Milán
I stand in front of my closet, increasingly frantic about my lack of options.
Most of my wardrobe can be summarized in one word: slob.
There are a lot of sweatpants and sweatshirts in there.
Lots of T-shirts. A few pairs of jeans. I swear I own more than this meager selection, but by now, I’m not quite sure where most of it is.
I huff in frustration, slam the doors shut, and stalk to Aiden’s room. He’s sprawled out on the bed, a pillow covering his head, snoring softly. The blinds are drawn, and Aiden is dead to the world.
I hit the light switch and slide the door of his wardrobe open. Hangers clatter while I rummage through the selection.
“I hope you’re planning to murder me shortly, because one way or another, a homicide is going to take place in this room.”
“You’re not awake. This is all happening in a dream,” I say distractedly while I pull a shirt off a hanger.
“More like in a nightmare,” he grumbles and presses his face into a pillow. “Go away!”
“Do these go together?” I hold up a pair of dark gray slacks and a light blue button-down. “And do you have shoes and a belt for this?”
“I hope you die a long and painful death,” he says before he drops the pillow and pushes himself up into a sitting position. He frowns at me. “Why are you dressing up?”
“The world deserves the eye candy.” I snap my fingers. “Seriously. Shoes. Belt.”
“Seriously. Fuck. Off.”
“Give me what I want, and I’ll be gone in a minute.”
He growls, throws the pillow onto the floor, and rolls off the bed. “Big brothers are great, they said,” he mutters. “Of course you should find yours, Aiden, they said. Fucking liars, all of them.”
He pulls open a drawer and slaps a belt into my hand, then picks out a shoe box with a label and a photograph of the shoes it contains.
“You know, this level of organization is not healthy at all.”
He ignores me while he looks me up and down with a frown. “Where are you headed?”
“A birthday dinner.”
He leans his shoulder against the wall. “That’s nice. Whose birthday?”
“Theo’s.”
He nods and sends me a long look.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with them.”
I sniff pointedly. “I smell another lecture.”
“No,” he says indignantly.
I quirk my brow at him. He stares back at me, jaw clenched.
And breaks.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he mutters.
I laugh and pat him on the cheek. “Wouldn’t dream of it, little brother.”
After I solve Rory’s outfit-related crisis—I suggested wearing a T-shirt with no stains on it, but he couldn’t find any—we’re the last to arrive.
“Hey,” Jordan says as he opens the door and ushers us in.
Theo is there in a snap, and he pulls Rory into the living room and in front of a gaming console, leaving just me and Jordan in the hallway, where a murmur of voices carries over from the kitchen, peppered with an occasional chorus of laughter.
“We’re late,” I say. “Sorry.”
He laughs. “It’s a birthday dinner, not school.” His eyes move up and down me. “You look nice.”
Warmth spreads inside me.
I quirk my brow at his bare feet, jeans, and T-shirt.
“I’m way overdressed,” I say.
“Good. Show some of those slobs how it’s done.”
I laugh, and he beams at me.
“Come on in. I’ll introduce you to everybody.”
We head toward the kitchen, and I do my best to not concentrate on how good Jordan looks tonight.
Don’t do anything stupid.
It’s as if now that I’ve admitted the crush to myself, it’s become that much harder to resist the temptation.
Jordan’s kitchen always feels the way I imagine a family kitchen should feel. There’s warm lighting, a long dining table, and each chair has been painted a different bright color.
“It smells amazing.” I inhale with appreciation.
“Sutton did the cooking. You’re in for a treat. He’s almost like our very own professional chef.”
We cross the threshold.
“Everybody, this is Milán,” Jordan says loudly, and all eyes turn to me. Jordan grins at me and starts pointing people out. “This is my dad, Remy. You’ve already seen Wren and Sutton. And this is Kira.”
I nod and smile and say hello, then take a seat at the table.
I settle in and listen while the conversation flows effortlessly all around me. I do my best not to be too obvious about it when I look at Kira, but I’m also too curious to resist.
I’ve never seen a photo of her, so I had no idea what to expect, but somehow she fits exactly into the slot I have for her in my mind. She’s tall and slim, with long auburn hair that falls in loose strands over her shoulders. Her nose tilts slightly upward, and she has perfect, pouty lips.
Her eyes are the same shape and shade of blue as Theo’s, and they both have a handful of freckles dotted over their nose and cheekbones, and a slight gap between their front teeth.
She’s dressed in a pair of tight black pants and a silk blouse with a big bow at the throat.
She’s beautiful, and there’s a kind of quiet elegance about her.
Can I imagine her with Jordan? Not really. But that might have more to do with the fact that I don’t want to imagine her with Jordan, not that I can’t imagine her with Jordan.
They’d make a stunning couple.
“Milán,” Wren says with a friendly smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you for real. I’ve heard so much about you from both Jordan and Theo.”
“Likewise,” I say. “And I get to thank you in person for the art supplies advice.”
He waves me off. “Anytime.”
“He means it,” Sutton says, tugging at Wren’s earlobe with an affectionate smile.
Jordan takes the seat next to me, leans back, and aims an easy grin my way.
I’m wondering if there’s some official etiquette related to how you’re supposed to behave in front of the closest family of the guy you’re reluctantly and pointlessly crushing on. If there is, I’ve missed that lesson.
I don’t know why I expected to feel awkward. Because I’m a stranger? Because my kid punched their kid not that long ago? Because of the ill-advised… fascination?
Everything goes smoothly, though.
Conversation flows easily, and I mostly get to sit back and observe, only making an occasional appropriate conversational noise or answering a question directed at me.
Jordan’s father is a quiet man in his late sixties who barely says a word, but watches everything with an air of calm about him—something he’s clearly passed on to his son.
Wren talks about his new job and how he accidentally set off the fire alarm, so the whole building had to evacuate. Sutton has his arm thrown over the back of Wren’s chair, and every now and then he slides his palm over Wren’s forearm, a soft smile on his face.
Jordan puts on a playlist from his phone and makes sure wine glasses are filled.
Theo comes in, with Rory following close behind, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, with Dog at his heels.
Sutton pulls a large pan of lasagna out of the oven and places it in the middle of the table.
“Mushroom lasagna, as ordered by the birthday boy,” he says, and ruffles Theo’s hair.
Kira leans forward and inhales. “Oh, this smells wonderful, Sutton.”
“Hey!” Wren protests. “I helped. Where’s my praise?”
His sister quirks her brow. “I was here. You were just sitting at the table the whole time.”
“Yeah. Keeping out of the way. Just like I’ve been ordered to many times before. It’s my best skill in the kitchen. It’s a step up from when he used to send me to the store because he ‘forgot’ to buy something.”
“It was just the one time, and I actually did need those oranges.”
“Sure you did. Three days later.”
Everybody laughs.
Wren and Sutton exchange glances, and there’s so much naked, unfiltered love in there.
It’s weird that I notice. It’s weird that instead of internally scoffing at it, I feel something unexpected.
Curiosity.
What would this feel like? This kind of easy belonging. The feeling of finding somebody you effortlessly click with and then simply believing in them so much that you’re willing to take the risk.
I’ve never wanted to know.
I’ve also never felt like I’ve been missing something in my life, but now, sitting here in this kitchen that’s filled with warmth and affection and love, I’m keenly aware that this is something I’ve never had.
You don’t want this a voice scoffs in my head. But it’s weak, and somewhat unsure all of a sudden.
I’m suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling that this is how normal people experience love and family.
That this is a possibility for some.
My heart has started beating too fast.
With some magic intuition, Jordan leans toward me.
“Okay?” he asks quietly.
I smile at him. “Yeah. All good.”
It’s both a truth and a lie, and the two intertwine in a way I can’t even begin to untangle for myself.
We finish the lasagna, and Jordan gets up.
I get to my feet, too, and help him clear the table.
He brings out the cake and hands me a box of birthday candles.
We stand at the counter, side by side, and I can feel the warmth of his body while we laugh and argue about how to best put the candles on the cake.
I say we put them in the shape of the number fourteen.
Jordan thinks we should do candles all over the top of the cake.
We bicker about it.
Laugh some more.
I push his hip with mine. He’s laughing so hard he needs to clutch the edge of the counter to stay upright.
We each hold one side of the cake dish when we carry it to the table and place it in front of Theo.
Somebody flicks off the lights, so Theo’s illuminated by the candlelight, grinning ear to ear.
Dog jumps up and puts his front paws on the table, and Rory laughs—loud and happy—when Dog pushes his nose into the side of the cake and then gets a dopey, surprised look on his face, nose covered in frosting.
I take out my phone and film it when we all sing Theo happy birthday, and he blows out the candles. I take photos of him with Jordan and Kira kissing his cheeks and laugh when he looks both happy and just a tiny bit embarrassed.