troublewillfindme

“I know you take after your dad,” Jack says, striking a match and lighting the cigarette. “But couldn’t you have developed better taste?”

“Did you or did you not spend twenty years reminding me that he was important to Dad, that Dad loved him?” Sally shoots back, unphased. “He’s gonna be part of this family sooner or later.”

“He’s still an idiot.”

“Yeah, but at least he’s likeable now.”

–

They have made progress. Regular trade offs of coffee delivery and several lessons on cheating at poker with math later, and they’ve struck up their own kind of friendship.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You can, but I won’t guarantee you an answer.”

It’s hot air, of course, and they both know it. She’s yet to be anything other than forthcoming with him.

“Is the not drinking a family thing?”

She sips at her coffee. “Sort of? Jack drinks, but as a rule, gets interrupted before he manages to get even halfway through whatever he’s having. Dad’s got his own reasons. And I can’t.”

“No tolerance?”

“No, I’d be okay with no tolerance. At least you get some enjoyment that way.”

Bradford raises his eyebrows at her. “You don’t get anything off of it?”

“Oh, I get something: horribly sick. Whatever they did to induce this,” she says, purple energy flowing from her fingertips. “Made sure that I can’t touch so much as a drop.”

“It’s not the worst side effect.”

She wrinkles her nose. “No, but it wasn’t fun to find out.”

“Bad twenty-first?”

“Earlier than that. Jack let me have a couple sips of a martini when I was eighteen. Nothing extreme.”

“And?”

“You know how I said Jack never gets to finish a drink? Yeah, that time it was because he was holding my hair back as I threw up.”

Bradford grimaces. “Lucky you.”

Sally shrugs. “It could be worse; you’re right about that. But it means I’m down to coffee, profanity, and violence for vices.”

“And cigarettes.”

“You want a laugh? I don’t actually smoke.”

“I’ve seen you try to bum cigarettes off Marlowe.”

“Family joke. I inherited all the other Weir-Marlowe quirks, but no one’s too keen on letting me pick that one up.”

“Why would you even want to? They’re terrible for —“ He sees Sally eye him over her coffee cup. “Yeah, I know. I’m not in a place to talk about vices, but cigarettes are a bad one.”

“Honestly? It’s the aesthetic. And having something to do with my hands. Mostly the aesthetic, though.”

Bradford buries his face in his hands.

“Look,” she counters. “If Dad’s gonna insist on describing this family as ‘a bunch of shady government agent types,’ I’m gonna look the part.”

“Shady … Sally, when you were a kid, what did you tell people you were gonna be when you grew up?”

“Easy. Secret agent. Almost no one took me seriously.”

“But what did you really want to be? If you could have picked.”

She grins at him, and wiggles her eyebrows. “Family business or bust.”