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He put ice in a shaker and started pouring mixers and liquor over it.

“So none of your brothers are married?” I asked, watching him shake the drink.

“No. Leo and Simon have girlfriends. Paulie has a boyfriend, and Matty’s single.”

He strained the cocktail into two glasses and wiped the rims with a twist of orange peel and slid one to me.

“Thanks.”

I took a sip. It was good. Another skill he’d learned in my absence. I tried not to think about it.

Paulie popped his head around the corner. “Hey,” he whispered. “You guys wanna play a drinking game?”

Jeremy glanced at me.

“I have to drive,” I said. “I’m probably only having this one.”

“Me too,” Jeremy said.

“We’re drinking every time Grandma says something about the patriarchy,” Paulie said.

I almost choked on my cocktail and had to wipe my chin.

“Can we just take a sip? Or do we have to do shots?” Jeremy asked.

“Sip is fine.”

“I don’t know how we can pass on that,” I said, still laughing.

Jeremy nodded. “Okay. We’re in.”

Paulie gave us a thumbs-up and left.

I leaned on the bar. “So Bridgette hasn’t changed, huh?”

“Not even a little.” He poured gin into a shot glass.

I watched him make Grandma’s drink like he’d made it a hundred times before. He probably had.

The last time I saw him, neither of us were old enough to be in a bar. Now we were old enough to pass the bar.

“Are you living here?” I asked.

“No,” he said, threading olives onto a toothpick. “I have a place closer to the hospital. You?”

“I have a townhome. I bought it with Beau. I got it in the split.” I pretended to be extra interested in my drink. “Have you been in any serious relationships?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t betray how much I cared about the answer.

He shrugged. “A few. One was pretty serious. I’m gonna run this out to Grandma. I’ll be right back.”

He left. As soon as he was gone, I squeezed my eyes shut and let out a breath.

The den was quiet. Someone had started a fire and it crackled. The Christmas lights from outside flickered color through the curtains and the house smelled warm like yams and sage sausage and pumpkin pie. It was familiar. Comforting, even.

I wanted to stay mad at him. I was mad. But it was harder here when it was so easy to remember the boy he was. I wanted to forgive him and let it go, but I just kept thinking about what happened. It was seared into my memory, and so was the way it had made me feel. Branded my heart in a way I couldn’t recover from—and boy, did I try.

When he came back in, I straightened.

“What do you think?” he asked, nodding at the drink.