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Macallan No. 6.
Ernest’s favorite.
It stings, but not in my throat, more in the backs of my eyes, the memory of all the drinks I had with him lingering on my lips. I take another sip, concentrating on the way it collects in the dipof my tongue and then glides, smooth as silk, down the back of my throat.
“You doing okay, bro?” Kylian asks as he joins us with his own glass in his hand. He was the first one to jump on a plane from Hong Kong when I’d texted into my family’s group chat to tell them that Ernest had taken his last breath. He knows what it’s like to lose a mentor.
“He’s fine,” Damien answers for me as he and Matthias join us. Damien is like me the same way Kylian and Matthias are like each other. They’re the light to our shadows; we’re the quiet to their chatty. Hearts prominently splashed on their sleeves, while most of the world sometimes wonders if Damien and I even have hearts.
I give him an appreciative nod. He’s barely said a word since he arrived in London, but he’s also barely left my side. We sat in silence for hours last night in my den, him quietly working while I agonized over the short eulogy that Alex, Ernest’s foster son and also Ernest’s wife’s nephew, requested of me.
“It’s good to see all my boys,” Dad says, giving Kylian a pat on his shoulder. With all four of us heading up different regions of Baxter Enterprises, we try to get into the same room on the same continent as much as possible, but sometimes months can go by without the four of us, let alone all five of us, in the same space.
“Don’t say it,” I warn Kylian, flicking my eyes at him.
“What?” he replies defensively.
“You were going to say ‘If only it were in different circumstances.’”
His mouth falls open. “No, I wasn’t!”
Matthias chuckles into his glass. “You totally were. It’s just the kind of sappy cliché shit you’d say.”
“Dad!”
Our father bites back a smile. “Don’t listen to them, my little sunshine boy,” he says to his thirty-four-year-old baby child, pinching his cheek.
That makes even Damien almost laugh, something he saves only for us and his wife, My-Linh.
“Oh my god, Dad!” Kylian shouts again.
“Shhh. Little sunshine boy needs to use his inside voice,” Matthias teases with a grin on his face.
“Guys, shush. Alex is coming,” Damien warns and takes a step back, making room in the tight little circle that always seems to form when we’re together.
“Jeremy, thank you for making it. My uncle would be so mad to have missed seeing you,” Alex Hamilton gently jokes, respectfully extending his hand to our father. Although Ernest had never officially adopted him, Alex changed his last name to Hamilton when he turned eighteen and has long been accepted as the heir apparent.
Dad takes it and gives it a firm shake, then reaches over with his other hand and squeezes Alex’s shoulder. “Well, I don’t know about that. The last time I saw him a few years ago, he told me he wished I would take that queen of his I ‘stole’ and shove it somewhere that would’ve been incredibly uncomfortable for me.”
Alex chuckles quietly. “Ah, yes, threatening violence with chess pieces, his highest form of flattery.”
Dad laughs and then sobers. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Alex. We were lucky to know him.”
“We were.” Alex’s voice catches, and we give him a moment to compose himself.
In our father’s presence, we all hang back, when normally we are used to holding court in whatever room we’re in. Our shared last name comes with heightened attention that we’re all accustomed to. But while he rarely makes an appearance, ourfather naturally puts people at ease. He pulled out of Baxter Enterprises almost twenty-five years ago to live a simple life as a university business professor and, as far as I know, has never regretted the decision even once. But it’s always interesting to wonder where our company would be if it were he who was going to sit in that CEO’s chair and not me. No need to know that he would’ve been a hundred times the CEO that his deadbeat brother proved to be.
The thought of Uncle Gerry again sours the whiskey in my mouth, and I place the glass on the nearby bar table, pushing the thoughts of the traitor out of my mind.
“Once things have settled down a bit, could we talk in a week or two, Kingsley?” Alex says to me after some more small talk with my brothers. “Ernest left a few things that he wanted passed onto you.”
I nod with a tight smile. “Of course. Whenever is best for you.”
Alex chuckles. “Well, you’re ten times as busy as I am,” he says, with just a tinge of bitterness. “But yes, maybe when things have settled down a bit. There’s, er, just something Ernest wanted you to… have.” He turns to our father again. “Well, I’ll let you guys get back to catching up. You probably don’t get to see each other much. I only wish it were under different circumstances.”
Kylian sniffs and adds, “Exactly.”
Luckily, Alex steps away before he hears Matthias choke on his drink.
