I was almost four when he was born. I was always helping my mother with something. Folding clothes. Cleaning up the playroom. Mixing bottles. Rubbing Sam’s belly when he whimpered in pain. My mother relied on me, and when she died, I was the only one who could care for my siblings, Sam in particular.
His rock bottom was far worse than that of Patrick or Matt. Those two could drink until they pissed pure whiskey and live to tell about it. That was why we were all hovering around Sam: we knew the fall was coming, and we knew it wouldn’t be a smooth landing.
Instead of parking myself at his side, I gave him time to cool off. I sent Tom to Sam’s favorite cold-pressed juice shop in Kendall Square to grab one of those horrid blends he and Andy enjoyed so much. He’d be hungry at some point, and then I’d deal with him.
*
Sam was hunchedover his desk, deep in his design when I stopped at his door later in the afternoon. The world quieted when he was working, and it wasn’t until I knocked on the door that he looked up and glanced at me over the frame of his glasses. “I come bearing gifts,” I said, raw pistachios and an old-fashioned glass bottle of swamp water in hand. “You have to be hungry.”
Sam stole a glimpse at the clock and nodded, beckoning me inside.
“I wanted to apologize about Friday. There’s nothing else I can say other than I’m sorry.” I set the bottle down, and dropped into a chair angled in front of his desk. “Carrots, honey, lemon, and celery. Andy said you were loving all things carrot.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I was going to stop for lunch soon.”
At four in the fucking afternoon?
“You can’t be skipping meals. I’m going to have Tom start placing a lunch order for you every day. You’re going to get yourself sick,” I said, biting back a surge of frustration. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he enjoyed the extreme bouts of hypoglycemia that followed his irregular eating.
“Save the nutrition lecture for another day, Shannon.”
Pick your battles. Don’t show up to every fight that sends an invitation. Lunch isn’t the hill to die on today.
“Fine.” I flattened my hands on my skirt and took a breath. “I’m sorry about the ASNE event. It’s the only event I’ll miss this season.”
“Actually, skip them all,” he said around a mouthful of pistachios. “I’m sure you have better things to do.”
I plucked a strand of hair from my hem and swallowed a grimace. If only Will was here to observe this exchange, he’d understand what I meant about family businesses involving much more than business. “Is this about Angus?”
“What? No. No, this has nothing to do with him, and if it’s the same to you, I’d rather we not continue bringing him up.”
“That sounds like it’s definitely about Angus,” I said.
“Shan, stop trying to psychoanalyze everything I say. I have a shit ton of designs to finish today, and I need to get my ass on the treadmill tonight, and then I’m going out. Thank you for lunch, but unless there’s something else, we’re finished with this conversation.”
I wasn’t leaving until he ate every one of those nuts, and the swamp water, too. “There’s one more thing. Something I hope will make you happy.”
My eye caught the framed snapshot from his desk, the one from the Boston Marathon finish line two years ago. I was in the middle, with Patrick and Matt on one side, and Riley and Sam on the other. Arms linked over shoulders, we leaned together, smiling. It was hard to process all the things that had changed since then.
Riley finished school and moved back from Rhode Island.
Matt met Lauren, and now they were married.
Angus died.
We hired Andy, and Patrick fell in love with her.
“Am I supposed to guess, or are you planning to say something?” he asked.
And I was here, as always, holding it together.
“It’s a good thing you’re cute, Sam. Otherwise I’d slap you upside the head for this shitty attitude.” I shook my head and flipped open my tablet. “I renewed your driver’s license for you. It will show up in a week or two. Oh, and I adjusted the automatic order for your replacement parts. When I went through the supplies at your place last week, it seemed like you were running low on infusion sets and insulin cartridges, but had enough skin preps and test strips for an eternity. Just let me know if you want more or less, or something different.”
Sam brushed the pistachio shells from his desk and glared at me, as if me keeping his life in order was a huge inconvenience to him. “Where were you this weekend?”
“I went away with friends.”
Just going to study my split ends while the runt attempts to interrogate me. No big deal.
