“Yes,” Patrick laughed, pointing at Sam. “And he did it because he knew Mom was going to beat his ass with a wooden spoon but she’d never get mad at you.”
“Do you remember when we hollowed out the cake?” I asked. “It was this big, beautiful layer cake that she made for one of those holiday parties we always had, and we cut a little piece and then scooped out the inside. We filled it with something—what was that?”
“Leftover stuffing,” Sam said, and the room bubbled with laughter. “Even at seven, Matt was very concerned about preserving the structural integrity.”
“Such a fucking nerd,” Patrick muttered. “But God, when Mom cut into that cake and realized what we’d done…shit, we’d never run so fast in our lives.”
“Why do I remember none of this?” Riley asked from the bar.
“You were two or three,” I said. “You were a baby. You wouldn’t have remembered.”
Those memories simmered around us, and as I studied my siblings, I felt that tug of home, the one that kept me in Boston despite the admirable persistence of a certain sailor. I wanted to be here, but I also wanted to be with Will, and there was no clear middle ground.
“Come on,” Nick said, tapping my elbow. “Let’s get out of here.”
I followed him without question, and though we hadn’t been on the best of terms since the wedding and we’d snapped at each other tonight, we were still friends. We found ourselves at Sullivan’s Tap, sitting side-by-side and sipping whiskey with the other lost souls long past last call.
“Where’s Erin these days?” I asked.
Nick lifted a shoulder as he regarded his glass. “Not here,” he said. “That’s all I know.”
“Consider it a gift,” I said. “She’s too young for you anyway.”
“That’s a fucking miserable thing to say,” he murmured. “And the thing about age is that it stops mattering around the time you hit twenty-three or twenty-four. Definitely when you hit twenty-five.” He gestured for a refill, and I slid my glass over for the same. “It’s also my position that Erin knows no age. The eight years between us are—” He held out his hands as if reaching for something. “They’re nothing. She’s lived more lives than I have, and she knows more of the earth than I do, and—”
I wrapped my hand around his wrist to slow his motions. “If this is where you tell me how she’s captured your heart, I’ll need to say goodnight and walk out the door because I cannot handle that right now.”
“That’s not quite how it went down,” he said, laughing. “No, but I’d like to point out that you’ve been operating under the assumption you know what happened with me and Erin that night, and believe me when I tell you that you’re wrong.”
I gave him my bestyou can’t bullshit the bullshitterglare, and said, “Right, so you had your hand under her dress because…what? Checking for ticks? Trying to find the ‘mute’ button?”
He folded his arms on the bar and leaned forward, glancing at me. “It’s not what you think.”
Shaking my head, I said, “I don’t think I want to hear any more of this. Not tonight.”
“Good. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
We didn’t say anything else. It was a lonely way to spend the earliest hours of Christmas morning, but it was better than being alone.
Chapter Fifteen
SHANNON
Nine months ago
Will:You know…it’s a waste of water
Shannon:What the fuck now?
Will:What you do with your showerhead
Shannon:William. I told you bad things happen when you bring that up.
Shannon:I don’t recall making any comments about you *cleaning your rifle*
Will:It’s irresponsible. Most people don’t have that kind of water to waste
Will:You should really delegate management of those priorities to me
