Look at him. Standing there like nothing’s wrong, smiling and waving at everyone as he opens the door to the room. 

Yet, everyone else looks so ridiculously happy to see him. They all greet him as he enters, shaking his hand and giving him hugs. I swear, he could walk in covered with literal shit, and everyone would still greet him the same way. 

I don’t know why everyone likes him so much. 

He’s loud and obnoxious, always taking up half the space in a room full of the forty-four people in my extended family. He eats like an absolute pig, shovelling food into his mouth and spitting while he talks, yet everybody somehow finds it endearing. If I ever did what he does at the dinner table, I’d be scolded to no end. 

He’s always drunk at least fifteen minutes after walking into any of these events, too. He breaks glasses, insults others, makes crude jokes about people’s divorces or weight gain, brings up embarrassing stories from years ago that everyone else has tried to forget, and whenever I call him out, I’m suddenly ‘ruining the mood’? 

Shit, he’s walking over to me. I haven’t hidden myself well enough. I grit my teeth, steeling myself for the inevitable interaction. His swagger as he strides forward is sickening, the image of that stupid grin on his face burning itself into my brain. 

“Hey, champion! How’s it going?” He sticks his hand out rigidly. After a moment of hesitation, I gingerly reach out, touching his hand with as little skin as possible to still call it a handshake. My efforts are in vain, though, as he grabs my hand with his other hand, yanking me forward into a fierce handshake that rocks my entire arm. “I see your handshake game hasn’t improved, huh?” 

“Guess not,” I mutter, just letting him shake my hand while I stand there, my arm limp and flailing around. After a time that feels much too long for a handshake, he finally lets me go. 

“So, what’s new, huh? Get that job you were after?” 

My eye twitches. “No.” 

“Ah well, it’s their loss, right? Bright kid like you; if I were running the company, I wouldn’t even think twice.” 

“It’s whatever.” 

“You’re probably right,” he says, slamming a hand onto my shoulder and gripping it tightly. “That company would’ve worked you to the bone anyway. Better off looking for something else. Still living at your mom’s, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Ah, she’ll take care of you. Got nothing to worry about. Keep at it though!” He pats my shoulder one more time before heading off to speak to some of the other people at the party. 

God, I hate him.