My brother Finn, the idiot, is his exact replica.
“Grant.” My other brother walks in a few minutes late, tugging off a knit cap that is surprisingly casual for a person whose default is professional dress even after leaving the military and arriving back in our small town.
“Declan.”
I swear amusement flashes in his eyes, and something about this day is making me feel like I’m the butt of everyone’s joke. Clearly, it’s time to put this week to bed.
A roar of laughter rises from the living room right as I walk in with the large salad bowl and a pitcher of ice water.
“So I say, ‘How do you know it was me?’ Because I’m innocent, right?” Finn’s in full storyteller mode, holding the crowd on the couch by the collars.
“And what did he say?” Sam is into it, apparently.
A pang of something unfamiliar sideswipes me and I grit my teeth to keep from looking at her. Why should anyone be that pretty, anyway? What’s the point?
Finn snorts. Declan rolls his eyes as he settles a casserole dish on a trivet next to where I left the salad. We share a glance and both mouth the line we know all too well right as Finn says it.
“He said, ‘If I ever catch you with whipped cream again, you’re dead.’”
The shared moment with my quietest brother eases the nasty thing winding tighter by the second. A chorus of chuckles sounds and those who’ve heard the story a half-dozen times already gamely praise the delivery this time while Sam, the only person who hasn’t heard the tall tale, appears to be giggling behind a palm she has pressed over her mouth.
She shouldn’t cover her smile or laugh. It’s too pretty. The glimpse I caught before told me as much, and I didn’t need to see it now to know it’d be killer. Just looking at her stone-faced and guarded answering her door a few nights ago told me enough.
Her eyes flicker up and meet mine. My heart kicks and I blink, breaking the spell, and focus back on my task of pouring water for everyone.
“Daddy, she’s here. Did you see the lady?” Poppy is tugging on my arm and pointing, full out with hand waving and index finger shoved in the direction of the living room where everyone is slowly disbanding from story time and moving toward the table.
“I did, Pops. Let’s not point, though, right?” I cup my palm over her vicious little pointer finger and give her a look.
She makes a face and tucks the weapon away. We’ve had a few talks about how pointing can seem rude, especially when done in public or to someone we don’t know. This may or may not have come on the heels of her pointingout that the waitress at Jerry’s had “huge breasts!” in the wake of a short anatomy chat we’d had.
Taylor was perfectly kind about it, but I apologized, explained we’d recently been talking about bodies and learning the correct names for things after I’d heard some of her little friends calling body parts wild names. One unfortunate part of law enforcement is dealing with abuse situations, and one small but effective tool in battling sexual abuse is letting kids know the correct names for body parts. Did I anticipate my little genius putting those lessons to work right away?
No. But what in this parenting lifehadI expected?
Literally nothing. Not even being one.
Instead of letting the slice of shame and regret open me up and start a slow bleed as usually happens whenever I remember the early days of parenting, I focus on my doofy brother.
“You gonna sit, big man, or you got somewhere else to be?” This comes from Finn, who has weaseled his way into sitting next to Sam, who’s across from me, and grinning like he knows he’s got something over on me.
I sit without comment.
“Thank you all for clearing your schedules once again to be here, and a special welcome to Sam.” My mom’s smile is wide and warm. “We are so glad to have you here, honey, and I hope you’ll join us every Friday you’d like to. You’re always welcome.”
Sam’s cheeks brighten with a pretty blush. “Thank you.”
I internally scowl at myself, and wonder when I’ve ever thought of a blush as pretty.
It’s simple. I’m thrown by the fact that we’d planned to ride together and she ditched me without a word. Idon’t like plans changing so willy-nilly and I want to address it.
At least I have enough self-awareness to realize that yet again, I’m hungry, tired, and off-kilter, so interrogating her about her whereabouts earlier tonight shouldnothappen right now.
My dad blesses the food after inviting us to hold hands around the table. It’s antiquated and probably gives Declan a mild heart attack, but everyone complies as we’ve always done.
I do not think about how Finn is holding Sam’s hand. It doesn’t bother me. Of course it doesn’t.
Something jabs me in the ribs.
