Page 28

“If it lasts for 30 minutes I’ll be shocked,” I assure him.

He suggests ordering Thai. I’m not sure if I agree because I’m craving it or if I’m simply stunned by Brendan’s 180-degree turn. I’d forgotten he could even be like this—pleasant, sweet, thoughtful. I’d forgotten he was like this most of the time, to everyone but me. And that on one occasion—many years ago—he was like this with me too.

When the food arrives, he spreads it all out on the coffee table, sliding the red curry chicken over to me.

“It’s so good,” I groan as I take my first bite.

For a fraction of a moment, something shifts in his face—his gaze hazy, his lips parting. And then it’s gone.

For lack of any other neutral topic, I ask him about his tour business. Because his friend Caleb invested, he tells me, he now has enough capital to run heli-skiing tours over the winter to keep the business afloat. He has an actual business plan, cost and profit projections. He certainly doesn’t sound like the lovable ne’er-do-well Rob always made him out to be. No wonder he was so defensive when Rob criticized his approach.

“So that’s me,” Brendan says. “But what about you?”

“What about me?” I ask, pushing the chicken around on my plate.

“You need a life, Erin.”

“I have a life.” I sigh. “It’s just on hold.”

“Having Rob’s life isn’t the same as having your own,” he says, his face earnest. “And you seemed to be doing pretty well before he ever came into the picture. Where’d that girl go?”

I shrug. “People grow up, Brendan. Was I going to keep mountain biking and snowboarding into my 70s?”

“Possibly. I see people older than that doing both. But more to the point, you’re not 70. You’re 26. And you’ve given up everything you used to love. I’d be depressed as fuck too if I was coming home to some big, empty house every night with nothing to look forward to but more of a job I hate.”

For some reason the words make my eyes pinch. It’s one thing to think you’re in a temporary bad spot; it’s another thing entirely to have someone sum up for you just how bleak every waking moment of your day is. I don’t want to cry in front of him again, but I think it’s inevitable. I close my eyes and bury my face in my hands.

“Aw, babe.” He sighs. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. Come here.”

When I don’t move, I find myself pulled into his chest, my body half lying on the couch and half lying on him.

“Erin,” he whispers, his breath against my hair. “Don’t cry, hon. I’m sorry. I was being a dick.”

“No,” I whisper. “You were just being honest. And you’re right.”

For a single moment further I allow myself this—Brendan’s warmth and his firm chest beneath my head and the smell of him, like soap and sand and clean air—before I pull away.

I laugh. “I think I’ve cried more in front of you than I’ve ever cried in front of Rob.”

“Yeah,” he grouses, “because he has no idea what makes you sad. He doesn’t even know you are sad.”

“Blah, blah, blah. Yes, you’ve made your thoughts on that known.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

I shrug. “Just wait it out, I guess. I mean, I could throw myself into stuff now, but I’d just have to give it all up when he comes home. Nothing I like is going to fit with our life. Rob works long hours. If we don’t have to go to dinner with clients, he wants to stay in.”

“So let Rob stay in by himself,” says Brendan. “Let him go to the client dinners by himself. ‘Let there be spaces in your togetherness’. Isn’t that the quote?”

“Holy shit, did Brendan Langstrom, the biggest whore in the state, the man who hates relationships, just quote Kahlil Gibran to me?”

“Those who can’t do, teach,” he says with a sheepish smile. “But seriously. You’re allowed to have things you love. You’re allowed to have space for yourself in this thing. You need it. Otherwise, you lose who you were in the first place. Come biking with me this weekend. Let’s figure out what you love.”

I contemplate this while Brendan goes to grab the Cherry Garcia and a spoon. As he returns, he shovels an enormous amount into his mouth.

"That's so classy." I laugh.

He grins, eyes crinkling at the sides, and hands the container to me. He pulls his fleece off over his head, and I catch a glimpse of tan stomach, abs that curve in perfectly symmetrical hills and valleys.