She registers me this time, unpeels her face from Will’s chest, and looks up at me as if waking from a dream.
“Oh, James.” Her tone is warm, but the energy has dropped. She steps back to allow Will into the house and then pats my cheek once he’s out of the way. “Welcome home, darling.”
It’s as good as I can expect to get.
Once Will and I have dumped our bags in our rooms, we’re ushered to the dining room, where our mother serves up plates of pasta to everyone. Dad is in a good mood, occupied by his grandkids flitting about the table. Another point in Will’s column tallying up to his title of “favorite son.” But as the wine flows, I find myself in a good mood of my own. Find myself thinking about Natalie.
When everyone else has gone to bed and it’s just Will and me, Will fishes out a bottle of Dad’s good whisky and we sit by the fire in the living room. Steadily sipping in quiet contemplation all night, I’m already more drunk than I have been in a while. Will is prattling on about some inconsequential drama with his friends. Tommy sleeping with his nanny. Or maybe it’s Guy, and his secretary. Something equally cliché with someone equally unremarkable. I can’t help myself. I find myself wanting to talk about the dark eyes that won’t leave my mind.
“What do you think of Natalie?”
Will stops in his tracks, eyebrows scrunching in question. “Natalie as in Natalie from the office?”
“Yeah.”
He takes a sip of his drink. His right ankle is resting on his left knee. The foot begins to shake.
“Nice ass, nice face. Bit flat-chested for my taste.”
I laugh. Good. She’s not for him. Not this time. “That’s not what I meant. It’s…She was in the bar earlier. Where we had our meeting.”
His foot stops shaking. “Oh yeah. What was she doing there?”
Curiosity and caution creep over his expression. I’m reluctant to say more and bursting to tell someone at the same time. It’s stupid. It wasn’t even a real date. But something is telling me that I’ve just connected with someone special. “I’m not a hundred percent sure. She was sketchy on the details. But I…I think she knew I’d be there. Wanted to see me.”
Will’s nose wrinkles in distaste and I fear I’ve made a mistake. “What? Like a stalker?”
I try to shrug away the tension I feel crawling up my neck. “Yeah. I guess. But isn’t that kind of…I dunno. Nice? To care that much, I mean.”
A gentle click sings through the room as Will places his glass down on the coffee table. The crackle of the fireplace fills our moment of silence.
“I know I keep telling you to get back out there, but I think you can do a bit better than a bunny boiler who’s essentially your assistant. It’s been years since you’ve seen anyone seriously. Why her?”
Because she’s choosing me. Because in a world where even my own family chooses me last, Natalie’s choosing me. And I tell Will as much. Drain my glass, refill it as he stares at me, bewildered.
“James, what the hell are you talking about? We don’t choose you last. You’re not chosen last. You’re Mr. Perfect. I mea—”
“Sure, I’m Mr. Perfect, but everyone loves you more. Our mother certainly does. Everyone at work, too, despite you doing absolutely nothing—”
“Now, hang on a minute.”
“Even my girlfriends always eyefucked you.”
Somewhere over the course of the conversation, my mood has turned sour. I hate that my jealousy exists, rears its head like this. Its very existence in the face of Will’s calm seems to be confirmation that somehow, my fuckup brotherisbetter than me.
Right now, he’s staring at me, incredulous. He’s stopped drinking, which is saying something, but I continue to swallow big mouthfuls, hoping they’ll erase the memory of my embarrassing myself like this.
“James, you’ve lost your head. None of your girlfriends hav—”
“Allof them have.”
“Allof them? Really? What about the girl you dated at sch—”
“She was the worst of them.”
His voice drops a scale. “That’s not nice, James. She was sweet. I liked her.”
“Yeah, I know you did.”
