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Home / Urban / Why Does My Sister's Nightmare Advisor Sound Like My Ex? / Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

All Chapters of Why Does My Sister's Nightmare Advisor Sound Like My Ex?: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

30 Chapters

Chapter 1

"Honestly, Ian, my advisor isn't even human!"Emily Carrigan rolled over on the couch with a throw pillow in her arms. She yelled into it face-down before flipping back upward. Kicking her legs straight out, she launched into a rant that sounded like she was complaining about the universe's injustice.Her wailing was loud enough to drown out the TV in the living room, but Ian Sutherland didn't even look up. He was pinning a sea bass to the chopping board and running a knife down its spine.The cut was neat; bone and flesh parted in one stroke. He slid the fillets onto a plate and set them aside.He'd been listening to Emily start rants with the same opening line every day for a whole week now. From "the devil incarnate" to "cold-blooded robot" and "academic tyrant", his little sister could come up with a new nickname for her graduate advisor daily.Emily pushed herself upright and sat cross-legged on the couch. She propped the pillow up vertically and grabbed it by the "throat", c

Chapter 2

Ian headed out at 6:45 am.He even put on a baseball cap. Right before leaving, he stood in front of the hallway mirror for three seconds, then yanked the brim a little lower.He cursed himself under his breath. He was just dropping off a hard drive, not breaking into a bank. Emily had already cleared things with her lab mates—he just needed to show up, pick up the hard drive, and head straight to the humanities building.Somehow, he'd ended up bringing a thermal flask along. Inside it was pork and parsnip soup he'd made that morning. It was supposed to be his own lunch, but there was an extra bowl's worth in the pot. Throwing it out felt wasteful, so he'd poured it into the flask.It wasn't like he'd made it especially for anyone. At least, that was what he told himself.At 7:45 am, Ian stood outside the humanities building. He hadn't been here in three years.The building was still the same, but the gray-white walls looked more worn than he remembered. The bulletin board by the

Chapter 3

Ian drifted through the entire day at the construction site like a ghost. He zoned out three times while squatting by the scaffolding studying the blueprints, and it took the project manager repeating his name a couple times to drag him back."Ian, double-check the opening in this load-bearing wall. Ian? Ian Sutherland!""Huh? Oh, okay. Let me see."He lowered his head and stared at the blueprints, but all he could see in his mind was that scene from the morning—that back and those narrow shoulders under her shirt."Did you sleepwalk your way through all four years of undergrad, Emily?"Cynthia had always been patient with everyone, except people who were careless. In her book, it was okay to be slow, but not okay to be sloppy.Emily was no dunce, but she was careless.Ian remembered when he'd messed up the section size of a beam on a project in his junior year. He'd written 205 instead of 250.Cynthia happened to walk by and glance at his drawings. She'd rolled her eyes and sa

Chapter 4

Ian stared at the message, his breath hitching for half a beat.Cynthia had asked only one thing, but it was the one thing that only the two of them knew. No garlic. She was verifying her facts.Ian looked up at Emily. She stared back at him, her face blank. "Ian, why does Professor Lynch even care whether you put garlic in your soup? What am I supposed to tell her?"He pushed the phone back toward her, his voice steady as he said, "Tell her I do use garlic."She blinked. "What? But you never—""Tell her I do."Emily grumbled under her breath and typed out a reply.Ian chased her out of his room and shut the door again. He leaned his whole weight against it, the back of his head pressed to the wood. His heart was pounding way too fast, thudding against his ribs like it was trying to break out.Cynthia suspected something, and he'd just told the dumbest lie of his life.There hadn't been a single shred of garlic in that soup, or any onions. The parsnips were cut into perfect ch

Chapter 5

The following day, everyone was stunned to see Cynthia walk into the classroom with a thermal flask. It was brand new. The lid was only half screwed on, and steam curled through the gap.She set it down on the corner of the lectern, opened a presentation, and tapped the laser pointer on the first chart. "Group Three's regression analysis. Who's going first?"The group meeting went on as usual. It was fast-paced, and every comment Cynthia gave was so exacting it made chills run down their spines.Emily got called out twice. The first time was because she'd labeled the y-axis with the wrong unit. The second was because she'd missed a reference in her citations.She hunched over to fix the labels, barely daring to breathe, but her gaze kept drifting back to the flask on Cynthia's desk. The steam was a pale white, rising in thin wisps, carrying a faint milky smell. It definitely wasn't an iced black coffee.Emily sniffed. It was warm milk.She tilted her head toward Lauren, who was a

Chapter 6

It was 8:00 am on a Saturday. Ian sat at the coffee table in the living room. An A4 sheet lay spread out in front of him. On it were Emily's class schedule for the semester, her classroom times, and the timing for her lab meetings.With a red pen, he circled every time slot when he might have to be anywhere near Brooksdale University. One by one, he added notes.Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, 8:00 am to noon. Classes on the third floor of the humanities building. Off-limits.Tuesday and Thursday, 2:00 pm to 6:00 pm in Room 312. Off-limits.Every Wednesday night at 7:00 pm, lab meeting. Absolutely off-limits.When Ian finished, he got up, walked to the fridge, and stuck the schedule to the door with a magnet. Next to each time block, he'd written a corresponding plan—lunches would be boxed and left on the table, any deliveries to Emily would go straight to the parcel lockers by the north gate, and his commute would be rerouted across town to avoid the street in front of the univers

Chapter 7

"There's a section for emergency contact info, and she wants a family member's name, phone number, and workplace."Ian stared at the screen, a chill running down his spine. If Emily put his name, phone, and workplace on a form that would land right on Cynthia's desk, then all that effort to stay off her radar would go up in smoke.His thumbs flew over the screen. "Use Dad's info. It's more official if your emergency contact is a parent. Fill in David Sutherland, use his phone number, and state that he's self-employed."He hit send, then added, "Don't put my name down. You're still a student—it makes more sense to list a parent as your emergency contact."Emily replied with an "oh" and a pouty emoji. "Fine, fine, I'll put Dad then. Here I was, thinking you just didn't want to be my emergency contact."Ian put down his phone and leaned back against the wall at the head of his bed. His heart was still racing. He'd been this close to having his cover blown.…The alarm went off at 5

Chapter 8

On Wednesday afternoon, Ian saw a message from a project manager in their work group chat. "An old client is coming to inspect the renovation project this Friday. Everyone needs to be in formal business attire. Make sure you look professional."Ian dug into the very back of his closet and pulled out the only white dress shirt he owned. When he shook it out, he saw that the collar and cuffs were faintly yellowed, and the old crease lines were still there.He hadn't worn it in a long time. He'd bought it three years ago, and the last time he'd worn it was when he'd gone with Cynthia to an academic conference. She'd given a talk, and he'd listened for two hours from a seat in the last row.Ian took the shirt into the bathroom and filled half the sink with warm water to wash it by hand. He dipped a toothbrush in baking soda and scrubbed the yellowed collar over and over for ten minutes.When he was done washing it, he wrung it out and hung it on the balcony. At 5:30 am on Friday, he to

Chapter 9

Emily doubled over with laughter and slapped the table. "Professor Lynch just stood in front of the microwave, looking totally calm as she asked why it exploded."Ian stood with his back to her, his shoulders locked tight.Microwave. Tin foil.In sophomore year, Cynthia had shoved a takeout box with an aluminum tray straight into the microwave and set it for three minutes. He'd been doing his assignments in the living room when he heard a bang. He'd sprinted into the kitchen, only to see her standing in front of the smoking microwave, looking completely innocent."Doesn't this thing heat up everything?" she'd asked.After that, he'd stuck a pink sticky note on the microwave. "No metal in the microwave. No foil, no aluminum trays, and no stainless steel bowls."It was pink because she only noticed the pink ones."The building super almost called the cops." Emily was still laughing. "Our whole group was freaking out! Professor Lynch was the only one who kept a straight face. Brand

Chapter 10

Ian jolted upright in bed. The glow from his phone screen washed half his face pale, and in the darkness, that line of text stabbed at his eyes."Ian, Professor Lynch texted me again today. She asked what you do for work."1:12 am. The message had been sitting there for six minutes now. Emily was probably already asleep. Ian, on the other hand, felt as wired as if he'd just downed three shots of espresso."Emily, ask your brother something for me. Has he always skipped the garlic when making this soup?""Ian, Professor Lynch texted me again today. She asked what you do for work."Cynthia was asking questions again. This wasn't small talk anymore. She was deliberately gathering intel.Ian knew her too well. This was exactly how her brain worked. Once she latched onto a loose thread, she would keep pulling and pulling, following one strand after another until she got her answer.She'd been like that in grad school. After picking a research topic, she'd gone through 3,000 literatur

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