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He winces as he shakes his head. “Fuck no. Tell me there’s real food somewhere.” Owen opens the fridge door and brings out two beers, ignoring the ridiculously giant magnum of champagne chilling in a bucket next to him and passes me a bottle.
I’m about to open it and take a sip when Max steals it from my hand. “Hey!” I shriek.
He sips the drink, shrugging. “It’s my birthday.”
“Our birthday, dickhead,” Owen scolds.
They’re technically identical twins, but they have some differences. Max has short, perfectly swooped over dark blonde hair, and his eyes are green. Owen, though, keeps his hair short because it annoys him, and he has blue eyes like me. When I was younger, I followed Max everywhere; I made him play Barbies with me, and he’d do it without complaint, while Owen always had his head in a book. They both play the role of the protective big brother well. God knows I’d never introduce anyone to them now. They’d scare them right off.
“How does it feel to be thirty-five then, boys?” Seren asks, breezing into the kitchen again, my mother on her heels.
“I always found that a weird thing to say to people on their birthday, like I’m going to have some sort of epiphany on the day and feel different. I don’t, by the way. Still the same me.” Owen has always been black and white and more concerned about how he can try and make everything into a mathematical equation than decipher that awkward human nature, hence why he runs my father’s finance department for him.
“Dude, you’re so fucking weird,” Max scoffs as he downs his–no,mybeer.
“Language, son.” I’d know that booming voice anywhere. It made me angry so many times growing up, and even as an adult, it has the same effect. The hair on the back of my neck stands to attention, waiting for the moment he acknowledges my existence.
“Zoey. You look well.” He doesn’t attempt eye contact either, just like Mum, who has disappeared, likely to feed that Valium addiction. I take in his broad shoulders—exactly the same as my brother’s—the suit he’s wearing, as though he’s going to the office and not relaxing at home. His greying hair and the wrinkles that have formed on his face. My dad is incredibly handsome, but beauty doesn’t make him a nice person, unfortunately.
“Good to see you, Dad.” I’m lying through my teeth, but I promised myself I’d be civil for my brother’s sake. I lean in and kiss my father’s cheek dutifully. I mean, it’s no secret that I’m the black sheep of the family, the surprise baby they never should’ve had, and over the years that’s taken its toll on our relationship. My father and I can barely co-exist because I wouldn’t join his prestigious multi-billion-pound insurance company like my brothers did, but tonight is not the time to dwell on that. I won’t ruin things for my big brothers.
He turns to smile at them, and his hazel eyes soften as I get a glimpse of the dad who used to push me on our garden swing when I was little. My chest tightens at the memory and the reality clashing so fervently in front of me. My dad openly loves my brothers, while all he shows me is disdain. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but fuck, I’m not. My eyes sting as I force away the tears trying to spill from them. I know I was a wild child growing up, and when it became obvious that I wasn’t going to be the perfect socialite daughter they wanted or the future CEO of Bancroft Insurance, their interest dwindled. They think everything I do is to spite them, like spending the first half of my trust fund on the animal shelter I saved from closing down.
I watch as he embraces both boys and then walks outside through the bi-fold doors to the patio area, laughing and joking with them. My heart sinks a little in my chest before I steel myself again. He doesn’t get to make me feel bad anymore. I decided that the day I turned eighteen and moved out of this stupid house.
A small hand wraps around my shoulder, comforting me. Seren has always been the one to pick up my pieces every time my father upset me, but not today. I won’t let him win. I tap her hand, silently asking her to stop because if she doesn’t, I might burst into tears.
“I’m fine, really S.” I look down and scoff, warding off more emotions before they bubble up. “Our boys will not make it through the next hour without more food than this.” I gesture to the trays of tiny snacks.
Seren shrugs, not wanting to upset my mother, who has joined us again. I turn around and walk towards her, swallowing down my pride. “Mother, do you think we need more food?”
She doesn’t look up from her phone. “More food? Don’t be ridiculous.”
I think she’s the one being ridiculous, only giving those two behemoths that are her sons pigeon food for dinner. But whatever, Mother knows best.
An hour later, we all sit around outside. My mother glares as I strum my fingers on the glass tabletop, filling the silence.
“So, tell me, Zoey, how are things with you?” she asks, making my eyebrows rise. She never asks about me. I hesitate because I half expect her to laugh and take the question back. I sit up taller and refrain from strumming my fingers.
“Things are good, thanks, Mum.” I honestly don’t know what to say. This is the first time she’s asked about me in years, and I’m bewildered.
“And your friends? Jess, is it?” I nod suspiciously, wondering where she’s going with this. “She got married, didn’t she?” she continues. “To Liam Taylor, yes? Such a nice man, too. From a wealthy family. Good for Jess.”
And there it is. Give it a second. I’m sure there’s more.
“What about you? Aren’t you wanting to find someone like Liam? I’m sure he has friends he could introduce you to. It's best to do it now while you’re young, rather than spending all your time with rodents. Besides, you know you won’t get the remainder of your trust fund until you’re married.”
My skin prickles with frustration. “Rodents? Marriage? You know that’s unfair,” I huff like the petulant child she thinks I am.
My mother turns to my father and blatantly whisper shouts so we can all hear. “Perhaps we should stipulate more terms for her trust fund, like what happens to the money after so many years married. We never know what she—”
“Stop, please.” Max’s voice booms through the whisper, and everyone swings their heads to look at him. Owen shifts next to me, his face continually stoic, though I think I see his jaw tick. They rarely got involved when we were growing up. I don’t hold it against them, though; this isn’t their fight. So, I’m surprised he’s challenging them now.
Silence falls across the table. It’s heavy and suffocating. “There’s no need to talk about Zoey like she isn’t here. She can hear you. We all can,” he adds, his jaw ticking again.
The glare from Max to my mother is… interesting. His eyes are fiery, and the way he’s gripping his beer, his knuckles are almost white. But when he turns to face me, his whole face softens to look more like my Max, my big brother and best friend.
“How’s work, Zo?” I know he’s asking because he’s genuinely interested in my life, but answering that question after the snide comments from my mother is going to cause problems.
