And maybe some part of me hoped that if I said it enough, I’d start to believe it, too.
Chapter 4
Growing up,Sunday family dinners were a staple in the Callahan house.
It was always the four of us—my mom, dad, brother, and me. As Wes and I got older, our schedules crowded out Sunday dinners more and more. But after Dad died four years ago, my brother and I promised we’d never miss another unless absolutely necessary. They were important to her, and to us, too.
I pulled into the driveway of my childhood home in the gated community of Cliffside Village, seeing my brother’s car already parked. Usually, I arrived before Wes, but I got held up at work that night and was running a little later than normal.
When I walked inside, I heard my mom’s and Wes’s voices carrying down the hall from the kitchen, and I started that way. I stopped in the entryway and smiled. “Hello.”
My mom grinned. “There you are.”
“Yeah, sorry,” I said before greeting her with my usual hug. “MVA came in just before shift change.”
“Bad?” Wes asked as he gave me a hug.
“Motorcycle. No helmet.”
Wes grimaced. “Damn.”
My mom shook her head as she checked the roast in the oven. “I still don’t know how you do it.” She was a retired pediatrician. She worked with cute babies and young kids and couldn’t understand what I found so appealing about the chaos of an emergency room.
Wes and I chatted about our work weeks while Mom finished preparing dinner, then we helped her carry the dishes to the dining room before sitting down and continuing our conversation.
“So,” my mom began, looking at Wes, “how are things with Loralei?”
He slightly tensed in his seat, his grip tightening around his fork as he kept his eyes fixed on his plate. “Uh...good, I guess,” he said, voice just a bit too soft.
“Youguess?” my mom questioned with an amused smile.
He shrugged. “I mean, it’s still new.”
It was new for Wes. My brother had never had a girlfriend before. It wasn’t because he didn’t have women interested—if anything, Wes hadmorethan his fair share. He was simply never interested in relationships or commitment. But suddenly, he started dating this girl out ofnowhere, and barely a month later, they were official. The whole thing was weird, but clearly, figuring out men wasn’tmystrong suit, so I wasn’t about to attempt to understand whatever was going on with my brother.
“Well…you should invite her for dinner soon,” my mom said casually. “I’d like to meet the woman who suddenly made you want to settle down.”
Wes stiffened even more, his shoulders rigid as he finally looked up from his plate, his guard clearly up. “Whoa, slowdown. It’s not—it’s way too soon for that. And ‘settle down’? Mom…”
“Yeah, no rush to have her here for dinner,” I casually interjected.
Despite my agreement with him, Wes shot me a sharp look, defensiveness flashing across his face. “What’sthatsupposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Don’t get so prickly. I’m just saying…family dinners are sacred. You don’t just inviteanyone. Especially only a couple of weeks into it.”
Unlike my mom, I’d met Loralei twice. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I was a fan. They didn’t seem that into each other, and his reluctance to invite her to dinner felt pretty telling.
“Oh, you mean like how you waited to bringBrett?” Wes threw out.
I tensed my jaw. Not because I was annoyed that Wes was dodging the topic—his relationship was suddenly off-limits—but because I was still in my head about that engagement announcement in the paper from a few days ago. The last person I wanted to talk about wasBrett.
“Yeah,” I answered anyway. “It was a year before I invited him for dinner, and it was still only thatonetime.”
“Yeah, and not even a full year,” Wes countered, voice sharper than before. “You broke up and got back together like three or four times.” He gave me a pointed look as he speared asparagus with his fork, rolling his eyes. After a heavy pause, he swallowed and took a sip of water. “How is Brett anyway? It’s been, what? About a year? Isn’t it about that time for you two to do your little song and dance and get back together?” There was a challenge in his tone—half-tease, half-provocation.
“Wesley,” my mom warned.
“What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Am I wrong?”
