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“Just been busy,” Hendrick mutters. “Working and stuff.”
Coleman snorts at the wordstuff. I don’t blame him. I swallow my food, ready to stab another piece, when my mom shifts her questioning to me. “Wells?” she asks.
Exhaling a breath, I lift my gaze to meet hers. She doesn’t say anything. She’s got some salad on her fork, her gaze never leaving mine, her brow arched as she waits. I’m sure she thinks she’s somehow figured something out about me. Perhaps she thinks she’s unlocked some sort of secret.
I have no idea.
It’s my mom, and while she hasn’t used us as experiments, it’s clear she uses her tips and tricks on us without even trying. She’s always been kind and considerate. Has never been cruel or intentionally done anything to mess with our heads, but when this is your job, you know how to speak to people to get information out of them, and she is a master.
“Who was that girl in your office today?” I ask.
I may as well just be honest and open. My mom doesn’t beat around the bush in any way, so being indirect does not always work.
“You know I cannot discuss patients with you,” she says.
Lifting my fork, I give her a smile before I stab another piece of lamb. “I know, but you will because you love me. Plus, you know that what happens at the family table stays at the family table.”
“It does, but this is different,” she murmurs.
“Brenda,” my dad warns.
My mom shakes her head, lifting her wineglass to her lips. “Rules are rules. My ethics are not something I am willing to compromise for someone you wish to have a dalliance with.”
I chuckle at her word—dalliance. I love her. She’s the best and always keeping us boys, now men, on our toes. Like using completely outdated words that have no damn reason being used in a daily conversation, but she always finds a way.
I don’t respond to her, knowing she’ll give me the information I want later, and if she doesn’t, I’ll just find a way into her office to figure it out myself. It’s not like it’s difficult. Along with using unreasonable verbiage on a regular basis, my mother always keeps everything written down on paper, including all of her session notes.
“All right, then,” I murmur, but I haven’t let it go, and she knows this.
The rest of the evening, our conversation turns trivial, and by the time our food is finished and cleaned up, everything that seemed strained in the beginning vanishes. We are now a family, as always. Joking, laughing, and then we stand and make our way into the kitchen.
Me and my brothers get to work on the dishes, a chore that has been ours since we were kids. We make quick work of them with my parents sitting at the bar watching us, the conversation flowing throughout the room.
I’m not sure what it means. If there is anything better. But I do know there are people on this Earth who would kill for this. I would kill for the people in this room. And I can’t wait until we fill this place with even more laughter in the future.
Someday.
Perhaps sooner rather than later.
PARKER
Daytwo of not leaving this condo, and I should probably feel as if the walls are closing in on me, but I don’t. In fact, I could stay here for probably a year before I felt like I needed to venture out into the world.
And this is why I seek counseling and not just online counseling anymore. I could stay in my place and never leave. I would be perfectly content to do it, too. Not seeing another human sounds almost like a version of heaven.
So, I made the appointment, and it took me an entire month, but I made it to her office, and I even spoke with her. But now I need a few days to decompress. It’s not that I’m afraid of being out in the world, but I know I could easily stay away from the world and be happy.
I am afraid of what could happen in the future.
The very near future.
My phone buzzes on the small table next to my adult beanbag chair, a chair that I’m sure has an imprint of my butt on it by now. Reaching over, I glance at the caller ID and let out a sigh. It’s my friend Allison.
I think about ignoring the call. I even set the phone down, trying to forget it’s there. But it buzzes against the table, so I decide to pick it up and answer it.
I don’t know why, but this feels important. Allison is a texter, and to have her call me just sends alarm bells throughout my entire body. She’ll send me a million long-winded paragraphs before she’ll call. This must be important.
I slide my thumb across the screen, then lift it to my ear. As I open my mouth to say hello, I am cut off before I can say anything. She lets out a wail so loud that I have to pull the phone away from my ear for a moment.
