The question holds an underlying emotion I can’t identify. My pulse beats hard in my neck. “Yes?” Crap, now it sounds like I’m not sure of the answer.AmI sure of the answer? Do I sound too eager? Oh well. Whatever is bothering Kellan, I want to get to the bottom of it. If the problem happens to be that sort-of kiss we shared, then we should discuss it. Be adults. It’s not going to help anything by avoiding the topic.
After another moment of scrutiny, he waves a hand, glances over to where Aidan waits for him in the car. “None of my business.” Sebastian rattles off his brother’s number, which I input into my phone. Before he gets into Aidan’s car, however, he pauses, one hand on the hood, the other curled around the doorframe. “Max.”
I turn. “Yeah?”
It seems like he’s going to say something. The sound of cars speeding down a nearby busy street reaches us. The blare of a horn. It looks like it might snow soon.
“Just... keep an open mind where Kellan is concerned, okay?”
What a strange thing to say. I nod, but I’m still pondering the comment as Aidan’s car disappears from view.
Chapter 13
Noah
Friday nights are family dinner. Most days, I dread them. I love my family, but sometimes I don’t necessarily like them. Being one of four siblings means someone is always trying to pry into your personal life. Most of the time I keep quiet. The few times I spoke about my interests in the past—video games, animation, coding—I was met with bored stares, the subject quickly changed. It stung, but it is what it is. Now, I no longer talk about my life unless someone directly asks me a question, which is almost never. Sebastian is too busy being in love with his boyfriend to wonder, Kellan is always teasing someone about something, and Maverick, for the last few months, has been slowly trying to heal from Kaylie’s passing.
But speaking of Kellan.
He’s not here. We sit around the table: my parents, Seb, and Mav. Henry, our butler, serves us what is, unsurprisingly, a feast. Too much food for too little people. The catered chef made eggplant parmesan with a light salad. Henry serves us the courses. He’s a portly, older gentleman with gray hair and kind eyes who has worked for my parents since before I was born. I call him Henry. He calls me sir. I’ve told him to call me Noah, but he refuses.
Yet another reason I wish I was back in my apartment. There’s no beingon. I can be myself, lounging in a ratty t-shirt, my laptop open in front of me. I don’t have to act with proper etiquette. My mother paid someone a lot of money to teach her children manners. I remember them, for the most part. Kellan picks and chooses when he wants to be charming. Sebastian is hopeless. Maverick is so polite that he didn’t need the extra help.
The dining room is an airy space with a vaulted ceiling and a dark oak table large enough to seat twelve. It faces the backyard, the sloping green lawn, which we can see through the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. An obnoxious crystal chandelier hangs over the table. I’ve never asked my parents how much it cost because I don’t want to know. It sickens me how little they care about their money. Tossing it left and right to whatever suits their whims.
I still remember telling my parents about purchasing a secondhand Toyota Corolla. They gave me the most concerned looks. Kellan laughed. Seb made a snide remark about me being better than them all. Mav just shrugged. Our youngest brother is aware of our privilege, but he doesn’t flaunt it.
“So, Sebastian,” says Mom as she cuts into her eggplant. She wears a frilly white blouse and a pale lavender pencil skirt. Her brown hair is swept back into a stylish bun, her makeup minimal. “How are things with you and Aidan?” It’s one of her favorite things to talk about.
Across the table, Sebastian shovels in food like he hasn’t eaten in two years. He pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. I grimace and turn away from the sight of the half-chewed food.
“Great, actually.” He swallows and takes a sip of his ice water. Crystal glasses. My mother takes no shortcuts. “Still working on his schooling. We’re trying to decide on an upcoming trip. I’ll be graduating and he wants to go somewhere, just me and him for a few days.”
My mother is thrilled by this. Clasping her hands together, she sits taller in her chair. “Well, you know we have the house in Colorado. Maybe you two could stay there for a few days. A summer in the mountains would be nice.”
Obviously, Sebastian hadn’t thought of this. He perks up. “That would be really great, actually.”
Aidan doesn’t come from money and I’m sure it will ease his mind, knowing he doesn’t have to pay for housing.
I first met Aidan at one of my parents’ catered events. As someone who’s also averse to large social events, he was hiding on the front porch with me. That’s how I knew he was good for my brother. Someone needs to keep Sebastian grounded. His ego is already inflated enough.
Mom sighs happily and takes a sip of wine. “Such a nice boy.”
“Is it cool if he comes over for dinner next week?” Seb asks.
“Of course! Oh, you’ll have to tell me what he likes. I was thinking pork chops, but we can make lamb chops too, if he’d rather have that.” She pauses. “On second thought, I’ll have Maurice make both.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure whatever you make will be fine.”
My mother, ever the doting host, tsks at me.
“By the way,” Sebastian says casually, and the hair stands up on my arms at what I’m afraid will come out of his mouth. He’s not looking at anyone. He studies his plate, the slow back and forth of his knife as he cuts into his eggplant, but it feels like he’s addressing me.
My suspicions are confirmed when he says, “Max asked for your number.”
I choke on a piece of cheese, coughing forcefully into my napkin. Maverick slaps me hard on the back and returns to eating. With a wheeze, I gulp my water. Henry bustles over to make sure I’m okay. I wave my hand, and he returns to the kitchen.
“Max? Who’s Max?” Mom’s laser eyes descend on me. My father, as usual, is oblivious. He’s on his phone, dealing with business at all hours of the day. And night. My mother tries to enforce the no phone rule at the dinner table, but you’ll have to pry the phone from his cold dead hands, and even then, I’m not sure he would give it up.
