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Hearing that his brothers had been doing the same thing all these years had offered a strange sort of comfort and made him feel a hell of a lot less alone. He was looking forward to lunch with Conor tomorrow. He’d missed his younger brother.
Actually, he missed both of his brothers.
While he was in a complete tailspin over Penny, he felt as if he’d turned a corner in regards to what was left of his family.
He was going to rebuild the bridges he, Matt, and Conor had let crumble. He wanted them back in his life. There wasn’t much he was sure about at the moment, but that was one thing that was solid and true.
Gage ran his finger over the glass of the frame, spellbound by Mom’s genuine smile. She had suffered depression for most of his life growing up, so whenever he could make her smile for real—not one of those pasted-on fakes she wore a lot of the time—he felt like a million bucks. Conor had captured one of those moments, which was why this photo meant so much to him.
He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t told Penny about Mom’s depression, why he’d given her the impression that everything—with the exception of Dad—had been sunshine and roses, that they’d wiled away every day blissfully playing games and having fun.
Too many times, Mom had been holed up in her dark bedroom, sleeping or just…staring into space. On the bad days, Gage would sit next to her, trying to cajole her out of her heavy mood by playing video games next to her, giving her a blow-by-blow of the action, hoping to capture her interest enough that she’d join in.
His phone vibrated in his back pocket, so he pulled it out and quickly read the text from Conor, confirming lunch for tomorrow at one. Gage placed his phone on the counter, the cell’s home screen shining up at him.
In a weaker moment, he’d made the selfie he’d taken of him and Penny cooking spaghetti together the background photo. He was wearing a horrified expression as Penny stirred the sauce behind him, laughing at his antics. His gaze traveled from Penny’s smile to his mother’s.
It was easy to make Penny smile, to make her laugh. It took no work at all. She was easygoing, with an incredible zest for life. The type of person who didn’t have to plan fun like his mother, but who could find it into everyday ordinary things.
He turned his phone off.
Enough, he thought.
Then he ignored himself and walked back to the bookshelf, found himself reaching for the Indian cuisine cookbook that he hadn’t opened since his mother’s death. Apparently, the night was young and there were still plenty more hours to fill with self-flagellation and misery.
This cookbook had been the one he and his mother used the most on their Monday night kitchen dates.
He carried it to the counter and started to flip through, seeking out the masala recipe he’d made for Penny. He hadn’t needed to consult the cookbook, as he had the recipe committed to memory.
When he found the page, he gasped…his eyes widening when he spotted the familiar stain.
One night, he’d dropped the spoon he’d been using to stir, right onto the book, red sauce spattering the top corner of the page. The stain had always been there.
That wasn’t what had taken him aback.
The stain was now encompassed in one of his mother’s doodles. She’d turned the fading red into a dragon’s fiery breath. Also, there was an incredible caricature, a younger version of himself, battling the beast with a wooden spoon, the words “Gage the Brave” written beneath the drawing.
Gage the Brave.
He began flipping through the cookbook, shocked to discover five more drawings—all ofhim, though his ages varied throughout. There was even one of him in his Greek letters, his hair longer, like he’d worn it his junior year of college.
The drawings adorned their favorite recipes, and all included him battling some food-shaped beast with that sword-like spoon, and always at the bottom of the picture, the words “Gage the Brave.”
He stared at the last caricature, wondering when she’d drawn it. It had to have been during the final months of her life. Maybe even the final weeks. In the picture, he had chopped off one head of the spaghetti-headed hydra, and his spoon was just about to lop off another. It was a wonderful drawing, full of detail, despite the fact it was crammed in amidst a recipe, most of the artwork adorning the edge of the page. His gaze kept returning to the expression on his face. Because he didn’t look fierce or angry or scared, as one might expect when battling a hydra.
Instead, he was smiling. He looked…happy.
Mom had told him once that she admired his zeal, the way he never took things too seriously, always saw the best in people and situations. She’d remarked that she was glad he hadn’t taken after his father…or her. That he wouldn’t go through life lonely or sad because he was capable of loving others without reservation or fear.
His mother seemed to live in constant fear. When Gage had suggested once—just once—that she divorce Dad, Mom had shaken her head, claiming she could never leave him because he wouldn’t just ensure she was penniless, he would make sure she’d never see her sons again.
He considered her life, how difficult it must have been for her. She’d fallen in love with a man who didn’t love her back. His mother was soft, sweet…and weak. Never strong enough to fight back, to fight for her own happiness.
By the time Gage was old enough to understand relationships between men and women, his parents’ marriage had devolved into a loveless one, as the marriage he’d held up as the standard for what hedidn’twant.
Then he recalled a promise Mom had insisted he make. That he would always remain true to who he was. She’d assured him there wasn’t anything he couldn’t defeat in life as long as he approached every aspect of it with his open mind and open heart.
He hadn’t thought about those conversations in years, but now…
