Grant grinned. “I make some mean Chinese takeout.”
“Deal,” Joanna laughed. She reached into her dresser drawer and took out a pair of pajamas. “Give me a second to change, and then I want to know why you’ve gone AWOL from the Cohen residence less than a week after returning from your original disappearing act.”
Moments later when Joanna returned, she stretched out across the bed next to her brother. “So, what’s going on in that head of yours?” she smiled.
“Can’t we talk about something random and meaningless?” Grant shrugged.
“Okay,” Joanna nodded, “but only under one condition; you have to promise me that you aren’t in any trouble, and I want the truth.”
“I swear,” Grant grumbled, “I’ve been a good boy…practically a saint.”
“Yeah,” Joanna scoffed. “Then what’s with the mood?” she asked as she wrapped her arms around Grant’s shoulders and shook him playfully. “I mean, the way I see it, I’m the one who is in her mid-thirties, unmarried and breaking dates with a promising prospect! I should be the one who’s pouting, huh?”
“Joey, I meant it when I said that I didn’t want to talk about it,” Grant insisted.
“But I cleverly disguised my inquiry in the form of a humorous quip,” Joanna grinned.
“And I love you for it,” Grant smiled.
“Alright then,” Joanna conceded. “Keep your promise and get in there and order us something to eat. I’m starving.”
Grant stood, and Joanna grabbed onto his shoulders and jumped on his back. With ease, Grant carried his sister down the hall and into the kitchen. “Are you just planning to hang out back there while I call for Chinese?” he smiled over his shoulder as he flipped through the pages of the phone book.
Joanna grinned as she ruffled his hair. “Make sure they give us fortune cookies,” she whispered.
When Grant hung up the phone, he carried his sister over to the couch and dumped her off of his back with a little laugh.
From her vantage point on the sofa, Joanna glanced at her apartment door. “Grant,” she sighed as she sat up, “how did you get in here?”
Grant smiled as he flopped down next to her on the couch. “It was surprisingly easy.”
“I don’t even want to know,” Joanna shook her head. “I like the illusion of feeling safe.”
“Okay, fine,” Grant shrugged, “as long as you know that any guy with a credit card and a little skill can get in here at any time.”
“Did you really jimmy my lock?” Joanna gasped.
Grant laughed. “Those military IDs have more perks than one might imagine.”
“You broke into my apartment with your military ID?” Joanna asked in disbelief.
“I’m resourceful; what can I say?” Grant shrugged.
Joanna punched Grant’s arm playfully. “How about a movie?” she suggested.
They watched television until the delivery boy knocked on the door. Grant went to retrieve the food, and he and Joanna spent the rest of the evening on the couch eating Chinese food from the cartons with authentic chopsticks.
When they were finished, Joanna sat the carton of noodles on the coffee table. “That hit the spot,” she nodded.
Grant nodded in agreement as he took a sip of his drink before resting his head on the pillow in his sister’s lap.
Joanna gently ran her fingers through Grant’s shaggy, blond hair. “You are in desperate need of a haircut, Handsome,” she observed.
“I like my hair this way,” Grant shrugged.
“That wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that a certain parental figure is undoubtedly grinding his teeth to bits over it, would it?” Joanna rolled her eyes.
“Oh, does Dad not like my hair?” Grant asked casually.
Joanna grinned. “Dad must be getting soft in his old age. I keep half-expecting you to wake up with a fresh buzz cut.”
“Why do you think I’m sleeping over here?” Grant kidded.
Joanna laughed. She realized that Grant was grown now, four inches taller than her and smarter than she would ever be. But, to her, he would always be the baby, and there were times, like now, when Mr. Independent, who could never wait to grow up, just wanted to cuddle close and be the baby again…and she was inclined to let him.
Melissa awoke to the sound of a knock at the front door. She rolled over and looked at the clock on the nightstand; it was almost three o’clock in the morning. The knocking persisted, so Melissa gently shook her husband’s shoulder. “David, wake up,” she said insistently. “Someone is pounding on the door.”
David Cohen sat up slowly and glanced over at the clock. “Who in the world is knocking on our door at this time of morning?”
Melissa slid her robe on and followed her husband to the door.
“Who is it?” David called as he reached for an umbrella that was propped next to the door.
“It’s just me; open the door already,” Grant begged.
David quickly unlocked the door and threw it open.
