25. Cory
Chapter twenty-five
Cory
"C an someone please tell me why we left Mom's apple crumble and the game to freeze our balls off out here?" Damon grumbles. He trails behind Noah and me as we walk toward Fort Greene Park.
"Because," Noah answers, "Cory could use a little 'herbal refreshment' and he's tired of Mom catching him in the back garden."
"Nah, we could've smoked back at the house. She hasn't caught me since high school. I just knew coming out here would piss Damon off."
I turn to see him giving me the finger and step right into a puddle. My Nike SB Dunk high-tops in the stained glass pattern are soaked through to the socks. Shit! There goes three hundred bucks.
It feels good to be with my brothers. Even in the bitter cold of New York in late November, walking down soggy, uneven streets instead of cozy in Mom and Dad's living room. It's corny, but their brotherhood warms me. Not that I'll ever tell them. We bust each other's balls enough as it is.
None of them know how it was supposed to be. That Thanksgiving was going to be Denise and I's coming out as a couple after way too long sneaking around. But, from the looks I caught over the roast ham with pineapple and Maya's mouthwatering buttermilk biscuits—which were better than Mom's yeast rolls, but no one's dumb enough to admit that—they know something's up. Noah's little dig about me needing "herbal refreshment" just confirmed it. I just hope none of them asks about it. I'm still way too raw.
"Is that why we're out here?" Adam asks, pulling his jacket tighter. "I thought we were walking off all that rich food." Oh, baby bro. So innocent.
All through dinner, I kept waiting for him to corner me. To ask why I messed with his wife's friend. But if she told him, his poker face has improved by leaps and bounds, because he seems clueless.
Why wouldn't she tell him? I wonder. Is she hoping this whole thing will blow over? I know I am.
She's been a little colder than usual,—not making eye contact and treating me more like a distant cousin than a new brother—but nothing drastic. She's probably trying to avoid any drama. A big blowout on Thanksgiving is so cliché.
"That explains why the narc stayed back at the house," Damon says. Henry's not that kind of lawyer, and weed's been legal in the city for a while now, but he still prefers to steer clear. Except those couple years in undergrad that he thinks none of us know about…
"Why not be both? Fresh air and a little greenery." Noah says with a sly grin.
"True, true," Damon snickers. "So where's Maya, then?"
"Does she partake?" Noah asks Adam with a lift of his eyebrow. I'm curious, too, though I'm certainly glad she's not out here with us right now. Adam smirks.
"She's not a pothead like this one," Adam jokes, playfully bumping my shoulder with his, "but, every now and then, she'll take an edible and bake a batch of cookies or something. And after…"
He lets the sentence drop, grinning to himself. Looks like baby bro has discovered the joys of high sex.
" Anyway ," he continues, "she wanted to stay behind and help Mom with the dishes."
Damon moans.
"Aw, man. First the pie, now helping with the dishes? Pretty soon, she'll be Mom's favorite!" he whines. Ever the middle child, Damon is oblivious.
"It's not like you had any chance, bro," Noah teases. Damon grumbles something under his breath.
"C'mon, guys. Mom and Dad don't have favorites," Adam says, and both Noah and I stifle a laugh.
"Spoken like someone who knows he's Mom's favorite," I respond. Adam's smile turns smug before he can hide it.
"Whatever," he says, and Noah laughs out loud this time.
On a holiday, and given the snow from three days ago that's still piled high on some portions of the trail, the park is practically deserted. There's an elderly gentleman walking his dog across the way, and another group of maybe siblings?—two sisters and a brother—pass while talking animatedly. From the smell of it, they too are taking the proverbial post-Thanksgiving "walk around the block".
I lead us around the track in the other direction of the group and pull the joint from my jacket. After three tries to light it,— fuck this wind —I take a long, deep pull. The smoke fills my lungs, and the familiar euphoria comes over my body. Not strong enough to numb the pain, but enough to dull it. To push it to the back burner and laugh for a while with my brothers. At least they'll never leave me.
But is that even true, with Adam married and Henry not far behind? They're bound to have kids, to move away. Next year, Adam might spend Thanksgiving with Maya's family. Henry and Camila might celebrate in Westchester. Damon might not make it home next year; after all, they don't have Thanksgiving in Europe. And Noah's already missed a few Thanksgivings to chase after A-list clients.
Then it'll just be me, Mom, and Dad around the dinner table while everyone else moves on with their lives. God, how depressing is it that?
I take another pull from the joint before passing it to Noah. He takes a hit, then doubles over.
"Damnit, Cory! This shit is too strong!" Noah complains between coughs. "What are you trying to do? Have an out-of-body experience?"
Adam and Damon laugh while I pat Noah on the back. He shoves the offending joint away and Adam takes it, still grinning. We walk in silence for a while. A bird squawks loudly in the distance and boisterous laughter comes from someone's open window.
"Hey," Adam says to Damon through a cloud of smoke, "did your season schedule change? I don't remember having your going away dinner this year."
Damon suddenly looks uncomfortable. Come to think of it, it's November. He's usually back overseas by October, at the latest. He comes home for the holidays, sure, but Adam's right. There wasn't a going away dinner.
"My schedule's a little different this year," Damon mutters, reaching for the joint. "Coach said they want to give the younger players more court time. They don't need me…until later in the season."
Adam nods, like Damon's explanation sounds reasonable, but something feels off. Damon's attitude has been so shitty lately, we started a text thread without him. Henry thinks he's just pissed to have to share Adam with Maya,—they are BFFs, after all—but my Spidey senses say that's not it.
"That's cool," Adam says after another puff. "And sorry I didn't notice sooner. Between the wedding, the honeymoon, and now looking for a new place, I've been a little preoccupied."
"Don't worry about it," Damon snaps before snatching the joint and stomping down the path at a much faster pace than the rest of us. Noah rolls his eyes.
"What are we gonna do about that guy? Does he need to get laid or something?"
"Hell if I know," Adam says with a shrug. "He only answers about half my calls these days."
"Do we need to, like, stage an intervention or something?" Noah asks hesitantly. "I can't deal with two brothers acting like assholes," he says, looking at me meaningfully. I flip him the bird and kick a stray pinecone off the path.
"In Cory's defense," Adam begins, "he's been way more tolerable since the wedding. I think I even saw him smile at family dinner a few weeks ago."
"Fuck you, man," I snort.
"But that was weeks ago," Noah continues like I never spoke. "Since then, he's been moping around like someone kicked his puppy."
"Did something happen, bro?" Adam asks. His face is so earnest. I want to tell him. Want to share the burden of this all-consuming heartbreak. But he's a newlywed, and Maya and I were just starting to get over our beef. Better for everyone to keep thinking I'm a miserable asshole.
"Just work stuff," I lie. "It feels like I'll never get a promotion, no matter how hard I work." Which is, sadly, true. Noah puts his hand on my shoulder.
"You should leave that place. Every time you talk about it, you're either complaining or telling us about some wild shit that legit sounds like hazing."
"And go where?" I challenge. "The pay is insane, even as a grunt."
"But you could do the same thing somewhere else, right?" Adam asks hopefully. "Somewhere you don't get passed up for a promotion every year?"
"Maybe," I hedge. "Lets catch up with Damon."
I jog ahead while Noah and Adam lag behind, likely talking shit about me. They're the biggest gossips of all of us.
I don't want to talk about work. I don't want to talk about Denise. I just want to get through the holidays and hope the new year brings some fresh distractions.