Chapter 11
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
LIAM
Sunday morning finds me in the sunniest of moods.
I’m in Ava and Myles’ kitchen, cooking them some brunch and listening to a nineties radio station.
Myles is sitting in front of his laptop, Charlie against his chest in some kind of rubber chair that looks like a potty even though it isn’t, and Ava is pulling weeds in their yard.
As I break some eggs into the pan, Will Smith comes on, “Getting’ Jiggy Wit It”.
“Bring it… uh uh uh…”
Charlie blinks, his head tipping to the side. He looks like he’s ready for some fun so I join in the rap and tell him to be on his mark and get ready, let’s go…
He gurgles as I point at him with the wooden spatula, still rapping the lyrics. I’m actually surprised I can remember them all. This song has to be more than twenty years old. Maybe more like twenty-five.
All I know is that one summer we’d played it on repeat while at Misty Lakes. In the days before smartphones and WIFI, back when we thought we were going to rule the world.
Charlie’s still watching, his mouth closing and opening almost like he’s trying to join in.
And when I get to the chorus he gurgles louder. Almost hiccups.
“Wait,” Myles says. “Shit, did he just laugh?”
“You just swore in front of your kid,” I point out.
“Fu—.” He shakes his head. “Sing it again.”
“We’re on the next verse now,” I point out.
“Just keep rapping,” Myles urges. Words I never thought would come from my brother’s mouth.
I shrug and walk over to Charlie. We’re almost at the next chorus. I sing the high summertime and tell him we’re getting jiggy with it, and Charlie laughs again.
Myles starts to move in what I think is some kind of dance. Charlie’s still laughing and it’s completely intoxicating.
I feel like I’m the king of the world. No wonder Will loved singing this song.
When it comes to an end, Myles grabs his phone and opens Spotify, putting the song on once more. Then he pauses it. “Go get Ava,” he tells me, his phone still trained on his son.
“You get her.”
“I don’t want to stop recording. In case it breaks the magic.”
I think about teasing him but I know exactly what he means. We need to recreate this for her. So I run to the door and call her in. She stands from where she’s weeding and walks inside, looking bemused.
“Just watch this,” Myles says, putting Will back on again. And I do the same routine, the noises, the rap, the chorus, and Charlie laughs like he’s about to wet himself.
“Oh my God,” Ava says, grabbing her phone. “I need to record this, too.”
For the next five minutes, we’re all singing and dancing like loons to entertain a three-month-old baby who may either be laughing or hiccupping. And I don’t care, because it feels good to be here. Good to share in this moment with the people I love.
Right up until the smoke alarm starts going crazy and I realize the eggs are burned to the bottom of the pan.
Luckily nothing else was burned and the pan wasn’t Ava’s favorite anyway. I remind myself to buy her a new one and then make the eggs in the microwave, serving up brunch on the breakfast bar.
“I could get used to this,” Ava tells me. “I wish you could teach Myles to cook.”
“I can cook,” Myles protests.
“Yes, three things and that’s all,” she says, stuffing corn bread between her lips. “Did you make this from scratch?” she asks me.
“Yeah.” I shrug, perplexed. It really is nothing. I’m always surprised that people are surprised that I know my way around a kitchen. Shouldn’t everyone?
“Remind me again why I didn’t marry you?”
“Because you met Myles first.” I wink at her.
“And Liam will never be the settling down type,” Myles adds.
Ava looks almost sad at that. “I guess not.”
It doesn’t take any of us long to empty our plates. Ava goes to clear the dishes but Myles and I shoo her off, and we load the dishwasher while she goes out to finish her yard work.
“So,” Myles says as he tickles Charlie’s chin. He’s been lying in his bouncy chair like a champ, watching us as we eat. “A hundred thousand dollars for some weather forecasts.”
I’ve been waiting for him to mention this.
“I really like the weather,” I tell him, deadpan.
He narrows his gaze.
“What?” I ask him. Is it wrong that I enjoy riling him?
“Is there something I should know about you and Sophie?” he asks.
I burst out laughing. “Are you her dad?”
“No.” He doesn’t even crack a smile.
“Then no, there’s nothing you need to know.”
He looks thunderous and I take pity on him. There’s a time to tease and a time to be straight with somebody. There’s also a time when you don’t want your brother to spontaneously combust.
“Listen, there really isn’t anything to worry about,” I say, trying to reassure him. “Sophie and I are friends. And I needed to make some charitable donations on behalf of the company. You know this.”
“You hate each other,” he points out.
“We don’t,” I tell him. “We’ve agreed to be friends. And you should be happy about this. You’re the one who wants us to get along for Charlie’s sake and now we do.”
“And there’s really nothing else going on?”
“No,” I say honestly. “I donated to charity, she’s providing a service. That’s it. So stop looking so miserable and go dance with your son.”
“Hmm,” Myles says, then passes me a dirty plate. “Let’s see how long the peace between you two lasts.”
SOPHIE
From: LiamSalinger@
Subject: You now know more about my movements than anybody else…
Sophie,
As promised, my itinerary is below. Do you need anything else? Let me know.
MONDAY – Meetings all day in Charleston
TUESDAY – AM as above. PM flying to New York.
WEDNESDAY – Meetings in New York. Dinner in the evening.
THURSDAY – Flying to Washington DC. Meetings in Capitol building.
FRIDAY – Meetings in DC. Coming back to West Virginia that evening.
WEEKEND – Planning on sleeping for 48 hours. Don’t care if there’s a biblical flood.
Have a good week,
Liam.
I smile at his weekend plans and make some notes on my pad.
It’s actually a slight pain that he’s traveling so much – because I’m going to have to do forecasts for each area – but it sounds like it’s going to be more painful for him.
At least Saturday and Sunday should be easy, though.
I already have to do the forecast for work and since he’s doing nothing specific I can make it fairly generic.
His email is nice. Friendly. It makes me feel like this whole auction thing might work.
And then I think again about that stupid lie. I need to tell him. It was one thing covering up the truth when I thought he was annoying and hated me. But he said he wants to be friends.
And friends always tell the truth. Even if they know it’s going to make them look terrible.
I look at my phone for five minutes before I get up the courage to reply. Via messenger rather than email because I don’t want to use my work account for this.
Hi, I hope it’s okay to message. I wanted to check if you’re free next weekend. I could buy you a coffee to thank you for your high bid. - Sophie
Two ticks come up and the next moment they’re green. I feel a weird thrill knowing he’s already read my message.
Hey. Yeah, that could work. Did you get my email? I sent over my itinerary as requested. - Liam
Well that was easy. Maybe he won’t be angry at me after all. I decide to worry about that next week.
I got it. You’ll have your first forecast tomorrow morning. I do have a couple of questions that should help me personalize it if that’s okay? - Sophie
Sure. Shoot. - Liam
Your dinner plans for Wednesday - are you planning on dining in or out? - Sophie
Not sure yet. I’m trying to impress a beautiful woman, so maybe outside? - Liam
A little spike of jealousy rushes through me. Which is stupid because why wouldn’t he be trying to impress a woman? What he does with his love life has nothing to do with me.
And if we’re going to be friends I’ll have to get used to it. He’s not exactly wanting for female attention.
Sure. I’ll check it out and let you know which to opt for. Hope you have a good trip. - Sophie
Thank you. You have a good week, too. I’ll see you over the weekend. Let me know which day works for you. - Liam
I will. - Sophie
I hadn’t expected this. To have to forecast weather for his dates. And if I’m being honest, I’m not sure I like it.
But the fact is, for the next three months I’m going to have to do it. He paid handsomely for the privilege of having personalized forecasts and I’m going to deliver them.
Even if he’s whisking a model off to St. Lucia.
And I shouldn’t be jealous. I know what he’s like. It’s not like he’s dateable material. Whoever he’s seeing on Wednesday night will have him for twenty-four hours at most.
I should feel sorry for her, not jealous that she’ll have his undivided attention for one night.
And yet when I turn on my laptop to start working on his forecasts, all I can see are his warm brown eyes. And I hate that I want him to only look at me with them.
Because I can’t fall for a man who will never give me what I want. That would be madness.
Surely my sense of self-preservation is better than that.