"Hey, even if it is hurting anybody, with some people you don't really have to care, right?" Dee laughs, and it's a mean sound, the sound of someone who thinks hurting others by accident is funny and hurting others on purpose can be easily justified. It's one of those sounds where the rot under her skin is obvious. "Sometimes he was backup. Honestly he just threw me under the bus or held me back a lot, but that's what you get for fucking with family."

So he's poor, or was. His life's taken the opposite trajectory to hers, where she grew up in the lap of upper class luxury, in a lavish bedroom with expensive physical therapy and nice clothes, and then slowly spiraled into getting kicked out of college, spending months in the psych ward, coming out of it unhireable and unskilled and then settling into the sediment of a below-minimum wage job at her brother's bar. She's jealous.

"You earned it? Doing what, gymnastics competitions?" She gestures at his clothes for the umpteenth time.