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Dan’s suggestion gets the kids scampering out of my room and running back downstairs. “Thanks, man.” I give my brother a nod.
He doesn’t move to follow them. Instead, he leans against my doorframe, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched. “Have fun last night?”
“Yeah, it was good.” I say casually, getting out of bed and reaching for a shirt off the back of my desk chair, but his eyebrow doesn’t come down, and the corner of his mouth is doing that one-sided grin it’s done since we were kids. It’s the exact look he’d give me right before ratting me out to Mom. Except now Dan’s twenty-eight with his own kids, so he doesn’t rat me out anymore, but he still loves to get under my skin. Some things never change. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Good thing Thanksgiving requires a shirt, huh?” That’s all he says while his grin spreads wider across his face before he pushes off the doorframe and shuts the door behind him, laughing under his breath down the hall.
I run to the mirror and my mouth falls open slightly. “Well, shit,” I mutter, fingers tracing over the mark Marcus left just above my collarbone. It’s dark, unmistakable, and still a little tender under my thumb. Did he leave a mark behind on purpose? A little souvenir for me to remember him by? I’ve never had a hickey before, and it’s… kind of hot. I check the rest of my face—no beard burn I can see—so at least Dan’s the only one who’ll notice, and he’s not going to say much in front of the kids. At least, I don’t think he will.
Dipping to the bathroom, I take a quick shower, and it’s probably closer to fifteen minutes by the time I get downstairs. Claire and Tommy seem too distracted playing in the living room to notice while Mom is tearing through the kitchen prepping dinner and Dad’s manning the griddle for breakfast.
“Morning, sweetie!” Mom greets with a smile.
“Hey, son!” Dad adds, flipping a pancake with practiced focus.
“Morning, everyone.” I address the rest of my family, including my sister-in-law, Melissa.
“Morning,” Melissa says, already halfway through the coffee in front of her.
“Coffee’s ready for you. How was the bar?” Mom asks. “Did you have fun?”
“Yeah. It was a lot of fun to catch up with everyone.”
“Good. I’m glad you had a good time.” She smiles, pouring me a mug without me having to ask, so I sit down at the table with Dan and Melissa.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You know, your dad and I met at that bar in college. Did I ever tell you that?”
“Only about a hundred times,” Dad calls out over his shoulder, but he’s grinning.
“Oh, hush, Billy,” Mom playfully dismisses. “Your dad bought me a drink I didn’t even want just so he’d have a reason to talk to me. I told him if he wanted to see me again he’d have to memorize my phone number and call the next day. Thirty years later, here we are.”
“Good thing I’ve got a great memory.” Dad beams, and the look he gives her is so full of adoration. It’s safe to say my parents have set the standard for the kind of love I hope to experience one day.
“Speaking of Mom and Dad meeting in a bar, did anyone catch your eye last night?” Dan grins at me from across the table, and I can feel him fighting the urge to say more.
“Enough about me, why don’t we focus on you—”
“But I want to hear about your night,” he cuts me off. “What’s it like to go to a bar in Bloomington after dark? Come on, Evan, don’t deprive me.”
“There’s nothing to tell. I just had fun with my friends.” I shrug as if it’s nothing even though the tender spot under my collar says otherwise.
“But what kind of fun?” Dan prompts, way too innocently, and I shoot him a look over the rim of my mug that says Don’t you dare. But now everyone is silent—apart from the kids playing in the living room—waiting for my response, and I can tell Dan’s enjoying every second of it. He’s putting me on the spot because watching me squirm in front of Mom and Dad is the most entertainment he’s had all morning. Probably all week.
“I might’ve connected with someone, but I’ll never see him again, so it is what it is,” I attempt to keep my tone casual, but I’m not sure how well I manage to pull it off.
“Oh, well, what’s he like?” Mom smiles so warmly.
“Guys, we aren’t having this conversation.” I groan. “You know I live 2,000 miles away.”
“Alright, alright. We’ll drop it, but I’m glad you had fun, sweetie,” Mom says.
“Me too,” Dad adds, setting a stack of pancakes and syrup in front of me.
“And we really are so proud of you for chasing your dreams! You make us proud, Evan.”
Dan, at least, has the decency to wait until Mom turns back to the stove before mouthing hickey at me across the table, grinning like the same shit-stirrer he’s always been.
