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“Screw what she thinks.”
I laugh. “Yeah, screw her.”
“I bet your dad thought you were something special.”
I lift my eyes to meet his. “He was the best person I’ve ever known.”
James is quiet for a moment. “I think my brother was my mom’s favorite.”
“How so?”
“He was funny. He got all the attention.” He swipes at the condensation on his glass. “I was shy and responsible, and I followed the rules. He was more… outgoing.”
“Like you said, you’re both different. Nothing wrong with that.”
He nods. “She would always tell me that I needed to look out for him. Protect him. The only thing he needs protecting from is his own damn self.”
“I can see that.”
“So, what happened between you and your mom?”
A stabbing pain pierces my heart as the memory replays in my mind. “Shit was building between us since my dad passed, and we fought a lot.” I swallow hard. “The last time I saw her, she said I was dead to her.”
James frowns. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
I look down at my lap. “No, it’s not.”
“Sounds like you’re better off here.”
“It has definitely been interesting with your family around.”
He chuckles. “You’re welcome.”
I lift my glass between us. “Here’s to fucked-up families.”
He clinks his glass against mine. “And to new neighbors.”
“New neighbors who can cook.”
It’s quiet while we finish eating, each of us off in our own heads. James stays to help clean up even though I told him not to. He washes while I dry, and we remain in comfortable silence. My nerves have dissipated since our talk over dinner, and I’m enjoying his company more than I expected to. When he makes his way to the front door to leave, I almost ask him to stay and hang out some more. But I lose my nerve.
He pulls out his phone from his pocket. “Let’s exchange numbers, and I’ll let you know the next time I’m free to come by for another lesson.”
I type out my number and hand back his phone, and he does the same with mine. “Thanks again for tonight. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time than to teach me how to cook.”
“Don’t say that.” He steps out onto the porch and turns to face me. “Being with you is time well spent.”
Butterfly wings flap against my rib cage, and I open my mouth to speak but no sound comes out.
The corner of his mouth twitches before he trots down the stairs. “Good night, Phoenix.”
I shoot him a text:
Me: It’s Nix. Not Phoenix. Get it right.
