Willow #2
Just as I start up the mixer, Gig walks into the kitchen.
My brothers are completely identical, and now that they’ve joined the military, it fully takes me a second to tell them apart.
They have the same military-issued haircuts instead of the different styles that they had before.
Now, their brown hair is cut the shortest that it has ever been.
They have the same dark brown eyes and strong jaws.
I always joked that they were all Henry Cavill, but from different movies.
They were always tall and muscular from training with Dad, but since they enlisted at eighteen, they’ve bulked up even more.
The only way people can tell them apart now is by the different visible scars.
Gig folds his arms over his chest, leaning against the fridge, sporting a frown that accentuates the scar running from his cheekbone to his chin.
He takes note of all the ingredients I have spread out on the island.
He studies it for a minute, probably realizing I’m about to make a fucking bake sale’s worth of sweets.
He approaches slowly, like he would to a timid, wild animal. Gig has always been the most perceptive out of the Quads. He can assess the situation and figure out all possible outcomes. It’s the reason that I refuse to play any board game or cards with him anymore.
Giving me space, he stops on the other side of the island and raises an eyebrow. His deep, gritty voice stays completely even as he says, “So, I’m guessing it didn’t go how you thought.” Not a question, just a statement, like the know-it-all he is.
I don’t answer, just switch the mixer off and turn around to walk to the fridge, hoping there are enough eggs. I open it, and strangely, it’s fully stocked.
“I figured it could go bad, and you’d need to distract yourself.
I sent Ben out for groceries and had Tell make sure that your favorite punching bag was available in the gym.
If it went really bad, and you needed to blow shit up, I stocked up on all the fun stuff in the shooting range for you,” he says in a bored tone while he steals a spoonful of cookie dough from the mixer, which is only sugar and butter at this point.
He can be fucking gross sometimes. He uses his bored tone all the time, so people think that he’s the asshole of the group, when really, he’s always been the sweetest and most thoughtful, only second to Mom.
My eyes start to water as I hold the eggs, the sight of Gig in front of me going blurry.
I don’t know if it’s because of meeting my long-lost brother, hating him, all the stress of the move, establishing everything in a new place, and missing Mom, or if it’s the magnitude of just how much I’ve missed my brothers after they’ve been home for three weeks.
Putting the eggs down, I launch myself at Gig, giving him the biggest hug I can, even though he’s a fucking giant and my short arms can’t fit around him all the way.
He gives me a pat on my back and just lets me hug him.
Mom and I were the only ones that ever got a pass on being in his personal space.
Which is weird, seeing as he shared a womb with two other people. But we all have our quirks.
“Is she crying? She never cries! What happened? Who are we killing? I’m gonna call and get the furnace fired up!
” Ben’s voice is frantic behind me. Ben has always been the most dramatic out of us, and the most trigger-happy if we leave him unsupervised.
The three of them don’t handle it well when I get emotional.
After seeing me in pain for years, they tend to overreact when I get upset.
“No. I’m okay.” Pulling away from Gig, I blink away the moisture in my eyes before a tear falls and they all freak out.
“Yup, because the cookies, the hugging, and the watery eyes are totally normal things that you do while in a good mood,” Teller says in an unimpressed tone as he enters the kitchen.
Now I see what they did. They sent in Gig first to assess the situation before they all showed up. They can be smart sometimes.
Shrugging my shoulders, I walk back to the mixer and start cracking the eggs. “Nope. I did what Mom wanted me to, and he was a dick. I don’t think I’ll claim this one. I already have enough assholes to keep in line around here.”
“It didn’t look that bad on the surveillance cameras, but I never get the ones with audio. It’s fucking stupid,” Gig says in an irritated voice.
“He didn’t say anything that we didn’t think he would.
It’s just… Hearing someone talk about Mom like that was a lot for me,” I explain, not going into detail.
For some reason, I don’t want them to hate him.
Logically, they know that he was most likely told horrible things about our mom.
But the mama’s boys would never let it go if they knew what he said.
“Well, Mom knew he may feel that way. Knowing her, she explained everything the best that she could in what she left him. All we can do is wait and see,” Tell offers, trying to de-escalate the situation.
He’s always been the voice of reason, but I can tell he wants to know exactly what was said. He can be a nosy bastard sometimes.
Unlike Gig’s ridiculously detailed observation skills, or Ben’s need to jump in and take out any problem that comes up, Tell’s the levelheaded mediator. I like to think of him as just being fucking bossy, but really, they balance each other out.
“And he thought I was a lawyer,” I mumble into the mixing bowl as I finish adding the ingredients. It gets quiet for a moment before they burst out laughing like it’s the funniest thing that they’ve ever heard.
“Well, I mean, you did show up dressed like a grown-up, and you had no visible weapons. If you didn’t speak that much, maybe you could pass for a lawyer,” Ben says, trying his best to speak through his laughter.
“I dress nicely for work all the time, you assholes!” I say in a firm voice, trying to be serious.
“Yeah, but I think I can remember three times you actually wore a dress after you started picking out your own clothes,” Mr. know-it-all Gig throws out.
“You know what? I’ve decided I don’t need brothers. I’m not sure why I haven’t killed you all yet, but you are now on notice!” I warn them, giving a half-hearted glare.
This is exactly what I needed. My idiots can distract me better than stress baking, beating something up, or blowing up shit. I’m just happy that they're back for a while and we can help each other get a new sense of normalcy before they have to leave again.
I shake my head at the thought. I’m not ready to accept that they will have to go back when they just got home.
“Do you guys know where Dad is? Or Uncle Mark? I need to talk to them about the meeting, and I saw that his car was still here,” I ask, swatting Ben’s hand away from the bag of chocolate chips.
“Why do you need Uncle Mark?” Tell asks.