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“It’s all expenses paid, too,” I tell her while I sit on a barstool in my normal weekend attire of jeans and a white tee, spoon-feeding some pureed peas to a not-so-happy Owen, my little eight-month-old nephew. Out of their three boys, Owen looks the most like Everett with his dark-brown hair and blue eyes, which means he looks the most like me. Five-year-old Mason and three-year-old Jackson take after their mom. Both have brown eyes and curly dark-blond hair.
I don’t know why I tell Gwen it’s a free trip to Hawaii—it only makes it sound worse. Part of Shane’s plan to give Nadia the dream wedding she’s always wanted (except that her dream wedding was actually a ranch so she could wear cowboy boots with her dress, but let’s not split hairs here), was to pay for everyone in the bridal party to go. I have no idea how much money Shane has, but I think it’s uses-fifties-to-wipe-his-butt kind of money. I don’t think he actually does that, but I think he could if he wanted.
Yes, I’m crazy to not go to this wedding … crazy excited. I’m thrilled to be missing an all-expenses-paid beach wedding at the Four Seasons in Oahu. I feel downright giddy about it, in fact. I don’t have to be a jinx at another wedding. That’s the most important part of all this.
“Can I go in your place?” Gwen asks, her curly dark-blond shoulder-length hair bouncing playfully on her shoulders. I like Gwen. I’ve never had a sister—it’s always been just me and Everett.
She gives my brother a cool factor with her laid-back vibe. And Everett is not cool. He’s a moron. A moron that I love very much. I still don’t know how these two got together. Everett is allthings need to be a certain way, please don’t touch my perfectly ironed pants, and Gwen is alllet’s make a fort in the living room and eat spaghetti with our hands. They are opposites in almost every way, yet they make it work, and they do it well.
“Mom!” Mason screeches. “Jackson is picking his boogers.”
“Jackson,” Everett scolds, two lines forming in that spot between his brows. “Go wash your hands.”
It should be noted that Everett does most of the scolding around here. Gwen is more of the peace and love kind of parent.
Jackson stomps his way over to the guest bathroom of the large modern home with the open floor plan my brother wanted, which has been decorated in what can only be described as boho chic, which is all Gwen. It doesn’t work, but it also does. Or maybe I’m just used to it.
They live in Castle Rock, about thirty minutes from my apartment in Denver, and Gwen teaches second grade at the elementary school while Everett works in banking … or investments … Actually, I’m not entirely sure what he does. He’s told me before—honestly, he’s droned on and on about it. But I tuned him out like a good little sister does. Anyway, it’s not like he knows where I work.
“Everett, where do I work?” I ask him to test my theory. He’s holding a pair of grilling tongs and wearing a black apron that saysMr. Good Looking is Cooking, which is most definitely a gift from Gwen.
He gives me a confused face, his mouth downturned and his brows pinched. “Why? Did you forget?”
“Ha ha,” I say, dryly. “I’m just curious if you know.”
“You work at AppInnovate. You’ve been there for two years and you’re the project manager for a travel app called GlobeTrotter. It’s going to revolutionize the travel industry.” He says the last part with a little extra flair, throwing his head back, his voice going higher. Gwen giggles.
Okay, I guess I’ve given them both my spiel more than I realize, although I don’t think I sound anything like Everett’s terrible impression of me. I guess he does know what I do, which means I better hurry and change the subject before he asks me how much I know about him.
No need, because Everett doesn’t bother asking. He simply clicks his tongs at me twice, a know-it-all look on his face, before going outside to flip hot dogs.
On Sunday nights in the summer, the Banks family grills. It’s been a thing since we were kids and has continued into adulthood. I missed out on it for a few years when I was in Seattle. I really wish I could just put a big blackXthrough that part of my life. Pretend like it never happened. All that time I wasted on Montgomery Allen Prescott III, when I could have been spending it here in Colorado with my family. It should be noted that I didn’t recognize how douchey his name sounded until after we were long broken up and Nadia pointed it out. In my defense, he introduced himself as Monty, and that’s how I thought of him. Monty.MyMonty. I hate him with a fiery passion.
And yes, he was my boss. Technically, he was my manager, but that’s the same thing in this instance. He had the ability to fire me, and that’s exactly what he did after I broke up with him. Well, it was under the guise that the company was eliminating my position, which was very convenient timing. Anyway, many valuable lessons were learned. Like, for example, don’t date your boss … or a guy named Montgomery Allen Prescott III.
Anyway, I wondered if we’d keep up the summer Sunday dinner grilling tradition after our parents moved to their fancy-schmancy retirement community back in March. But it’s the fourth of June, a beautiful evening with the sun hanging just above the Rocky Mountains, and here we are grilling.
“Time to eat,” Everett yells when he walks back into the house carrying a plate of burgers and hot dogs. Jackson and Mason come running into the room, Jackson making a very high-pitched screeching noise.
Owen makes raspberries with his lips from his highchair, and I feel something wet land on my face. It’s pureed peas. Owen can’t say words beyondmamaanddadayet, and even those words are just sounds. According to Gwen, he doesn’t actually know what he’s saying. But what he can’t say, he makes up for in actions, and right now he’s saying:Stop force-feeding me this crap.
“I know, little Owey,” I tell him in a hushed voice, after I’ve wiped the gunk off my face. “Peas are gross.” I look to see if Gwen is watching before covertly dipping the spoon I’ve been using to feed Owen into the chocolate pudding dessert that’s been sitting near me on the counter and was made for the sole purpose of bribing the other boys to eat their dinner.
I give baby Owen a little taste, and watch as his eyes go wide with delight. “That’s right, kid. Stick with your aunty Mila. I’ll make all your sugary dreams come true,” I say to him in a half whisper.
“Evy, should we renew our vows someday? Maybe in Hawaii?” Gwen says to my brother, after we’ve all dished up plates and taken seats at the round wooden table with the mismatched-on-purpose chairs. Baby Owen has been given a handful of those yogurt melts that aren’t half bad tasting (I snagged one to try) to keep him occupied.
“I’d love nothing more,” Everett says, giving her the adoring smile he often does. It’s so full of warmth and tenderness andsonot like him. I’ve never seen him look at someone like he does Gwen. It’s sweet, but also off-putting. Because he’s my brother and, as I previously stated, he’s a moron.
“Just don’t invite me if you ever do,” I say, batting my eyes and giving them an extra superficial smile.
Gwen snorts a laugh out her nose. “But then who’d do a dance with Everett? Oh my gosh, should we recreate it? What do you say, Evy?”
“I think it would be safer if we didn’t,” he says, smiling smugly at me. “Especially for Mila.”
“Ha ha, you two are hilarious,” I say, with no humor in my voice. How do they find a way to bring this up every time we’re together? “The best thing you could do for this possible future vow renewal is not have me there.”
“But you made it so memorable,” Gwen says, giving me a wink.
