“All good,” I say. “I’ll need a pay raise, though. Due to inflation and tariffs and FX rates and favorable macro headwinds.” I toss around the buzzwords that I’ve accumulated from Hal.
I can tell Chris is smiling on the other end of the line. “Forgot what a good negotiator you are,” he says and then suggests a number that’s quite a bit higher than last time. I could probably wrangle him for even more, but I’m not trying to take advantage of him.
“You’ve got yourself a deal,” I say. “I’ll be over tomorrow so you can show me the routine again. I’m forgetful, as you know, so I’ll need retraining.” It’s really just an excuse for me to go see Chris sooner than Memorial Day, which is still two weeks away.
“Sounds good. I’ll be back from work around seven. I’ll leave my key at the front desk if you want to get there early to see Arnold.”
It’s a nice gesture and reinforces how much he trusts me. I decide not to tell him that I have a key of my own, the copy of the spare he lent me. No need to make him question my character. “Great,” I say. “I’ll head over after breakfast. Which means I’ll probably get there late afternoon.”
Chris laughs. “Your life is something else.”
“You know what they say. Opposites attract.”
He goes quiet, then clears his throat. A phlegmy sound ejects asif something small and sharp is stuck in his esophagus. “Well, I’ve got to get back to work now,” he says. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Right.” I’m kicking myself for making that comment, for upsetting the refound balance, not that it was going to last long anyway. Nothing thwarts adventure quite like equilibrium. If Chris wants back into my life, he’s going to have to do it on my terms, unstable as they are. “See you then.”
Chapter 17
Memorial Day weekend is a deluge of fur and fun, just the way I like it.
Of course, Arnie is thrilled to see me, slobbering all over me and egging me on to mess up the overly tidy apartment with him. I gladly join in, though I have to check in with Tara and Hal now and then to make sure Mango and Squid are getting along alright without me. It’s the first time I’ve left them home alone overnight, and there’s an unfamiliar sensation pressing in on me. I’d call it anxiety if I didn’t know better.
After cooking up veggie burgers I’ve found in the freezer, I flip again through Chris’s family photo album, the one I’d found tucked away in the closet before. It just appeals for some reason. As I’m going through the photos, I narrow in on Chris’s older brother more and think about how Chris never mentions him. Maybe there’s some kind of intense sibling rivalry going on, though that doesn’t fit with Chris’s peacemaker personality.
I decide to ask Chris about it when he gets back that weekend. Olivia’s not with him when he returns, which is nice, mostly for Arnie’s sake. I don’t want him getting too attached to Olivia if she’s just going to disappear from his life, which seems probable. Not that there’s much risk of Arnie getting attached to her. Arnie’s too smart for that.
“How wasthe beach?” I ask with a smirk, not the cruel kind.
“Pretty good,” he says. “Olivia’s family hosted their annual lobster roll cook-off for charity.”
“Ah yes, because there’s nothing more charitable than slaughtering our marine life for the enjoyment of the elite,” I say.
A beat passes and then he says, “Maybe I’ll suggest a vegetarian substitute for next year.”
The wordsnext yearmake me scowl. It means he’s thinking long-term with Olivia.
“I have a question for you,” I say. “Who’s that?” Photo album open, I point to a slightly faded photo of Chris and his brother. They’re wearing these argyle sweaters, different colors, same pattern, and have matching bowl cuts. Chris is probably six or so and has a couple teeth missing, his smile all gap-toothed and gummy. It’s pretty cute. His brother is taller and resting one elbow on Chris’s shoulder, like it’s his favorite armrest.
Chris’s face blanches, losing any color he’s absorbed from the beach. Silence slashes the air, but not in a way that makes me think of a machete cutting its way through the jungle to build a home among the trees. It’s more like a cold ruler scraping against my cheek.
“That’s my brother, Luke,” he says, and then he goes into his bedroom to drop off his bag. As if I’m just going to let it slide, as if I’m not the expert on avoidance tactics.
I’ve clearly hit a nerve. Luke must be estranged for some reason. Maybe he’s in jail, or there’s another juicy family secret. I’m bursting to find out, but I don’t want Chris to feel like I’m cornering him, so I just hang back on the couch with Arnie, who’s back to snoozing.
My subtlety pays off. Chris emerges from his room and goes about organizing everything in the fridge, even though I hardly changed around anything, just the milk and eggs and meats that I moved to the bottom because I don’t eat those.
Chris’s voice is muffled from talking into the refrigerator, but Ipick up on every syllable like he’s right next to me. “Luke died in a car crash,” he says.
The news grinds into me. I sink farther into the couch cushions, only now realizing how fluffy, too fluffy, they are. “Oh,” I say. It’s horribly insufficient, but I can’t beckon anything better. I’m too busy feeling sorry for myself about how Chris has withheld this massive piece of information about himself, how he didn’t trust me enough to confide in me sooner.
“It was a few years ago now,” Chris says, closing the fridge and coming over to the living room. He slides onto the couch on the end opposite from me, with Arnie sprawled out in the middle, ready to play. “It’s still kind of hard to talk about.” He scratches Arnie’s ears, avoids my eyes. “But yeah, that’s what happened.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I’m aware I shouldn’t be accusing him, but it’s still probably better than the hollow sympathies he usually gets. Bluntness has a nice way of distracting the heart from its hurt.
“Sorry,” Chris says, and it makes me detest myself, how I always try to steal the attention at the worst times.
“No, no, there’s nothing to be sorry about,” I say. “It’s not like we’re that close or anything.”
