“Still no girlfriends, Wes?” she teases, her tone so obviously innocent that it makes my heart tug.
Our mom has the softest soul of anyone I’ve ever known, and while I love her all the more for it, there are times where I wish she were harder. Her gentle nature allows others to take advantage of her, our father included. And it’s led to a thousand arguments between all of us.
Maybe if she’d stepped in for Wes sooner, the relationship between him and Dad wouldn’t be so beyond repair. There wouldn’t have been so many silent, early morning rides to practice or empty seats in the stands during games where he should have had everyone in attendance.
“No.”
The sharp blade of Wes’ voice draws my eyes, concern blazing behind them. I sweep them over his face and try to make sense of the discomfort I see in every pull of his lips and tickingmuscle in his jaw. They’re nearly unnoticeable tells, but I know my brother.
Or . . . I thought I did.
I slowly look at Dad and find myself even more confused. He’s focused on the candles, watching the warm wax drip down the side before cooling. Mom’s too busy searching for a place to put the cake to notice anything else. Finally, she sets it on the glass top of the unused drink cart in the corner of the room and spins back around, clapping her hands.
“Do you want presents first or cake?” she asks.
Wes shifts slightly closer to me, keeping his eyes forward. I react instantly to the silent plea, recognizing it from when we were kids and he would do the same thing to get out of a situation that he was uncomfortable in. The first time he did it, I ignored him and assumed he was just trying to bug me. That was the same day he and Dad got into an argument so heated a vase wound up smashed against a wall.
I still don’t know who threw it because I took the blame before either of them could, knowing Mom couldn’t handle more of their fighting.
“Could me and Wes cut the cake? I can take it into the kitchen. You stayed up baking, Mom. Just sit and relax,” I suggest, already moving toward her.
Her face scrunches as she takes me in. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t mind.”
“Please.” I drop my voice.
Realization floods her features before they droop, sadness flooding her eyes. “Alright.”
Already drowning in guilt, seeing her being so upset doesn’t send me spiralling the way it would any other day. I shove her reaction to the back of my mind and grab the cake platter. Without needing to look behind me, I know Wes is keeping pacewith me the entire way through the dining room and, finally, into the kitchen.
The moment we reach the huge, expensive marble island, I set the cake down and reach for the edge of the counter. Squeezing it tightly, I force myself to look at my brother. Even at six four and easily two hundred pounds, my brother looks tiny in this kitchen. I think that was the point when he bought our parents this house. It was his way of rubbing Dad’s nose in his success and the name he’s made for himself despite the tough love he was punished with.
“One day, Wes. One. Day. That’s all I wanted.”
He rolls his jaw. “You think I don’t want the same thing? I just can’t be around him, Brielle. I fucking can’t. Everything about him pisses me off.”
“Is this because of baseball? Did something happen recently to make things worse off between you? He hasn’t even been to any of your games this season, and I can’t see that changing. Is that why you’re angrier than normal?”
“It’s always been about baseball.”
I exhale and twirl my bracelet around my wrist. “We’re here for Mom.”
“And who’s she here for? Because this might be my party, but it sure as hell isn’t me.”
“Don’t say that.” My stomach tumbles anxiously. “She loves you. I know for a fact that she was up well past midnight last night making you this cake because she knows it’s your favourite, and the stupid recipe she always uses requires way too much time and attention.”
Wes looks away, his teeth grinding. I try to touch his arm, but he just takes a step back and shoves his hands into his pockets.
“She could do better,” he grits out.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Than Dad. She could do better.”
My mouth hangs half-open as I let those words sink deeper. I can taste the venom in them, and it makes my throat close up.
“They’ve been married for nearly thirty years, Wes. That’s not something you should just be throwing out there.”
“But you agree, don’t you?” He scrubs his mouth with a harsh touch before slamming that hand to the counter. “You have no idea who he is, Brielle. Not a fucking clue.”
