“Kayla said she’s proud of us,” Max says, trying and failing to hide his content smile as he digs into his fries.
Dean grins and nudges our brother with his shoulder. “Man, you lucked out with her. Not only does she put up with your grumpy ass, but she’s as passionate about this sport as the rest of us.”
The playful comment eases us all into laughter. I can’t help but feel grateful that Max has found someone who gets what we do.
As we’re wrapping up the meal and conversation starts to slow, my phone rings on the table. I glance down, seeing a FaceTime call from Dad. I answer, his familiar lopsided smile stretching wide across the screen.
“Hey, Bubbles,” he greets me, his voice full of warmth and pride. “Your uncle and I wanted to call you to say congrats. You all did great today!”
"Thanks, Dad. I'm over the moon."
“That’s my girl,” Dad replies happily. “You’re making us proud, all three of you.”
“It’s all you, Dad. You taught us well,” Dean responds.
Dad shrugs with a humble expression. “Don’t forget about the real work when the fun is over.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Max grins at the camera when I point the phone his way. “Uncle Julian promised to keep things running while we’re off living our dream of being racers. You can focus on other important matters.”
Our dad has been running a construction company with Uncle Julian for years. Max, Dean, and I spent our teenage summers working for them, balancing long days on the job with street hockey games in the neighborhood. After graduating from high school, I attended nursing school, while my brothers continuedworking at Campbell Construction, hoping to one day take over.
The camera shifts, and Uncle Julian’s face pops up next to Dad’s. “There you are, my favorite overachievers. You crushed it today.” His voice booms from the phone speaker. “But remember, no matter how fast you are on the ice, it’s nothing compared to how fast you’ll move when it’s time to load up the materials next week.”
I laugh, shaking my head knowingly. “I’m sure the boys will be just as quick with the work next week, Uncle J.”
“They better be,” he teases, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “We have plenty of projects lined up until they leave for the Circuit.”
As Dad and Uncle Julian chat with us about everything from the weather to the latest housing project, I spot Mom in the background, arriving home from the salon where she works as a hairdresser. She’s why my head has seen every color imaginable.
Dad hands the phone to her after goodbyes. “Hi, sweetheart. Well done on your new personal record,” she exclaims, her eyes lighting up. “I knew you could do it. You must be exhausted.”
“We’re having a laid-back dinner, then heading straight to bed after.”
“Make sure you eat something healthy,” she nags with a mock sternness. “Don’t forget to take care of yourselves. We don’t want you getting hurt.”
“We’ll be fine, Mamma,” Dean reassures her.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she replies, shaking her head ofplatinum blonde hair, though there’s only unconditional love in her eyes. “Take care of each other.”
“We will,” Max promises.
“Miss you, my babies,” she says softly, her voice full of warmth. “Remember, no matter what happens in the next few months, you’re always winners in my book.”
I blink against the sudden prick of tears and force a smile. “Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too, sweetheart. All of you.” She blows a kiss toward the camera before Dad’s hand comes back into view, fumbling to hit the end button. The screen goes dark, leaving only my reflection in the black glass.
Max clears his throat. “She’s right, you know. We’ve gotta take care of each other.”
“Always,” Dean agrees. “But don’t get too sentimental on me or I’m taking the top spot.”
“You wish,” I shoot back.
Max raises his beer in mock salute. “Sibling rivalry at its finest. Just remember, I’m still the one driving us home tomorrow.”
The cool night air greets us when we finally slide out of the booth and head for the door. The street outside the diner is quiet, lined with darkened shop windows and the occasional buzzing neon sign. We fall into an unhurried pace together.
Max shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched against the chill. “Tomorrow’s gonna come too fast,” he mutters, though there’s no real complaint in his tone.
