AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“That’s cute, sweetheart. Should I start checking financial records for new life insurance policies that have been taken out on me? Keep an eye over my shoulder for potential hitmen?”
Evan snorts. “I’d never leave such a ridiculously obvious paper trail.” I roll my eyes as he laughs. “So, what are you up to? Still slaving away at the office?”
“Nah,” I respond. “I’m at a restaurant being interviewed by a shark. What about you?”
“A shark, huh? As in doo doo doo doo doo doo?”
“Shark as in a crimson-lipped woman from the Times.”
“Ahh. I’m heading home to sit on exactly one hundred conference calls with Sadie to talk to all sorts of fucking people for the wedding.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “I think you might have it worse than me.”
“Tell me about it,” he mutters. “I love my future wife, but a man can only talk wedding venues and caterers and party favors so much before his ears start to bleed.”
“Does this mean you guys finally set a date?”
“Yep,” he says. “The wedding is July 13th. In New York. And oh, by the way, you’re my best man.”
I smirk. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to ask me if I want to be your best man…”
“Yeah, but I don’t care what you want in this scenario. It’s my wedding day, goddammit, and if I have to wear a penguin suit in eighty-degree heat, then so the fuck do you.”
I laugh. “Thanks for updating me on my future plans, bridezilla.”
“No problem.”
“I’m guessing Bruce Willis & Sons will be handling the floral arrangements?”
“Betty officially started losing her mind after I got off the phone with her a few hours ago,” he says through a sigh. “No doubt Maybe is getting quite the laugh right now at my expense.”
The mention of his kid sister’s name makes me smile. It’s been ages since I’ve seen the pip-squeak. She was several years younger than us, cutely awkward, and followed us around with a notebook, a book, and a soda in hand at all times. The thought of her takes me back to the nostalgia of our childhood—a time in my life I enjoyed immensely. “How is Maybe, by the way? Is she going to be in town for the wedding?”
“She’s already in town, dude. Finished up her master’s at Stanford and moved back to New York earlier this month.”
“She already finished her master’s degree? What is she, eighteen?”
Evan chuckles. “She’s twenty-four, man.”
Twenty-four? Maybe is twenty-fucking-four? Jesus.
“Damn. Time flies.”
“Tell me about it,” he says. “Speaking of which, I was hoping you could do me a favor.”
“Honestly, after not firing you during our earlier conversation and agreeing to your demands to be your best man, I’m already in the middle of a couple,” I tease. “Not sure I have time for any more.”
“Fuck you, dude,” he retorts back on a raspy chuckle. “And the favor is more for Maybe than for me.”
“Ah, well. I guess I can free up some time for the kid, then. What’s she need?”
“She’s trying like hell to get her foot in the door at a New York publishing house. She has the skills, but you know how shit is in that industry.”
I hum. “You’re a nobody until you know somebody.”
“Exactly,” he agrees. “I was hoping you could call in a few favors with some of your connections. Possibly find her some interview opportunities. Once she has a foot in the door, she’ll be able to seal the deal, I’m positive.”
“Of course,” I respond without hesitation. “I’ll definitely see what I can do.”
“Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.” His tone is equal parts grateful and relieved. I haven’t seen their dynamic in person in years, but it’s apparent Evan still comes from a positive place in fulfilling his brotherly role. “Anyway,” he continues. “I gotta go. I need a minute to prepare myself for the hell that is wedding planning the instant I walk through the door. I’ll send you Maybe’s number so you can give her a call.”
I chuckle. “Good luck, man.”
“Same to you. And I hope you’re not on your period. I hear sharks can smell blood.”
“Fuck you very much for your concern.”
He ends the call mid-laugh, and I’ve barely hung up the phone when it pings with a text.
Evan: Here’s her number: 555-150-0200
Maybe Willis’s number.
Good God, it feels like it’s been forever since I saw Evan’s little sister.
Surely, she’s not the same knobby-kneed, braces-afflicted, acne-faced, starry-eyed adolescent I remember, but hell if I can picture what she might look like at twenty-four.
Quickly, I add her to my contacts, but right before I can slip my phone back into my pocket, the damn thing vibrates in my hand again. I feel like a bartender at fucking happy hour.
Mom: Emory is officially in labor! She’s at St. Luke’s Hospital and is supposed to have the baby soon!
