The Checklist by Addie Woolridge (famous ebook reader txt) 📕

didn’t have the heart to tell her no one had so much as emailed her about it. Not even Grandmama, who was a relentless cheerleader for her grandbaby’s art.

“How’s the active pursuit of claiming souls?” Neale said, picking up Kierkegaard again.

“Oh, you know. I met the devil’s quota when I took the Technocore gig, so overall I’d say it was a pretty good day.”

Neale snorted into her book and looked up as Dylan shifted her heels to her other hand so they couldn’t drip mud onto her coat. “Good to have something you are good at, big sister.” She giggled, picking up her coffee mug, then fixed Dylan with one of her rare I-am-present-on-Earth stares. “God, Dyl, everything in your wardrobe is so neutral I want to fall asleep looking at you.”

“Thanks. I believe it is called professional. If I wanna look like a hobo, I’ll visit your closet.”

“It’s a miracle you manage turnarounds. I feel like you are more likely to achieve a narcoleptic takeover in that getup.” Neale laughed, chucking one mud-covered sneaker over the arm of the chair she was curled up in. Dylan cringed at the mud, then remembered that in her parents’ home, mud was probably cleaner than the cushions anyway.

“Well, if you ever have trouble falling asleep, feel free to peek in my closet. I have an entire wardrobe full of corporate attire.”

“Oh, I know. I went in there to find something to wear today and came back empty handed. I dare you to buy something in a color other than beige, black, or navy.”

“I think I have a gray dress somewhere,” Dylan shot back, reminding herself that nothing in this house was strictly hers as long as her sister was around.

“You would have an inventory of the colors in your closet. I’m guessing you have an itemized list too?”

“Yes.” Dylan rolled her eyes as if they were back in school. “Just so I can track exactly what you’ve stolen out of there.”

“Oh, goody. I’ve missed your lists.” Neale snickered. “I noticed the spotlight is gone. Seeing as the Robinsons’ house isn’t on fire, I’m guessing I should say thank you,” she said, not batting an eyelash at the abrupt turn.

“You’re welcome. Honestly, Mom and Dad bring it upon themselves.”

“False. Linda and Patricia are sociopaths under all that hair spray.”

“I very much doubt that. They raised two perfectly normal children without any homicidal tendencies.”

“To your knowledge.” Neale shook her mass of curls toward the neighbors’ house. She could not be bothered to comb out her hair, which had grown into something resembling Yoko Ono’s coiffure during the Lennon years, only dyed blonde. The whole copper-skinned, lion-maned goddess-of-space vibe worked for her.

“Well, I ran into Mike last night, and he didn’t try to strangle me, so I think you’re probably safe from the Merry Murderers Robinson.”

“Oh, you saw Sexy Robinson?” Neale asked, excitement tingeing her voice. “No wonder you think Patricia and Linda are normal. He’s so good looking I wouldn’t care if he was an ax murderer either.”

“Neale.” Dylan rolled her eyes.

“Please. You could be blindfolded, and you’d still notice he was good looking. Don’t feel bad; everyone has a crush on him, even Mom, in that weird-old-lady-who-is-married way,” Neale nettled, shaking an unintentional dreadlock out of her face.

“That’s gross.”

“I think he’s way nicer than the other brother,” Neale carried on, pointedly ignoring her. “Maybe Mike is the exception to the serial-killing rule? You could totally date him once the rest of the family goes to jail.”

“I live with Nicolas.”

“Who we’ve never met. Are you sure he’s real?” Neale’s gaze started to go fuzzy, following her thought process.

This was too much family time for Dylan. If she let Neale keep going, they would soon be discussing the aliens who tended bar at Lenny’s. “Okay, Neale. You win. Nicolas is a figment of my imagination that I’ve photoshopped into all my social media posts. The Robinsons are totally mass-murdering maniacs, and I’ll marry Mike when they are all safely locked away.”

“That’s my girl. Never let homicide stand in the way of what you want.”

“Good night.” Dylan smiled over her shoulder, making her way up the stairs.

“FYI—last I checked, Milo was sleeping in your bed. You may need to move him or something . . .” Neale’s voice trailed off into her book.

Dylan walked up the stairs, trying not to let the weight of talking to Neale bear down on her. She loved her sister so much it hurt, but Neale refused to grow up. She couldn’t stick to one idea for long, and unlike Billie, Neale was not cut out for the starving-artist schtick—hence what she was doing living with their parents at twenty-seven. The thought of an untethered Neale made Dylan nervous.

Sighing, she pushed open her bedroom door to find Milo deeply ensconced in her sheets. Dylan wondered whether it was worth it to shower tonight, knowing she would have to get up and rinse Milo’s fur off in the morning. She had just decided to skip the shower when her phone buzzed, startling her. Glancing at the phone, she watched Nicolas scroll across the screen. She had completely lost track of time and their scheduled call. Picking up the phone, she made her way to the bed and pushed on Milo’s backside.

“Hi, honey,” she said, prompting Milo to groan and slink off the bed.

“Babe! How was your first day?” Dylan could hear the smile in his voice. Everything must have gone well with the divorce settlement.

“I’m concerned about this one,” she sighed and started to sink into her bed, only to jump back, praying she hadn’t gotten dog hair all over her dress. “The woman I should’ve been working with left the company. They didn’t even remember I was coming.” She reached around her back and let down the zipper. Pushing one sleeve off her shoulder, she started chuckling and added, “I practically stalked Tim Gunderson to get a meeting. It’s kind of funny—”

“Oh! Guess what? Sorry, I’ll let you finish in a minute, but