Page 52 of Never Your Valentine

Grant is tasked with bringing in more firewood and June is called into the kitchen. June’s husband, Dylan, offers to refill my wine glass or bring me a beer from the back porch, but I decide to switch to pop for the rest of the night, since I’m already off balance. I tug at the flannel shirt I’m wearing over Grant’s stolen t-shirt, unsure if I should help in the kitchen or take a seat in the living room with Blake and Felix.

That decision is made for me when the dog I saw earlier comes skidding up to me and sits at my feet. She’s a brown and white pit bull wearing a pink bandana and a huge grin. Her tail swooshes behind her. I squat down to give her some love, grateful that she’s not a jumper or a barker.

“I hope she’s not bothering you.” Blake unfolds himself from the couch and slides into our orbit. “She can’t help herself. She sees someone new, and she has to make friends. We’re both like that.”

I straighten. “What’s her name?”

“Officially, Sugar. Unofficially? My best wingman.” He grins at me with the same enthusiasm Sugar does. “Which means this is my opening to say hi. This time it comes with canine endorsement.”

Sugar snorts and leans into his leg as if to say, you’re welcome.

Grant is suddenly at my side, smelling like wood chips and outdoor air. “Did you want to see the house before dinner? We’ve got time for a tour before we eat.”

“I mean, sure,” I say. “If your parents don’t mind.”

“I can show her around,” Blake offers. “You look busy.”

“I’m not.” Grant stares his brother down until Blake and Sugar go back to watching the hockey game.

Grant touches my elbow as if to guide me. “This is the living room, obviously. And you’ve seen the kitchen. Bathroom is down that hall, as well as my parents’ room. There are two bedrooms upstairs.”

“Still?” I ask.

“One’s my dad’s office and one’s my mom’s craft room. Come on, I’ll show you.”

The stairs going up have the expected photo collage on the wall. There are baby pictures of everyone, as well as senior portraits and photos from June and Dylan’s wedding.

He brushes by them without looking and steers me toward the two upstairs rooms. They don’t leave any clues about the kids who used to live here. No posters on the walls or bookshelves full of favorites. Those must be stored elsewhere.

I make him pause on the way back down. “Look how sweet you were,” I say. “I mean, all of you. That must be Cole, right? Is he coming today?”

“He’s out of town,” Grant says. “He takes a vacation every winter.”

“They get longer every year,” Felix says from the base of the stairs. He’s holding a beer and wearing the expression of someone who’s waited all day to interrupt.

“I’ll show you downstairs,” Grant says. “Felix, you don’t have to follow us.”

“Someone has to set the record straight. Also, Mom told me not to let you disappear before dinner.” Felix opens the door to the basement and snaps on the light. “Welcome to the museum. I’ll be your docent for this evening. Touch nothing, especially Grant’s ego.”

The stairs leading to the basement hold more photos. These aren’t formal portraits, but candid shots. I love seeing what his parents deem wall-worthy. There are vacations, holidays, and first days of school, as well as everyday moments. Felix points to a pre-adolescent Grant wearing a suit and a trilby hat, holding a saxophone. “The school assigned the instrument. Grant brought the attitude.”

We continue downstairs which has a sitting area as well as a small bedroom and bathroom. “This is where Grant flooded the basement,” Felix says. “Twice.”

“That’s the cover story,” Grant says.

“What’s the true story?”

“It was me,” Felix admits. “I was already in trouble for, like, three other things, so Grant did me a solid. Well, actually, it was my solid that⁠—”

“Moving on.” Grant opens the bedroom door.

“Oh yes,” Felix says. “This is where he practiced brooding.”

The bedroom still has twin beds in it, the mattresses bare. Storage boxes line the walls. A bookshelf in the corner has medals and trophies on it. Science and citizenship awards mingle with the sports trophies. I’m not sure what’s Grant’s, what’s Felix’s, and what was shoved in here after they moved out. I pick one up. “Football?”

Grant half-shrugs. “If you’re big, you have to play. That’s how it is.”

“I heard you were the quarterback.”