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I keep holding out the box. ‘Will you give them to the others, though? I don’t want to.’
‘Rebecca, you need to learn to be nice to your brothers and sisters.’ She tuts. ‘For God’s sake, here.’ She snatches the box from my hand and throws it onto the front seat.
I hope the stickers didn’t come off the top, or she’ll have ruined them.
7
DREW
The intercom buzzes. I walk through my apartment in my jeans, towel drying my hair, which is still wet from my post-workout shower. When I pick up the intercom, the building concierge tells me Marty, Brooks and Kit are downstairs. I tell him to send them up and go to pull on a T-shirt. By the time I get back to my apartment door, my buddies are knocking.
Brooks and I finished sparring at his gym less than an hour ago. I set the poker table and showered when I got home but Brooks has still made good time. Especially since the stacked, six-four, inked giant is holding four boxes of takeout pizza.
‘I bought it, you can serve it, man,’ he says, dumping the pizza boxes into my arms.
All three men head down the corridor to the open-plan kitchen-living space, all three carrying boxes of beers. I kick the door shut with my heel and follow.
‘Man, I forget how sweet this pad is,’ Brooks says, walking to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looking out at the lights of the city against the black sky. I watch his reflection as he folds his arms across his chest. It’s subtle, but his shoulders sag.
Marty and Kit are in conversation as they make their own way around my kitchen, finding large plates for the pizzas. I take the caps off of two bottles of Bud and walk over to Brooks.
‘Everything okay?’ I ask, handing him a cold beer.
He reaches for the bottle without looking at me, and I watch his reflection as he takes a swig. ‘Yeah, man. I’m good.’
Brooks was one of the smartest kids I knew growing up. He wasn’t interested in studying, but he knew shit without having to study. Not academic stuff, but he could read people. Even when we were teenagers and everyone else just wanted to get laid – and that was an emotion to most of us – Brooks was tuned in to the things people couldn’t see. He guessed Tom Harrison was getting a hard time from his old man while the rest of us believed the kid was just clumsy. He realized his parents were getting a divorce six months before they told him. For a man who looks like he should be hanging on a wall in the Louvre with all the art covering his body, Brooks is deep.
‘How’s work?’ I ask, taking a shot at what he’s feeling and thinking.
‘Yeah, busy.’ His city gym is thriving, but Brooks isn’t the type to brag. We swig our beers in unison.
‘Have you looked into franchising the gym anymore?’
One side of his mouth curls into a smile that doesn’t reach his cheeks. ‘Someday, Drew. Someday.’
He pats my shoulder to tell me we’re done talking, and I take the cue, heading into the kitchen where the pizzas are now on plates.
Kit is leaning his head back, holding a slice of Meat Supreme in two hands, dropping the nose of the triangle into his mouth.
‘Christ, he’s like a five-year-old,’ Marty says.
I pat Kit’s increasingly chubby stomach and lean back against the kitchen island. He’s about forty pounds heavier than he ever was when we shared a house at Columbia. After majoring in mathematics, he got a desk job, and I can’t remember the last time the man did physical exercise beyond walking the pathetic excuse for a dog he and Madge have.
‘How are Madge and the kids?’ I ask.
He doesn’t bother to swallow before he speaks. ‘Jesus, Drew, I just got here. Give me a break. This is the one night a month I’m allowed Kit Time. I swear my kids are possessed, and for some reason, when I say that to Madge, she thinks I’m saying she’s a bad mother so she should get a job. She thinks I’m criticizing her for being a stay-at-home mother. I’m telling you, and I tell her, I would take a job as a janitor over looking after those spawn of Satan every day.’
Marty chortles. ‘I can’t imagine why Madge is pissed.’
Kit looks at him, deadpan, and says, ‘Exactly.’
Now I’m sharing in Marty’s amusement. ‘You should cherish it,’ I tell him. ‘Time flies, buddy.’
He rubs the back of his hand across his pizza-stained lips. ‘Right, like you’d give up the high life. Drew Clooney-Harrington, right there.’
‘Hey, I’m a godfather, aren’t I?’
‘Drew, you know I only chose you because you’re loaded.’ With that, he picks up a beer and moves into the living room toward the round poker table.
