, really good money. What would she even do if she quit? Go back to waitressing for minimum wage?”
“So it’s about the money?” Sarah’s voice drips with disappointnt. “You’re selling your soul for a comfortable lifestyle?”
“No! That’s not what I ant.” I lower my voice as a couple at a nearby table glances our way. “I’m saying I don’t want to force her to give up her career without having sothing else lined up. That would be selfish.”
Sarah sits back, studying
with those penetrating eyes that have always seen too much. “You know what I think? I think you’re scared. Scared that if you ask her to choose, she’ll choose the industry over you.”
Her words pierce through my defenses like a hot knife through butter. The truth of it settles in my stomach like a lead weight. What if she’s right? What if Lana would choose her career over ?
I stare down at my untouched coffee. The realization floods over
like ice water. Maybe I am afraid. Maybe that’s why I’ve never asked.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mutter, but the conviction has drained from my voice.
Sarah leans forward, sensing weakness. “Look, I’m not trying to hurt you. I just want what’s best for you. This... situation... it’s eating you alive. Anyone can see it.”
I can’t et her eyes. Instead, I reach for my wallet, pulling out three twenties from the stack Lana gave
yesterday. The bills feel heavy in my hand, tainted sohow.
“I think I’m done here,” I say, placing the money on the table. “This was a mistake.”
Sarah’s face falls. “Adam, wait…”
“Nah.” I stand up, pushing back from the table. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you trash my relationship. You don’t get it, and you’re not trying to.”
“Adam, please…”
“Lana says hi, by the way,” I add, the words bitter on my tongue. “She still asks about you, you know. Still cares what you think, for so reason.”
I don’t wait for her response. I turn and walk out, ignoring the stares from the other diners. The bell above the door jingles cheerfully as I push through it, a jarring contrast to the storm raging inside .
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