Mandy Thompson was twenty-six, a graphic designer who liked to linger over details. She believed that good choices took time-whether it was picking the right font for a logo or the right pair of jeans that didn’t make her hips look weird in the dressing-room mirror. Her older brother Mitchell was thirty-one, a construction project manager who treated time like a limited resource that someone else was always wasting. He moved through the world at a brisk, efficient clip, checking his watch the way other people checked their phones. The two of them had been locked in the same low-level sibling war since childhood: Mandy wanted to savor, Mitchell wanted to finish.

Their latest battleground was the mall on a humid Saturday afternoon.

Mandy’s ancient Civic was in the shop again-something expensive involving the transmission-and she had no choice but to ask Mitchell for a ride. He had sighed the long-suffering sigh of a man who had already mentally scheduled the rest of his day, but he agreed. “Fine. But we’re not making a whole production out of it. You said you needed one thing.”

“I do,” she had answered sweetly, already knowing she was lying to both of them.

The apparel store was bright and loud, racks of summer clearance clothes spilling into the aisles. Mandy had come for a simple black blouse to replace the one she’d ruined with bleach last week. That was it. One blouse. In and out. But the moment she stepped inside, the familiar pull took over. A soft sage-green sweater caught her eye. Then a rack of linen pants that looked breezy and perfect for the office. Then a display of sale sundresses that made her imagine lazy weekends she didn’t actually have.

Mitchell lasted approximately seven minutes.

He stood near the entrance with his arms folded, shifting his weight from one foot to the other like a bored security guard. Every few moments he would drift closer to wherever she was browsing and mutter, “You good? We should probably get going.”

Mandy held up a sleeveless top the color of crushed raspberries. “What do you think of this one?”

“You don’t need it,” Mitchell said. “You needed one blouse. That’s a blouse. Grab it and let’s go.”

She gave him the look she had perfected over twenty years of being his little sister-the slow blink that said *I am pretending you didn’t just speak*. “I’m just looking. It’s called being thorough.”

“It’s called wasting my afternoon.” He checked his watch again. “I told Dad I’d help him with the shed this weekend, and I still have to swing by the hardware store, and-”

“And you have other things to do,” Mandy finished for him in a flat voice. She had heard the phrase so many times it should have been engraved on the family crest. “I know, Mitchell. You always have other things to do.”

She turned back to the rack, sliding hangers along the metal bar with deliberate slowness. The hanger scraped louder than necessary. A small, petty victory.

Mitchell exhaled through his nose. “You know your car’s been in the shop three times this year? Maybe if you spent less time shopping and more time-”

“Don’t,” she warned.

He closed his mouth, but the tension stayed in his jaw.

Mandy carried three items to the fitting room: the original black blouse, the green sweater, and the raspberry top. She took her time in the little stall, turning in front of the mirror, checking angles, texting a friend for opinion on the green sweater. When she finally emerged, Mitchell was leaning against a pillar like he was posing for a stock photo titled *Exasperated Brother*.

“Decided?” he asked.

“I’m still thinking between the blouse and the sweater.”

“You don’t need the sweater.”

“You don’t need to have an opinion on my wardrobe.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Mandy. Seriously. I’ve got stuff to do.”

She smiled at him, bright and dangerous. “Then maybe next time you should let me call an Uber.”

Mitchell stared at her. She stared back. Around them, other shoppers moved in happy, oblivious pairs. The store music played something upbeat and forgettable.

After a long moment, Mitchell sighed the sigh of the defeated. “Fine. Take your time. I’ll be in the car.”

He started walking toward the exit.

Mandy watched him go, a flicker of guilt mixing with the familiar satisfaction of winning the round. She turned back to the rack and picked up one more thing-just a simple black blouse, exactly what she had come for.

She smiled to herself. Some things never changed. Her brother was still annoying. And she was still going to make him wait.

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