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“Who would I tell? My friends are back at Pembroke Prep.”
There’s bitterness in his voice.
Perhaps I’ve been expecting Hemingway to fend for himself during this absence. I check in on him a few times a day, and I’ve been working from home more to be accessible, but that’s not the same thing as parenting. That’s not the same thing as guidance. All the more reason not to become a father. I’m already a shitty older brother.
I’ve been distracted by Eva Morelli.
I set the book of poetry aside. “I can make a call to the dean. He’s digging in his heels because he’s a…” A homophobic asshole, to be specific. It’s not the sex in the bathroom that bothers him as much as that it was between two boys. “I’ll make him see reason.”
Money or threats. Those are the two things that make the world go round.
“Or,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “Maybe you could move back home.”
His eyebrows lift. “Really?”
“Only if you want to. I know it’s probably more fun hanging out with boys your own age rather than me and dad. Our idea of a good time is meatloaf night.”
He frowns. Looks away. Hesitates.
His nervousness shimmers in the air.
“Hem?”
“I really want to live at home.” The words spill out in a rush, as if they’ve been pent up too long. “Everyone else does. They just drive in every day. It’s only like forty-five minutes.”
“I hadn’t realized it bothered you.”
He looks at me like I’m insane. “The only other kids who have to board are like foreign royalty, where their parents want them educated in the States but they have to stay in their home country. Or because their families hate them. That’s what people assume about me.”
Fuck. “That’s not why you’re boarding there.”
An eye roll. “Because I’ll be depressed if I live with my dad. Then why can’t I live with her and travel the country, if she’s that concerned about me? The actor in the new Batman movie, his kid goes to Pembroke, and she gets remote work when they travel.”
It’s a good point. “Okay. You can come back and live here if you want. I’ll handle Mom.”
Now I sound like Eva, handling the family. It’s true, though. Someone has to. Maybe that’s why I understand her so well. I know how responsibility drives you. Which sounds like a good thing, until you forget to eat or sleep or live your own life.
He grins. “Great.”
It does feel surprisingly great, knowing he’ll live here now. “Great.”
“Now tell me the truth… you and this Morelli chick. Are you using protection?” He uses a low, imperious tone that I assume is what I sounded like when I asked him the same question.
Which is painful, because of course I didn’t use protection the first time. Stupid of me. Impossibly stupid. I’ve used a condom every time after that, but I can hardly judge him for losing his head, since I did, too. “First of all, her name is Eva Morelli. You may call her Eva or Ms. Morelli, but not that Morelli chick. Secondly, none of your business.”
“Then why is it your business if I use protection?”
“Where did you hear about it, anyway?”
“Someone sent me a post on Instagram. Apparently you’re this influencer’s soulmate and she wants to, and I quote, cut a bitch for making you fall in love. She was mostly joking, but she had enough violence in her eyes that I wouldn’t trust Ms. Eva Morelli alone with her.”
It’s not ideal that social media has picked this up. We asked the family to keep it quiet, but it was only a matter of time before it got out. “If anyone asks you anything—”
“Don’t comment. I’ve been a Hughes my whole life, you know. I know the drill.”
“Right.” I run a hand over my face. “Listen, I don’t have a date tonight.”
“Is she getting tired of you already?” he asks with exaggerated sympathy.
