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Long story short, I loved my brother in all of his mischievous glory. Getting into shit was a hobby of his, and he never failed to keep us on our toes. It was part of his charm though along with loving us and his daughter with fierce devotion.
One day, a week from when I'd last seen or heard from Dylan, Connor had called and announced he was coming for dinner.
“So, you’d better learn to make something good,” he'd told my mom, teasing her, as he always did.
“I'll give him something good,” she muttered as she shoved a chicken into the oven. “How about a nice, swift kick in the ass? I think that'd be pretty good …”
I snorted as I pulled the good dishes out of the cabinet. The ones she only used for holidays and company. Because as much as my brother drove our mom insane, she missed him like crazy, and a visit from him was worthy of dirtying the good dishes.
“He's here!” Dad announced, throwing the front door open. “And it looks like he brought Sammy!”
The storm door creaked as my dad left to greet Connor on the stoop. I squinted into the late-day sunlight and listened for the familiar voices of my boisterous brother and his animated daughter. When I heard them both, I smiled as I went to the cabinet to pull out another dish.
“This is a surprise,” Dad said to them as they all came inside. “What's the occasion?”
“Well, Sam pointed out that FaceTime isn't the same as actually seeing you guys, so I thought we'd barge in,” he said, walking through the living room and into the kitchen.
At the sight of me, he spread his arms out wide as he said, “There's my little ray of sunshine. Get the hell over here and give your big bro a hug.”
I rolled my eyes playfully and trudged over to him like my feet were made of lead. But I hugged him just as tight as he hugged me. “I missed you, stupid,” I murmured against his shoulder, and he replied, “I always miss you.”
He greeted Mom as Sammy ran into the kitchen. She looked like her father had when he was her age—tall and lanky. But her hair was light instead of dark, and if you asked anybody who'd met them both, they'd say she looked more like her mother. I couldn't say for sure though; I'd only met the woman a handful of times. And any time I was with my niece, all I could notice was her smile, and that was identical to Connor's.
“Hey, Aunt Lemon,” Sammy said, using the nickname she'd bestowed upon me when she was too little to pronounce my name.
“Look how tall you've gotten,” I said, wrapping her in my arms. “Next time I see you, you're gonna be taller than me.”
“That's not a hard thing to do, considering you’re the shortest person I know,” Connor said, then patted Mom's head. “Well, except maybe for this hobbit over here.”
“Oh, you knock it off,” she grumbled, swatting at his hand. “Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.”
“Excellent,” Connor replied, then headed toward the fridge. “Lenny, you wanna have a beer with me before we eat?”
I smiled, as I put the last dish in its place on the table.
“As if I'd say no.”
***
Connor had built the tree house with our dad when he was twelve. It began as a place for him and his buddies to hang out in, then a hideout for make-out sessions in his teens. But by the time adulthood had rolled around and I was no longer the annoying baby sister, it had become our place. It was where we went to have a beer, catch up, and chat about life without the prying ears of our parents and unwanted commentary.
Times spent in that tree house were some of my most treasured memories. And although he never said as much, judging by the serene smile on his face, I suspected Connor felt the same.
With legs dangling over the edge of the platform, he brought the mouth of his bottle to his lips as he said, “It's good to be home.”
“You should come around more often,” I suggested, nudging my elbow against his arm. “Give me a break from Mom and Dad once in a while.”
“Hey, you can always come up to Connecticut.” He raised his brows as he swallowed two gulps of beer, looking at me all the while.
“Yeah, right,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes toward the back door. “What would I even do all day while you're at work? I'd just sit around your smelly apartment until you got back.”
“Okay, first of all, it doesn't smellthatbad,” he said, defending himself with a laugh. “And second of all, I live right off of Main Street in River Canyon. There's plenty of cute little shops and shit for you to walk to. You could stop in the tattoo parlor and get some ink on this pale-ass virgin skin.” He poked my arm playfully, and I shoved him away.
“Yeah, tattoos require money,” I reminded him. “And on the few hundred bucks I get every month from the good ol' government, I can't afford to waste it on fun shit like that.”
Connor dropped his gaze to the ground below and nodded solemnly. “Yeah, I know,” he said. Then, raising the bottle to his lips, he added, “You know, I could lend you money.”
“Stop. You barely have enough for yourself, and you have a kid to take care of.”
