Chapter 7
Roman
Iwipe the sweat from my brow before reaching over to adjust the volume of the stereo playing Rage Against the Machine.
It’s hot as balls in here. I need to have the air looked at, but I’m trying to keep overhead low, and since I only opened a few weeks ago, I’m not flush with cash to pay somebody to fix it.
After swiping my palm down my pants, I adjust my hold on the wrench and finish tightening up bolts.
The owner of this Volkswagen Beetle wanted it restored to its former glory, including a new cherry-red paint job, updated suspension system, and a souped-up engine that would make this bug zip along faster than originally intended.
While Stone Auto Repair is mainly a collision center, I’ve booked out a few restoration jobs over the coming months.
Working on vintage cars requires a special knowledge that is hard to come by, but I’ve made a name for myself in the industry, and since I’m closer to both Philadelphia and New York City now, I’ve been able to reach the East Coast population of car lovers.
I don’t have any personal social media accounts, but my professional one is filled with post after post of restorations.
From Camaros to Corvettes, Vipers to a special 1963 Pontiac Tempest that the owner wanted me to paint so it matched that scene in My Cousin Vinny when Marisa Tomei went off on the tangent to prove the kids’ innocence.
“Wow. Looks like it came off the sales floor.”
I spin around at my sister’s voice. “What are you doing here?”
She sweeps her gaze around my shop with a shrug. “Came to see what you’re doing since you didn’t meet with us yesterday. Are you the only one here?”
I nod, setting my tools down. I currently only have two other people working with me, Luis, a guy not much younger than me, and Shawn, a young kid training on the job, who also does some of the administrative tasks, like answering phones and booking appointments. “They’re on lunch.”
Taryn slides her hands into her back pockets and closes the distance between us, assessing me with a curious-maternal kind of gaze. “Why didn’t you show up yesterday?”
Apparently, my siblings have been meeting for coffee every two weeks, and Ian made sure to invite me in our now-ongoing group text thread, but I didn’t respond.
After they came to my house and I told them about everything, including how Mazie came to be and why I moved here, it felt good to get it all off my chest. But I didn’t think it made it any easier for them to see me as anything more than their fuckup baby brother.
I’m forty years old and hopefully far from that anymore, but having to sit down with them again and hear about how great they’re doing, while not having much to say myself, doesn’t sound like a real fun time.
I answer with my back to her, moving to the sink in the corner to wash my hands. “Had a lot of work to do.”
She follows right behind me, not falling for my excuse. “Or you didn’t want it to be awkward?”
I dry my hands off on the towel, still unable to meet her eyes. “Maybe a little of both.”
She snorts a half-annoyed, half-amused sound.
“You know this is what has always pissed me off about you. Since you’re the baby, you get to wait until someone else breaks.
Like me here right now. I shouldn’t be. I don’t have to be, and yet I am, because you got whatever dumbass idea in your head about—” she makes her voice all nasal “—oh, it’ll be so weird.
No one likes me. Me, me, me, that’s all I care about. ”
I fold my arms across my chest, her attempt at imitation pulling me out of my self-flagellation and straight into irritation. “Is that supposed to be me?”
She widens her eyes. Obviously. “It’s always been about you.
What’s best for you. What you need. And you got spoiled.
You got used to everyone coming to you and never having to do anything you didn’t want.
You thought it would be weird or awkward or whatever-the-hell yesterday, so you didn’t show up, but did you think about how Griffin or Ian or I would feel if you didn’t come? ”
She doesn’t give me time to answer, going on.
“No, you didn’t. Because while you’re here feeling bad for yourself about all your poor fucking choices for the last twenty years, we’re waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and just be with us.
Be our brother. It’s not like we ever stopped loving you or waiting for you to come home. ”
“I—”
“I get that it might be hard for you, but I can guarantee you that it’s been just as hard for us too, watching you go through what you did when you were younger, knowing we couldn’t do anything about it, and then not knowing anything about you the last few years.
It was horrible, so sorry to fucking break it to you, but you owe us this. You owe us goddamn coffee dates.”
“I didn’t think—”
“And how do you expect Mazie to get to know everyone when you’re so afraid to be around us?
I know Ian’s your safety blanket or whatever, but Griffin and I are here too.
We want to be in your life as much as you said you supposedly want us to be.
Or was that all a lie? What you said at your house?
That you missed all of us? Because there are four of us total, you know? ”
“I’m—”
“This isn’t a one-way street. You can’t keep expecting everyone to come to you when you hide in your corner, because I’m not going to anymore. You are my brother, and I expect you to start acting like it.”
“I will—”
“And you better remember to—”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Taryn!”
She silences at my booming shout, and I put my hands on my hips, shaking my head. “Are you done so I can talk, or are you going to keep interrupting me?”
She scoffs. “No, I am not, in fact, done because it is hot as shit in here. I’m in perimenopause, asshole. Turn the air on before I melt.”
“Perimenopause,” I repeat, forcing myself not to give in to my amusement.
“Yes!” She plucks at her shirt, her skin flushing. “And I’m dying.”
“I need someone to look at the HVAC, but I don’t have the money to fix it.”
She waves her hand with a roll of her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ll ask Dante to see what he can do.”
Dante, her construction project manager boyfriend. “He can fix the air?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know, but if he can’t, he’ll know someone who can.”
“Just like that?”
She sighs with annoyance. “Yes, just like that. Because that’s what family does, you dick. Now, finish up. You’re going to buy me a coffee.”
The nonchalant transition from tearing me a new asshole to forcing me to take her out throws me for a bit of a loop, but I suspect that’s what she wanted.
By the time I put everything away, Shawn and Luis have finished their lunches, so Taryn and I take a walk to Aster Street, where we order from Cuppa Jo’s.
She tells me about Dante and how they met, rushing over the details of how it was a one-night stand until he showed up at her bed-and-breakfast to work on the renovation, and how she really loved the gift I sent her for her birthday last year, a small I Love Lucy vase.
She and our mom loved that show, and as soon as I saw it, I bought it.
While I may not have always acted like it, my brothers and sister were never far from my mind.
I appreciate how she’s doing all the talking now so I don’t have to. She’s showing me that not every conversation has to be an apology or a list of every bad decision I’ve ever made. Sometimes, it’s this. Fifteen minutes to hang out with my sister, doing nothing special.
Which is really kinda special.
That I have the ability to do it. That I have my family.
Once we’re done with our coffees and we’re standing at the corner of the block, she tells me seriously, “For a long time, I didn’t have the bandwidth to deal with anything outside of my own life, my kids, and my marriage.
It was really difficult for me, and that was why I had such a hard time with you.
You were drowning, and I wanted to help, but I couldn’t. I was drowning too.”
“I know.” I curve my hand around her elbow. “I never expected you to help because I wasn’t ready yet. You don’t need to feel bad.”
She sniffs and clears her throat of emotion, placing her no-nonsense mask in place. “Oh, I don’t.”
“Good.” I fight the twitch of my lips. So does she.
She punches my arm harder than necessary. “I’m happy you’re home.”
“I’m happy to be home.”
“Start acting like it, huh? Ian’s not the only one who wants you here.”
I nod, though I suspect it’ll be a while before our other brother comes around.
As if she can read my mind, she says, “Griffin’s still trying to work through everything in his mind.
Might go a long way if you actually put on your big-boy pants and went to see him.
” She arches her brow and aims her index finger at me. “Not like you made me come to you.”
“Yeah, okay.”
She nods once then takes off in the direction of her B&B a few blocks north. “I’ll see you later, Rome. And buy some stickers or something to make your kid stop cursing. Goddamn.”
I huff out a laugh. “Look who’s talking.”
She pivots, walking backward with a shrug. “It’s what happens when you’re raised with a bunch of feral boys.”
I lift my hand in a wave then cross the street, my mind on Mazie and how I really do need to do something about her mouth. Watch my own, to start with. But I’m the first to know bad habits are hard to break.
My mind drifts back to the fall festival, not for the first time today. Spending that too-short time with Eloise on Saturday was the highlight of my weekend. And Mazie’s.