“Don’t let Garrett fool you. He’s had his share of hospital liaisons,” Anker says, filling each glass with wine and handing me one.
“Has he? Interesting.” I clear my throat in a failed attempt to tamp down the high pitch in my voice.
I’m aware that Garrett isn’t a monk. He hasrelationswith women. As Anker describes it, they’ve all been short-term, low-stakes hookups, and none of them are current. It’s clear that anything more is beyond his capability. Even more reason that the little spark of jealousy in my belly at the mere mention of him being with anyone else needs to die.
“It’s not that interesting,” Garrett mutters. “We all know your brother is more the resident flirt. Though his flirtation game is nonexistent these days.”
“So, he’s not the medical fuckboy anymore?” I smirk over the brim of my wine glass.
“Not for six months or so.”
“Interesting.” My smirk gets bigger.
Groaning, Anker tosses his head back. “Hush.”
“How is Sonora doing?” I sip my wine.
It’s clear Anker is disappointed about not getting to run the marathon, but I suspect his bigger regret is not meeting Sonora in person. In the seventeen years I’ve witnessed him date, I’ve never seen him talk about someone like he does Sonora.
“I’m not sure how she’s doing,” he says between bites.
Lips pursed, I tilt my head. “What do you mean, you’re not sure? Don’t you two text all the time?”
“We haven’t talked since my accident.”
“She hasn’t messaged to check on you?” I say, indignation simmers in my bloodstream.
I know she’s aware of his accident. I posted about it in the blind runners/guide group, which she’s active in. She even commented about how sorry she was and hoped for a speedy recovery. Though, that seems a little cold and robotic considering they have been in almost daily communication over the last few months.
Maybe Sonora isn’t the future “Mrs. Dr. Larsen” after all. Anyone who plans to be part of Anker’s life will need to be as thoughtful about him as I know he is about everyone else. Hell, he sent flowers to her a few months ago after a bad sinus infection took her out for a week. The least she can do is check in on him after a concussion and a broken ankle and ribs take him out.
“She messages,” he mumbles.
My head snaps toward him. “Andyou…” A scowl forms on my face.
“I’m focused on my recovery.”
“And you can’t take two minutes away from physical therapy appointments and wallowing on the couch to message her back?”
“Jensen…” He huffs a long sigh.
I aim my fork at him. “Dick move, big brother. It’s clear Sonora cares for you, and you are gaga for her. The two of you engage in these epic-long text threads.”
“We’re just friends.”
“Last time I checked, you don’t send your friends flowers when they’re sick.” I tip my head toward Garrett in the corner. “You getting flowers from mopey-bear over here?”
“Nope.” A smirk is audible in Garrett’s response.
“Judas! I bring you yogurt,” Anker counters.
“Notflowers.”
“Plus, you told Mom about Sonora!” Placing my plate on the table, I sit up straighter.
We are a close family, but nota tell Mom everything about our dating lifekind of family. She’s obsessed with the cake she’ll create for both of our weddings. Some moms imagine the dresses their daughter will wear, or what song they’ll dance to with their son at the reception. But our mother daydreams about buttercream versus cream cheese frosting. Mentioning a significant other, or in this case, the possibility of one, isn’t a casual thing with our mother.
“With Mom’s internet stalking skills and Pinterest obsession, she likely has an entire wedding mood board for you two.”
