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The line falls quiet as I wait for Anderson to continue. My fingers toy with the napkin in my lap as my eyes roam the table. Geoff holds a forkful of parmesan-crusted chicken out for Mags to taste. Logan takes a sip of beer before sawing away at the T-bone steak on his plate. And then I reach Lena… Eyes downcast, she picks through her salad and sorts every ingredient into its own pile. Confused by the sudden shift in her demeanor, I study her. Watch as she stacks cucumber slices, creates a mound of shredded carrots, shuffling slices of chicken away from the veggies.
Has she done this before and I never noticed?No. Not possible I’d miss such a habit.
“Care to elaborate?”
“Uh…” I picture Anderson rubbing the back of his neck, one of his nervous tells. “I’m thirty minutes south of the Oregon-Washington border. Was wondering if I could stay with you.”
Anderson and I always got on well as toddlers and teenagers.
When we were school age, most of my friends with siblings got annoyed with their younger or older counterparts. They were too needy or a nuisance or the bully who teased them incessantly.
But Anderson and I had never been the siblings irritated with one another. Some of my classmates thought it odd a brother three years my junior didn’t irritate me to death. I shrugged off their comments and snide remarks.
Since the day he came home from the hospital as a newborn, Anderson has been my favorite person. Our bond has always been different than the one I share with Mags and Lena. Not because he is my brother. We simply clicked from the beginning. We understood each other. Gravitated toward similar ideals and ways of living. Though I made permanent roots in Lake Lavender, I envied Anderson’s travels. The ability to be his own person. Live life by his rules and desires. To have true freedom.
And maybe the need for freedom is why I never committed to anyone. Never tied myself down in every way. Not until Braydon.
“Always. Everything okay?”
Across the table, Lena stirs all the ingredients back together then tops the salad with dressing. Her focus on her food is so damnweirdand I am curious as to the cause.
Before I answered the call, Lena and Logan had been reminiscing. Joking about the pie-eating contestants at the summer festival. Laughing about their run from the banquet tables to the dunk tank. Faux gagging over the murky water in the tank. Praising the fact they didn’t have to clean up the mess.
Now, she sits silent and has caved in on herself. As if someone scolded her for enjoying her evening.
“Things are good. Just need to be home for a bit.”
At the mention of home, the next question slips out. “You talk to Mom and Dad?” I already know the answer.
Joan and Samuel Everett… I have never known two people so fiercely dedicated and loyal. To their marriage. To their children. To their community. To their beliefs. As wonderful as our parents have always been, they never understood Anderson’s need to stretch his wings. They never supported his desire to travel, to see the world, to experience different ways of life.
Through their unwillingness to encourage Anderson, a rift has formed in our family. No matter what my brother does, I will always be there to cheer him on. I only wish our parents would do the same. And because they haven’t, we have all slowly drifted apart.
“No. And please don’t tell them I’m coming.”
“I won’t. Promise.”
A heavy sigh muffles the line. “Thank you.”
“Always, Baby A.”
“Stopping to eat now. I should be there in a few hours.”
Across the table, Lena spears her salad as if committing homicide. She sits a fraction taller but doesn’t own an ounce of confidence. After dinner, once we are upstairs, she and I are having an in-depth conversation.
“Take your time. I’m at dinner with friends.” Braydon twists in my direction, brows shooting up. I roll my eyes. “Text me when you’re close.”
“I will. Love you, Ales.”
“Love you more, Baby A.”
I end the call, silence my phone, and set it on the table rather than stow it in my purse.
Braydon kisses my temple. “So, you have a little brother?”
I pick up my fork and twirl the tines in my pasta. “I do.” The creamy pasta hits my tongue and I moan.
Beneath the table, Braydon’s fingers wrap around my knee, give a small squeeze, then inch up my thigh and under the fabric of my dress. All thoughts of talking about my brother vanish. I stop chewing. Stop breathing. Force myself not to swallow so I don’t choke on my dinner. His ascent stops midthigh and I take a breath. Start to chew the bite in my mouth. Swallow the bite and take a sip of water.
