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They all listen on in silence waiting for more information.
“He’s…bloody…perfect. He’s a fucking doctor. His family is filthy fucking rich-”
“We do more than alright,” Uncle Raff swiftly defends.
“That was not to imply that you don’t. Money is just one of those things he has more of than I do. Money to take her to the art museums or to the ballet – though she hates the ballet – or expensive dinners that when we go, she has to pay for because other than the tip, it’s out of my bloody price range.”
Uncle Raff cautiously asks, “This is about money then?”
“Not just money.”
“Status?” Uncle Rían adds on a craned neck.
“I hate that shite, too. That he’s a bloody surgeon. And everyone she works with just loves him. And that he’s won so many awards. And acknowledgements like he’s still in uni trying to make the bloody Dean’s list.” A frustrated hand is run through my unkempt hair. “I also hate he knows things I don’t. Like the actual names of the bones Harper broke when she was a young girl. And who Big Bill Broonzy was. Or why she randomly eats raisins when she hears him.”
Dad’s hum is slow and attention grabbing. “I see.”
Something in the back of my mind is telling me I don’t like where this is about to go.
“This is about your bloody ego.” Dad doesn’t pause long enough for me to debate otherwise. “You have not accepted the fact that you are the man she truly wants in her life because you feel inadequate to someone who is older and more established and known her for longer.”
Okay.
Perhaps.
“Nephew,” Uncle Raff starts to smile, “there is almost always going to be someone around that is better at shite than you. That’s life. And being in love is part of life. Therefore, there will always be someone who exists to be a better match on paper.”
“That is not comforting,” is mumble louder than anticipated.
“Doesn’t matter that it’s not comforting,” Dad snaps his interjection. “Just like it doesn’t matter if that person exists or where they are because that person isn’t what your lady wants. What she wants is the man she’s chosen.”
“What she wants is the man that makes her smile like you do.” Uncle Rían kindly insists.
I honestly do not know what I would do without hers in my life.
“The man who takes care of her when she’s not even thinkin’ about it,” Uncle Raff references most likely from personal experience.
While I don’t love that she forgets to eat on long shifts sometimes, I do love that I know she’s taken pre sliced apples that I cut for her and dip that my mom taught me to make.
“This bloke may have more money or power or intelligence than you do; however, he will never love her like you do, son, and that in itself is the only thing that really matters.”
My shoulders finally unhinge themselves from next to my ears.
“Give her a little time to settle down,” Uncle Raff nonchalantly suggests. “Give yourself a little time to do the same.”
“And then drag your nuts over there – while praying to God that she doesn’t kick you in them – to apologize,” Uncle Rían lightly chuckles. “That shite hurts.”
It’s impossible to hide my laughter. “Holy hell, Aunt La-La kicked you in the nuts?!”
“It may or may not have been deserved.”
“Very deserved,” Uncle Raff declares.
“Absolutely,” Dad quickly echoes.
“You two want to talk about the shite you’ve deserved to be kicked in the O’Clery makers for?” Uncle Rían begins with mirth in his voice. “Where should we start? Vegas?”
“Don’t start there,” Dad grumbles while profusely shaking his head. “Can we start anywhere but there? It was my bloody wedding day!”
