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“I’m sorry, did you say the Sunday after next?” I asked, shaking my head, sure I’d misheard him. “Because that’s only—”
“Eleven days away,” Pick answered. “Yeah, I know.”
“Shit, man. What’s the rush?”
He shrugged. “We just decided we didn’t want to wait any longer. We’re doing it at Forbidden, so...there’s not going to be a lot of decoration or party planning. And it’s going to be small, mostly just everyone who works at Forbidden, their families and maybe Tink’s aunt and uncle. But that reminds me.” He finally looked my way. “Since you’re going to be the best man, am I going to have to find a different deejay to take care of the reception?”
I shook my head. “Nah. I can ask Remy to do it. He’s learned the setup already; I’m sure he’ll agree.”
“Cool.” Pick nodded, distracted as he squinted at a huge old tree in the corner of the yard.
I hooked my thumb over my shoulder, motioning back to the house. “You ready to head back in yet?”
But my brother just stood there, staring at the tree, then he glanced around as if looking for something.
I blinked. “Holy shit. Is....is this the place?” I pointed to the ground under me; it suddenly felt as if I were standing on hallowed grass.
“I don’t know,” Pick finally murmured, wiping his hand over his face. “It looks...different.” He motioned to the wooden fence, separating this yard from the neighbors. “That fence was white, and there was a small tree...right over there. A huge swing set here with a row of purple and yellow tulips to the side.”
A big grin spread across my face as I clapped him heartily on the shoulder. “Well, it looks like you have some painting, planting and building to do then, because congratulations, big brother, you just found your dream house.”
“Holy shit,” he uttered, looking stunned speechless as he pushed his fingers through his hair and gaped at the yard around him. “I did.” Then he turned dazed eyes to me. “I don’t know how to plant a fucking tree.”
I laughed. “Then I guess you’re going to learn. Come on. Let’s check out the inside. How many bedrooms does it have? You going to have a spare one for Uncle Asher to come crash in every once in a while?”
“I don’t even know.” Pick’s voice sounded hollow as he remained rooted to the center of the yard. “I didn’t bother to check how many rooms it had.”
When I realized he was still too discombobulated to move, I retreated to his side, grabbed his arm and hauled him toward the back door. “Come on, old man. Let’s see what the master bedroom where you’re going to make sweet love to your wife for the rest of your life looks like.”
That got him to move. We thoroughly checked each room, and with each one we entered, this smile would spread across Pick’s face as if he couldn’t believe his good fortune. He’d make little comments about which one would be Julian’s or Skylar’s room, or Chloe’s, though I had no idea who Chloe was. But I didn’t really need to understand—it was the growing excitement emanating off my brother that was awesome. He had a future, family, and now the perfect home to look forward to. I was happy for him.
And extremely jealous.
I kind of didn’t want to go back to my apartment after that, and I didn’t have to work that evening. There was no band practice. It was as if I had nothing.
After Pick dropped me off and I jogged down the steps into my basement, I texted Remy to see if he wanted to grab something to eat with me. It was nearing the noon hour and I’d skipped breakfast. My stomach was growling. It sounded like the perfect plan to me.
But he wrote back, saying he had to work, so I called him a loser, and tossed my phone onto my coffee table. Slumping onto my sofa, I stared at my television, not really in the mood to watch anything. I didn’t even want to play Call of Duty, because it’d been more fun when I’d done that with Sticks.
Ugh. I needed a life. Dropping my head back, I stared up at the ceiling as my stomach growled again. I wasn’t in the mood to prepare my own food so I decided now was as good a time as any to check out that family restaurant of Remy’s. Castañeda’s or whatever it was called.
Slugging back to me feet, I gathered my phone, wallet, and keys and was out the door.
“Elisa!”
Tío Alonso’s voice jarred me from the daydream I was having. Hands buried in a bowl of floury dough, I spun around.
“Lo siento,” I immediately apologized before he could even scold me for whatever he was going to scold me for this time. “I’ll have these in the oven in five minutes.”
I’d been distracted ever since getting the call from Asher. He’d sounded lonely. I had no idea how I could tell that from one little text, but I still felt guilty about having to tell him no. I felt guilty about turning down his offer to hang out longer last night, too, and I felt guilty about lying to him, and falling for him and—God, I was just really extremely guilt ridden, okay?
But it would’ve made everything worse if I’d followed him home from the diner last night. I needed space from Asher. I was growing too many feelings, and it was only making things harder for me to handle.
“That’s not what I needed,” my uncle said, waving me forward. “I mean, yes, we need them, but you’re required out front now.”
When I only frowned in confusion, he sighed. “Juan and Diego couldn’t make it in today.”
I nodded, then scrunched up my eyebrows because I still wasn’t sure how this related to me. My mother’s two younger brothers Diego and Juan only came in once a week on Wednesdays to play with Big T and Luis—Diego’s son—in their special live mariachi music band. They liked to move from table to table to serenade the customers. While Tío Diego and Big T played guitars, Tío Juan strummed a harp, and Luis shook maracas.
