Page 16 of Living at 40

“Pasta. My favorite,” Ben teases. It’s not really one of his favorite meals, especially lately. The tomato sauce does a number on his stomach, but it’s an easy meal for a large gathering, satisfies the kids in the mix, and Anna just modifies Ben’s portion. Plus, there’s always salad, as Logan pointed out.

This reminds me I want to ask Anna more about Logan’s diabetes. My understanding of the disease is limited, but I know enough that people can live with diabetes. It just involves discipline and education to understand how to manage the disease.

“Alright, ladies. Go ring the bell for me,” Anna says, and the girls scramble off their stools for a dinner bell in the yard near the cliff. It signals for the boys to come up for dinner. I step back to the island while Ben walks to Anna and wraps his arms around her from behind. Her head tips to his shoulder, and I allow them this moment of privacy, keeping my back to them.

“You okay?” Anna says behind me.

“Yeah.” Ben’s muffled voice says he’s either got his nose buried in his wife’s neck or his lips pressed to her hair. Either way, the love surrounding my brother and his wife is sickening and lovely at the same time, and I’d love just a drop of whatever they have.

Within minutes, doors are opening, and loud voices fill the large family room-kitchen combination. Anna calls out for people to wash up for dinner, and chaos follows with serving bowls filled and dishes set in the dining room. At one point, Logan hands me a glass of wine before I’ve even asked for one. His hand finds its way up my back again as it did earlier, and he squeezes the nape of my neck as if this is normal for him, as if this is what we do. A shiver ripples over my skin, but I hold still, melting under his touch.

“Sit by me at dinner,” he suggests as though we’re teenagers needing seats saved at a cafeteria table. My face heats at the request, and I bite my lip.

“Sure,” I whisper because my voice cannot be found.

Dinner is a cacophony of tales from the guys. Some stories are appropriate, and some are not so appropriate about their days together in college. Slowly, we lose the kids, and Anna and I pick up the dinner dishes.

“Girls cook. Men clean,” Ben announces.

“You don’t have to do that,” Anna states while I’d like to interject that they most certainly do need to do something.

Ben intervenes. “I told you, you don’t need to take care of us.”

“If I don’t, who will?” she teases, leaning down to presumably give him a kiss on the temple. However, my brother cups the back of her head, and the kiss lasts longer than proper for a dinner party.

“On that note,” I mutter, continuing into the kitchen to relieve my hands of plates and return for more, only I find Mason directly behind me.

“We got this,” he says, keeping his voice low, and I nod to accept his help. Starting the faucet, I rinse dishes for the dishwasher as the piles build. Mason steps up beside me, and we work as a team to load the dishwasher. With a hip check, he nudges me out of the way to wash pots and pans, and Logan takes over to dry.

“This really is such a great house,” Logan says. The kitchen is now full of adults. As an architect, Logan appreciates the layout of this sprawling home with a large easy sitting room and kitchen combination but a formal living room and dining room for entertainment. An expansive stone patio runs the length of the open concept rooms, and Anna wanted to move the party outside later for the sunset. As it’s late summer, the sun still hangs in the sky until almost nine. Today’s been a clear day, so it’s going to be a spectacular view from the patio.

“I’m so glad you think so,” Ben states. “Because I have something to tell you.”

I’ve been returning cookware to their proper place but drop the pot in my hand, and it clatters to the floor.

“Easy there,” Mason teases, glancing at me over his shoulder while he is elbow-deep in the sudsy sink. With shaky fingers, I bend and retrieve the pot, handing it back to him to wash a second time.

“You’re making more work for me, Speck.”

Ignoring him, I hold my breath. This wasn’t the plan. Ben didn’t want to say anything to his friends until the end of the two weeks.

“Anna and I have decided to move here,” Ben announces. Air whooshes out of me as I stare at my brother, whose hands rub up and down Anna’s arms. He’s perched on an island stool, and Anna stands between his spread thighs.

“What about your business?” Zack asks as a strange tension builds around the kitchen.

“I’m selling it.”

“Why?” he questions.

“It was just time,” Ben admits, pressing a kiss to Anna’s shoulders. “I’m going to take back my dad’s company here. Try to restore it.”

Zack’s brows pinch while Mason keeps his eyes aimed at the pots in the sink. Logan glances over at me and then at my brother.

“Were you in financial trouble?’ Logan asks.

“Nothing like that. We’re just looking for a change. Anna’s been working hard to upkeep this house from a distance, and it just got to be too much. It was either our place outside Chicago or here, and we’re happier here.” Anna tips her head to kiss Ben once more.

Ben and I are from this area, growing up a half hour from Lakeside. We could never afford to live in this lakefront community, made up of homes owned by generations of families or the newly rich from the Chicago area, who make Lakeside a vacation home destination. Our father took pride in his independently owned business, but he was the hired help to these houses. He landscaped and maintained most of the properties, including this one, which is how Ben met Anna.