"Nothing is happening."
"But you want it to."
I peel more label. The bottle is getting shredded. Ramsey waits, says nothing, letting me come to it. We've never minded silence.
"It doesn't matter what I want."
"Why not?"
"Because she's Rome's sister. Because she's twenty-two. Because I promised Rome. Because my dad is already too attached. Because this town is too small. Because I don't do this."
"That's six reasons and not one of them is about what you actually want." He leans back in his chair, patient as ever. "What do you want, Cal?"
I finish my beer and stare at the shredded label like it has answers.
"She wears glasses."
I don't know why that's the thing that comes out. Of everything, of all the ways I could explain this, my mouth chose that.
"She wears these glasses when she reads and she pushes them up with her knuckles and she doesn't even know she does it. She color-codes everything. She's got a system and she explains it to my dad like she's presenting to a boardroom and he just sits there nodding like he's going to follow any of it."
I shake my head. "He's not. He's going to go right back to writing 'table for Dave' on a napkin the second he’s back. But she doesn't know that, so she keeps going, and he lets her, because he loves it."
Ramsey says nothing, just listens.
"He calls her angel, man. He calls her angel and she calls him old man and they argue about everything and he tells her stories about my mom and she listens like she's experiencing it all right there with him." I'm peeling another label now, hands needing something to do. "She does my dishes without asking. She hums in my kitchen. Did you know that? She hums."
I rub both hands down my face, and take a breath that doesn't help.
"She stayed late one night and it was dark and I drove her home and she logged into her music on my car and picked a playlist and I haven't changed it. It's been weeks. Weeks of driving her home and letting her play whatever she wants and I haven't changed it."
"Jesus, Cal."
Ramsey looks at me like I've lost my mind. That would be accurate. Just saying all of that out loud is exhausting. I've been so good at avoiding these thoughts my whole life. I just need to do it again. I just need to be more disciplined.
"You're fucked."
"I know."
"Properly, irreversibly fucked."
"I am aware, motherfucker. Stop rubbing it in."
"Welcome to the club." He raises his beer. "Membership is permanent and the benefits are great."
"No thanks. I'm not joining any clubs. Or enjoying any benefits with Rome's baby sister."
There is no club. I haven't touched her. Haven't kissed her. Haven't so much as brushed her hand on purpose. The closest I came was almost tucking hair behind her ear and I pulled back so fast I probably strained something.
I'm losing my mind over a woman I've never laid a finger on. It's either the most disciplined or most pathetic thing I've ever done. Probably both.
"I promised Rome."
"I know you did."
"I don't break promises."
"I know you don't." Ramsey sets his beer down, seriousnow. "But honestly, Cal? Rome needs to let that go. You're both grown men. She's a grown woman. He doesn't get to decide who his sister dates, and you shouldn't have made that promise in the first place."
