Strider sits, head in his hands, fingers digging into his scalp. It takes a minute after he looks up for the laughter to explode from his chest, but when it does, he can’t manage to stop it. I watch, first in horror, then in amusement as he laughs until he cries. They’re not sad tears either.
We’re at his house, just the two of us, hours after this morning’s insanity. We need a name for it, because, seriously, how can things keep getting worse and worse?
Sam and Billy asked to be dropped off at Mom and Dad’s. Billy wanted to rest and Sam wanted to be away “from watchful eyes.”
Mom is waiting to be discharged. That woman is pissed. She’ll need surgery, but they want her to see an orthopedic surgeon and the first available is Monday afternoon. She’s livid, but I don’t know if it’s about the wait—forty-eight hours sounds painful and terrible, but quick with how doctors are scheduled these days—or if it’s about how today went.
It’s her right hand, so she can’t text and, worse for her, she can’t bake. She’s already called Strider to ask me about whether I can do the basics tomorrow while she sits with me. Of course, I said yes. Now, why she didn’t call me, I have no clue.
Dad is angry. That’s it—he’s angry.
And my brother and I sit on his sofa after making a concertedeffort to sober up and rehydrate. “Happy birthday, Strider. Bet you’ll never forget your fortieth.”
“You can say that again.” He stands. “Come on. Let’s make dinner.”
“What about everyone else?”
“Sam is Sam. If she wants to, she’ll show. I’d be glad to have her, would love for her to be here, but showing up out of obligation isn’t my thing. Billy? Who the fuck knows? And Mom and Dad will be by at some point. Mom will be disappointed either way, and Dad is only worried about Mom. It’s you and me, and I feel like celebrating.”
“Celebrating the morning that shall not be replayed? No, that’s not the right name.” I shake my head as I follow him. “The morning that will live in infamy?”
“Birthday debacle?” he puts in.
“I can go with that. Did you ever think Sam would do the right thing just because it’s the right thing, with no selfish motive?”
He shakes his head and begins digging through the fridge. “Nope. But it says something about her, and frankly, about Billy too. It’s hard to be mad at him when you know the backstory.”
That’s an opening if I ever heard of one. “Would you say the same if it were me?”
He turns and gives me a beaming smile. “No, Lolo. You’re selfless. You always have been. If it were you, I’d tell you to stop playing nice and be selfish, to do whatyouwant to do. You’d be the one we’d expect that from. Sam could learn from you. And, honestly, you could learn a little from her too.”
As if. “Rude.” That one word is the only thing I can think to say.
He turns back from the fridge where he buried his head halfway through his speech. “Do you think Sam ever spends time on regrets?”
Considering it, I shake my head. “Probably not. I don’t know that she understands the concept.”
“Do you think she has the life she wants?”
I nod in agreement. “Mostly.”
He stops all movement. “Do you?” My big brother’s eyes level me.
“I’m working on it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“With what’s his name?”
“Liam,” I offer, giving him a sliver he didn’t have before. “Do you want me to make the salad?”
“Sure. And while you do that, tell me three things about this Liam and what makes you think he’s worthy of you.”
I take the salad fixings from his outstretched hands and set them on his butcher block island. “Hmm, let’s see.” What can I say that’s innocuous enough but still real? “He has a brother and a sister.” I don’t addlike me. “And he dotes on his nieces and nephew. I want some of those, by the way. Would you please get on that?”
“I didn’t want to orphan kids, Lolo.” He says seriously, adding quietly, “Or leave a widow…”
