Never Always Sometimes - Adi Alsaid Page 0,4

and cream into

a mixing bowl for the frosting. “And I think there was an oops baby

that’s in junior high now.”

“I heard a rumor that the Kapoor parents only procreate because

they’re building up an army,” Julia said. In the few minutes since

they’d started working on the cupcakes, Julia had managed to get

herself covered in cupcake mix. It coated her brown hair and the tip

of her nose, and there was a smear of batter on her chin. Dave had to

resist the urge to take a picture of her or call her adorable. “They’ve

been planning to take over San Luis Obispo for generations.”

DAVE 21

“I could actually see that,” Brett said, tossing his beer into the

recycling bin and grabbing another can, letting loose a burp that

sounded less like a burp and more like a bass line. “Dad, you want a

beer?” he called out into the living room, where their dad was likely

watching college basketball. There was a grunt of a response, so Brett

grabbed another one and set it on the counter next to him.

“Don’t open that,” Dave said to Brett. “We need a ride to the party.”

Brett popped open the new beer defiantly, sucking up the foam

that hissed out. “You really need to get your license already. You’re

eighteen.”

“This is more of a situation where we intend to, as you and your

brainless friends would call it, ‘get wasted,’ and less of a Dave-not-

having-a-license thing,” Julia said. “I could have driven if I wanted to.”

Brett shook his head. “You two are so codependent.”

Dave blushed, but Julia kept on mixing cupcake batter without

missing a beat. “It’s not codependence, it’s attachment,” she said.

“Attached at the hip, maybe,” Brett said, drinking from his beer.

“You should take it easy on the booze; you two probably share a liver.

You won’t last an hour at that party.”

Julia scowled at him, then clapped cupcake mix off her hands in

front of his face. “Why the hell not?”

Brett coughed, brushing the white cloud away from his face.

“You’re too . . . I don’t know. Artsy.”

Julia laughed. “I don’t paint, write, sculpt, or play any music. I don’t think you know what artsy means.”

22 NEVER ALWAYS SOMETIMES

“I think he’s trying to call you intel igent, but in a derogatory way,”

Dave said.

“I mean that you go to parties ironically, barefoot, and you bring

cupcakes.” He took another drink, mulling something over in his

head. “You’re right, artsy was the wrong word. I should have said clueless. The Kapoor parties are legendary for being wild. I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourselves into.”

“I’m sure the beer-pong tournament will be really intimidating,”

Julia said, turning back to the cupcake batter. “You know, I had

second thoughts of going before you came in. But now I’m sure it’ll be

a blast. I can’t wait until I see that glimmer in someone’s eyes when

they start thinking high school days are the glory days. Like the look

in your eyes, Brett.”

Brett looked around the kitchen, giving his derisive laugh that

was more like a snort. Dave could tell he was trying to think of a

comeback. After a while, Brett scowled, muttered something about

cupcakes, and then went into the living room to rejoin their dad.

Watching TV was their favorite thing to do. They did so silently,

never acknowledging that it drew them together. Sometimes Dave

felt like joining them, but it seemed to belong just to the two of them.

Dave didn’t mind so much; he had his own silent way of feeling close

to his dad: They cooked for each other, meals that Dave’s mom used

to make for all of them.

“You have to teach me how to do that. I never get the last word

with him,” Dave said, dipping a finger into the frosting to taste it.

DAVE 23

There was something delightful about watching Julia move about the

kitchen recklessly, a trail of batter and eggshells in her wake. The

tiled floor was a mess when she was done with it, polka-dotted with

vanilla extract. Her fingerprints were all over the black cabinets and

on the stove. A pile of dishes sat in the sink, way more of them than

she had needed. On his own, Dave was a bit of a neat freak. But when

Julia was nearby, messes seemed beautiful, life’s untidiness easier to

comprehend.

“So this is how tradition falls,” he said, taking a seat on one of the

stools at the breakfast counter. “With cupcakes and the Kapoor army.”

“Better a bang than a whimper,” she said, easing onto the stool next

to him. She reached over and brushed something off his shoulder, as

if he were the one covered in ingredients. “Plus, don’t be so dramatic.

It doesn’t suit you.