“Is hehere?” I ask.
Brooks nods. “Yeah, he’s the one doing the desserts.”
“Are theytogether now?”
“No, she’s dating an Apple VP.”
“That’s rough.”
He shrugs. “Not really. Me and Marsh get all our technology for free.”
A shadow crosses my vision and I turn left, where Josue—one of David’s close friends, also in the wedding party—kneels beside our towel.
“Do me a favor, J, can you taste this garlic dressing for the Caesar salad and tell me if you think it needs more salt?”
I grab the plastic spoon from the blender in his hand and give the dressing a lick. “Needs more garlic.”
“It doesnotneed more garlic.”
“Then it needs more salt.”
“Like, an anchovy saltiness, or a salty saltiness?” he asks.
I blanch. “There areanchoviesin here?”
Josue nods.
I turn to Will. “This is why I’m always aspiring.”
“Never vegetarian,” he concludes.
“Do you need help with anything?” Brooks asks.
“Yeah, that’d be great, unless you’re above peeling and deveining shrimp?”
“I’m above nothing.” Brooks downs his beer. “Can you watch my kid, Will?”
Will looks wholly unsure. “Sure,” he says.
Five seconds later, they’ve abandoned Will and me with a helpless child. We exchange equally terrified glances. I’m almost positive neither of us has much experience with childcare.
Marshall seems spatially aware there’s more room now to move around on the towel; he crawls over to Will, patting his knee. Will lifts the kid onto his leg, rocking him up and down gently while he somehow still manages to sip at the beer in his free hand.
Under the shade of the tree, in the Austin heat, wearing jeans and a T-shirt with a tear on the sleeve, drinking a beer and bouncing a baby on his knee, this man could not look any further from a sleazy finance type if he tried.
My sexual drive is fully driving. I glance around the yard, looking for a friend-slash-excuse-to-abandon-ship before my want multiplies. But Cami is a no-go after our blowup, and if I search for Gio, she’ll only force me to talk to Cami.
And anyway, it would be rude to leave Will alone with a toddler, especially considering Ididagree to his deal that we’d be amicable for the evening.
I look back and study him over the lip of my cup while I sip. The ambient noise around us dims. It feels like all the light in the yard is pointing this way, offering him a radiant sunglow.
“Why aren’t you and your brother close?” Will asks.
I consider my answer to his left-field question before responding.
“Robbie’s a very traditional, buttoned-up, straight-and-narrow type. He had a plan for his life he executed flawlessly. Met a nice girl in college, proposed senior year, and then impregnated her with their firstborn seven years before she becomes geriatric by the medical standard. Another kid two years after that, another one three years after that. Which means Robbie and Miranda are scheduled to be intimate again in about eight months.”
Will fights a smile. “What does Robbie do?”
