“The Heady case was two months ago,” James said. “You've been here every weekend since then.”
“Because I have nowhere else to go.” Tom's voice was raw. “I come here and pretend I'm helping, pretend I'm the big brother with answers, but I'm just hiding.”
Kate reached across the table, squeezed his hand. “Why didn't you tell me?”
“You had enough to deal with. Pop, the inn, everything falling apart. You didn't need my problems too.”
“We're family. Your problems are our problems.”
“Since when?” Tom's laugh was sharp. “We haven't been that kind of family in years. We show up for crises and holidays, then scatter.”
Before Kate could respond, James set down his glass hard.
“I hate my job,” he announced. “The acquisition was supposed to be my big exit, my success story. Instead, I'm trapped in golden handcuffs for another year, working for people who think I'm a code monkey with pretensions.”
“But you're making bank,” Tom said.
“I'm making money, yeah. But I haven't left my apartment in three weeks except to come here. I eat cereal for dinner. I have a therapist who charges four hundred an hour to tell me I'm depressed.” James laughed, but it came out wrong. “I'm twenty-six years old, worth two million on paper, and I've never been more miserable.”
“Goodness,” Tom muttered. “We're a mess.”
“Dani's been couch-surfing for three months,” Kate added quietly.
Both brothers looked at her.
“What?”
“She told me yesterday. That friend from New York she mentioned? That's whose couch she's been sleeping on. She's broke, guys. Has been for a while. I feel guilty she bought me that dress.”
Tom poured another round for all of them. “So none of us are exactly on top of things at the moment.”
“I haven't been on top of things for years,” Kate said. “You just didn't notice because my falling apart looked like responsibility.”
“That's not falling apart,” James said. “You held everything together.”
“While losing myself completely. I don't know who I am outside of crisis mode. Pop's gone, you guys are handling the inn crisis. I had a panic attack yesterday because I didn't have anyone to take care of.”
“Is that what Amy was talking about?” Tom asked.
Kate nodded. “Apparently it's common. Caregiver syndrome or something. You're in crisis mode so long, you don't know how to exist without it.”
They sat with that for a moment, three siblings in their childhood kitchen, admitting their failures.
“We should tell Dani,” James said. “About us being disasters.”
“She probably knows,” Tom said. “She's always been the most perceptive.”
“Or the best at hiding,” Kate countered.
The back door opened, and Ben came in, stopping short when he saw them.
“Sorry, left my phone,” he said, grabbing it from the counter. “I was worried I’d wake everyone, but it looks like you all aren’t going to bed anytime soon.”
“Have a drink,” Tom offered, surprisingly. “We're having a pity party.”
Ben looked at Kate, who nodded. He got a glass, sat beside her.
“What are we pitying?” he asked.
