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“She needed heavy cream to make my father’s favorite tortellini.” Hil looked up tickled by a thought. “And, I now know what all of those words mean.”
“Tortellini?” Cali teased.
“Heavy cream. I remember her telling us that and me thinking, what does weight have to do with anything? Was it cream for cubby people?”
“Anyway,” I interrupted. “Hil decided that he was going to make us eggs. So, he took two eggs out of the fridge and put them in the microwave because it was the only thing he knew how to do.”
“Microwaves cook things and I wanted the eggs cooked. So I put them in the microwave,” Hil explained to our laughter.
“Oh no,” Cali exclaimed.
“Oh yes,” I confirmed. “My mother had to then spend the rest of the day cleaning exploded eggs off of everything.”
“She didn’t make Hil clean it up?” Cali asked.
“The princeling?” I teased.
Hil looked away embarrassed. “I would have done it if I was asked. I felt bad.”
“No, sweetie, my mother wanted it clean. If she had asked you, you would still be working on it today.”
“And who would have made this amazing breakfast?” Cali inserted like a good boyfriend.
“I hate you both,” Hil joked, tossing a dish towel at Cali.
I watched Hil and Cali’s interaction. Envy twisted my gut. They laughed. They teased. They were happy.
I skimmed my fingers over the worn tabletop as my mind reverted to Remy, the cause of my grief. His absence echoed in the emptiness I felt. The weight of it drained me.
“I hate what he’s done to you, Dillon,” Hil muttered after a brief silence.
“Who?”
“You know who. Remy should’ve known better.”
“I won’t let you blame him, Hil,” I replied, my words sharp – more so than I’d intended. At Hil’s puzzled expression, I let out a sigh, running a hand through my loose curls.
“You warned me of exactly what would happen if I let myself fall for him. You told me and I chose to ignore it. So what happened is on me as much as Remy. If not more.”
Playing with the silverware, I avoided the empathetic gaze of my two friends. Cali clapped his hands together, leveling me with a stern look. “No, Dillon. And I’m sorry to say this about your brother, Hil, but that man is a prick and an asshole.”
“So, you’re saying he can fuck himself?” I asked after some thought.
Cali froze thinking about what I had said before relaxing into laughter. Hil and I joined in.
“Yeah, he can fuck himself,” Cali clarified.
“But, if I could do that, why would I leave my house?” A voice asked drawing our attention to the doorway.
“Remy?” I said immediately awash in all of my painful emotions.
Shooting across the kitchen and grabbing Remy’s formal dress shirt in his fists, Cali was enraged.
“You have some nerve showing up here after the fucked-up shit you pulled,” Cali snapped.
I hadn’t seen him since leaving him standing naked in his bedroom in Paris. Yet there he stood framed by the morning sun. His broad shoulders filled the kitchen doorway, and despite the threatening grip Cali had on him, his dark eyes met mine.
He looked…wrecked like a storm had bruised his spirit. This was a far cry from his usual composed demeanor. Even his usually crisp shirt hung on him sloppily.
