“My mom sometimes said she thought we were identical, not fraternal, twins since we both were possessed by evil prankster DNA. Anyway, Josie was devastated. She went to our mom and asked, ‘Is this true?’ My mom marched into our bedroom, thrust the book at both of us, and said we were required to use our allowances and purchase not only a new copy, but any other books Josie wanted that year.”

Natalie beams. “Excellent punishment. I guess Josie won that one after all.”

“She did. Ask her what funded her Jane Austen collection, and it was us being little assholes.” I take a bite of a burger. A Spoon song blasts overhead. As I finish chewing, I point upward. “Now this, this is music. Not that Katy Perry, Justin Bieber, Taylor Swift stuff you like.”

She bumps my shoulder. “Katy Perry rocks. Taylor Swift is awesome. And don’t even pretend I like the Biebs. I have standards, you musical snob.”

“Thank god,” I say under my breath, teasing her.

“But I still want to know—did Josie ever get back at you for spoiling the book?”

I nod. “Sure did. She exacted her revenge in other ways.”

Natalie lifts her beer bottle and tips it back. “Tell me, tell me, tell me.”

“She doused all our T-shirts in some girlie perfume one morning our freshman year of high school. There was nothing else to wear. We went to school like that.”

Natalie pumps a fist. “Excellent. I’ll congratulate her myself when I see her later. Leaving you and Nick smelling like princesses is the definition of sweet revenge.”

“I smelled quite pretty,” I say in a prissy voice, and that cracks her up. Then my tone darkens. “But I couldn’t stop pranking her. I was a total dick.”

She frowns. “No. Really?”

I nod, ‘fessing up to my misdeeds. “I replaced her shampoo with vegetable oil.”

Natalie’s eyes widen. “You were Satan.”

“The devil incarnate. I made fun of her the next day, too. Couldn’t let it go. Told her she smelled like a greasy salad, which is a simple but awful thing to say to a twelve-year-old girl.”

“Wyatt,” she chides, her blue eyes shaming me. “That’s terrible.”

I hold up my hands in surrender. “I know. Trust me, I know. She was so upset, but she tried hard not to let on,” I say, remembering how Josie’s lip quivered and she hid in her room, trying to figure out why her hair was such an oily mess. “I couldn’t even blame Nick because he was at a friend’s house. My mom pulled me aside that night.”

Natalie reaches for a fry on my plate and drags it through the hot sauce. She pops it into her mouth without flinching, and once again I’m impressed with her heat tolerance. “Were you in trouble?”

I sigh deeply, remembering the brilliance of my mother’s punishment. “In a way. I wasn’t grounded, but I got a talking to in front of a girl. I was fifteen and had my first real girlfriend, and she was over watching a movie with me. My mom came into the living room, turned off the TV, and explained what had happened, right in front of the girl I liked.”

Natalie’s jaw drops. “What did she say?”

“My girlfriend was pissed at me, and she agreed with my mom. My mom said how a boy treats his sister matters for many reasons, not the least because it’ll teach her what to expect from boys and men. She said, ‘Treat her with love, kindness, and respect, and set a good example for her. If you and Nick do that, she’ll keep growing up to be a strong, confident woman who won’t let a man walk all over her.’”

Natalie smiles softly. “I don’t have a brother, but I do think that’s true. I think we are all role models for each other.”

“We are, right? Maybe it’s the psych major in me, but I have a theory that we learn how we want to be treated and can expect to be treated not just from our parents, but our sisters and our brothers, too. It all matters. Everything we do matters.”

Her lips twitch in a grin. “You were a psych major?”

I laugh. “Weird, right?” I hold up my hands. “Did you think I majored in woodshop?”

She shakes her head. “No, but come to think of it, psych sort of fits you.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“You act like everything is so simple, but deep down you’re more insightful than you let on. Most of the time.” She winks. “Did your mom’s talking-to work right away?”

“It did. I needed to straighten up. Treat her better. Stop the jokes and needless put-downs. And my mom really put it in perspective. Saying all that in front of a girl I liked just emphasized her point. My goal from then on was to be a good guy, and show Josie how a dude could be, and what she deserved.”

“And look at her now,” says Natalie. “She’s strong, independent, and incredibly kind. She’s also no doormat, so it looks like you did have a lasting impact on her by changing your behavior.” Natalie wipes her hand on the napkin then rubs my shoulder as she talks. It occurs to me that this woman is tactile. She likes to touch. She likes to put her hands on me. She’s always done it, and she’s that way once again. I’m not entirely sure why this makes me happy, beyond the obvious—I really fucking enjoy her hands on me. But maybe also because it’s a sign that we’re back to normal. That the Vegas fallout is finished.

“That’s what a brother should do. Show his sister she deserves the world. Let her know she should expect the best,” I say, a burst of pride in my chest. “I might have been a wiseass, but because of the greasy salad hair, I worked harder to become a better guy. A good guy. She’s the reason it’s so damn important to me to be that kind of man.”