40. Cooper
40
Cooper
“ H
ey, Coop!” Delaney opens the door to the small apartment where she and Miles live.
It’s still a little strange seeing Miles’ once-tiny studio turned into a living space. Once he opened his studio across the street, Delaney made him switch their one-room apartment into an actual bedroom with a real—and actual—bed. How the man slept on a couch bed for years, I will never know.
I grip the pastry box in my hands. “Are you—” I say, seeing Delaney with her jacket and sunglasses in hand.
“Yeah,” she says before I can finish my sentence. “I’m on my way out. Miles is here, though.” She slips her arms into her navy jacket. “Are you still seeing Leah?”
“Oh yeah.” I don’t plan to stop. “We went bowling just a few nights ago—I met her parents too.” I adjust the pink Sweet Swirls box from my left hand to my right.
“Wow.” She slips by me, trading places in this small entry. “You showed her how badly you suck at bowling and met her parents. This must be serious. ”
I clear my throat. It’s good to see Delaney happy—she’s usually happy. And yet, she’s going through real heartache—she told me as much. “I hope so.”
She grins. “You’re a good one, Coop. Kind, loving, easy on the eyes. And you’re a great listener. She’s lucky.” She pats my shoulder, then turns for the door. “I already said bye to Miles—feel free to sneak up on him.” And with that, she’s gone.
But I’m not here to prank my brother. I want to talk. I’m here to see how I can help. I can’t stand being useless anymore. And Leah keeps telling me to talk to him. She says, like her abuelo, I’m a helper—which strangely thrilled me.
“Miles?” I call.
My brother pokes his brown curls out into the Delaney-made living room. “Coop?” he says past the toothbrush in his mouth.
“Hey. Delaney let me in.”
“Mom’s okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod, my fingers tightening over Leah’s bakery box. “She’s great.”
“No work?” he says, and toothpaste dribbles down his chin.
“I’m going in late. Um.” I swallow. “Can we talk?” I don’t think Delaney told him that she explained their situation to me. I think he would have said something. And Delaney called it a secret. But if I know and he knows–isn’t it okay if we know that the other knows? I just want to learn what I can. I can’t help without information.
But this is weird. How do you tell someone that you know something about them?
And then—it hits me. I’m not going to tell him. Miles needs to tell me himself. Mom used to say something that I never understood until I got older—maybe not truly until this very second. When one of us struggled, she’d gather the family, all of us boys, into a room together, and she’d tell us we were going to be vulnerable together .
“Talk?” Miles says. “Sure, let me finish up.” He holds up the toothbrush in his hands.
I sit on Miles’ couch, the one Delaney bought, the pastry box on my lap. I never thought this little studio would look like a home, but it does. It’s peaceful and serene. It feels like Miles, and Delaney too.
Two minutes later, Miles is back with cans of soda. He holds one out to me.
“Thanks,” I say. “I brought you and Laney a roll from Leah’s shop.” I set the pink Sweet Swirls box on the coffee table and take one of the sodas he’s offering.
“You sound nervous, Coop.” Miles peers at me through the lens of his glasses and offers that calm smile. He was always the calm in the Bailey brother chaos.
I swallow. “I am nervous.”
“Is everything okay with Leah? You two seem good together.”
“We are. Everything’s great. I—” I swallow. “I’m here to tell you why I moved back to Coeur d’Alene.”
Vulnerable together.
“Oh.” He pushes up on the rim of his glasses, his forehead wrinkled.
And then, I tell my brother my story. I tell him how I took on Green Timbers. I tell him how I was so confident. I tell him how I won the case. And how I paid for it greatly when I learned about Duwamish Lumber. Bluewave Law fired me right then, right there, not caring that I was someone they once called an asset. Clearly, I’d proved them wrong.
I tell him how I never told Mom or any of the brothers. I tell him how I planned to never tell another human—other than Barney. My pride wouldn’t let me.
I tell him about the loans I’ve yet to pay back and the Macias case I almost lost.
I tell him how I failed. Miserably . How my ego plummeted into the toilet and then got flushed time after time after time.
I tell him every single awful detail.
Miles blinks when I’ve finished. “Wow.”
“Yep.”
“That’s a lot,” he says.
“Yep.”
Miles shakes his head. “Are you okay? Maybe this is your?—”
“I’m okay. I promise.”
“You haven’t told Mom?”
“No. But I will.” Most likely tonight.
“Coop—why tell me now? What’s changed?”
“Because you’re my brother. And brothers should be able to tell one another about the hardest parts of their lives. I’ve been holding it in alone when I needed to be vulnerable together.”
My older brother, quiet and kind, cracks. He knows the saying as well as I do. His eyes go red, and he sniffs. He runs a hand beneath his nose, and then a small whimper escapes him. “We’ve been—” he says, clearing his throat. “We’ve been trying for a baby.”
I don’t say all the things I might have. An uninformed Coop, an over-eager Coop, a Coop who hadn’t known loss and disappointment would have cheered. He wouldn’t have let Miles finish. No, he would have been so busy googling I’m-going-to-be-an-uncle-again T-shirts that he wouldn’t have noticed the pain in Miles’ eyes.
I don’t do any of that. I know better. I keep my mouth shut. I listen. I let him speak. I let him share his hard, his way.
“Laney never even knew she wanted kids until she spent time with Alice and Lula,” he says, his voice shaky. “But she does. And so do I. Only it’s not looking good. We’ve been to the doctor and—” He shakes his head. “I watch her heart break day after day, night after night.”
I wrap an arm around my brother and hold him like he held me when we were kids. Dad had promised to come home for Christmas, but he didn’t. It was the first of many no-show holidays. And while Miles was probably saddened by this too, he held me and let eight-year-old Coop cry on his shoulder. Vulnerable together.
It’s Miles’ turn to cry. I get the sense he hasn’t yet, that he’s been strong for Delaney.
I’m not sure how long it’s been when he raises his head, eyes red. “I have a class soon.”
I nod. “Okay.” My pulse races, but I have to get the words out. “Miles, when I worked at Bluewave Law, I had a coworker who I helped with an adoption case. I know how to do it. And I’m ready and yours if you and Delaney ever decide to go that route.”
His brow wrinkles, but he gives me the smallest of nods.
One day I’ll remind him that Coco has an adopted family. That she loves them fiercely. That there are multiple ways to become parents. That he and Delaney will be the best parents.
But not today. Today, I let my offer and our confessions wash over us both. I let it all settle. I know I can help. One day, I will.