8. Reed
Reed
Three months later
“What are you smiling about?” Cora asks me, leaning against the counter in our mother’s kitchen. She’s peeling an orange with her long pink fingernails before she tosses the rinds into the sink.
“Nothing,” I tell her, turning off my phone screen.
Amelia texted me. We’ve kept in contact on and off for the last three months. It usually starts with her checking in with me to get an update on the progress of our divorce paperwork. It’s taken longer than either of us expected, but we’re almost at the finish line.
I don’t tell her that I’ve been dragging my feet about wrapping everything up with her. I don’t even really know her beyond a wild weekend, a few phone calls, and hundreds of text messages, but something has me moving at a snail’s pace.
“Didn’t look like nothing,” she says, her eyes trained on me and not her orange. “You’ve been acting weird for months.”
I cross my arms over my chest, staring right back at her. “Again, I’m not going to jail, I’m not acting weird, and nothing is going on.”
“What really happened in Vegas? That’s when you changed. You haven’t been the same since.”
I wish I could tell my sister what happened. Somehow, I’ve been able to keep my marriage a secret. Jasper’s kept his mouth shut, and I know better than to let anything slip.
“Nothing notable,” I tell her. “It was just a nice, relaxing trip.” The words come out so easy, I almost believe my own bullshit.
Cora slides into the chair across from me at our parents’ dining room table. “Do you ever want more?”
I stare at my sister, confused by her question. She’s never seemed anything other than content with her life. “What’s going on, Cor?”
She turns her gaze toward the giant floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook our mother’s flower garden. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “I’ve just been feeling like there’s supposed to be more.”
“More what?”
She shrugs, but she doesn’t glance my way. “Maybe I’m just going through a midlife crisis.”
“You’re in your thirties,” I tell her. “You’re far from middle-aged.”
“How long do people usually live?” she asks, dragging her gaze away from the flowers to look at me with her dark hazel eyes.
I tap my finger against the side of my coffee cup. “I don’t know. Seventies. Maybe eighties, if they’re lucky.”
“Then I hate to break it to you, buddy, but I’m damn near in the middle of that.”
Fuck, I hadn’t thought of that. In my head, middle-aged is somewhere near fifty. But the possibility of living into your nineties or even hitting one hundred is slim. And were those people lucky to live to be that old? That is debatable.
“If you’re feeling restless, make a change.”
“What are we changing?” Brinley asks, walking into the room with a giant bowl of salad that we’ll devour in a minute before our mother has a chance to serve the main course.
“Life,” Cora mutters. “I’m getting bored.”
“It happens,” Brinley tells her as she sets down the salad in the center of the table. “I went through that phase a few years back.”
Cora stares up at our eldest sister with her eyebrows raised. “You did?”
Brinley nods.
“What did you do about it?”
“I went out and had a few one-night stands. Made me realize I liked the boringness of my life.”
I nearly spit out my coffee at her confession. “TMI, sis. TMI,” I choke out, pounding on my chest so I don’t aspirate on the liquid that’s lodged in my lungs.
“I can’t do that,” Cora says, rubbing her neck with both hands like she’s trying to knead the feeling out of her body. “I’m not that type.”
Brinley moves her hands to her hips, her body stiff. “And what type is that?”
“Free.” Cora gives Brinley a tight smile. “I’m not that free with my body. You know my insecurities better than anyone.”
I’ve never understood that about women. They have so many insecurities about their bodies, when men couldn’t care less.
Thick thighs? Sign me up. A dump truck of an ass?
Absolutely. Softness everywhere possible?
Hell yeah. Men aren’t that picky, and if they are, they aren’t worthy of the cock in their own pants.
“Take a trip. Travel a bit. See the world. It’s a great reset,” Brin tells her. “There’s nothing more inspiring and soul-refreshing than visiting someplace new. Look at how much Reed’s changed after a trip to Vegas, of all places.”
Cora waves her hand at me. “See?”
“See what?” I ask when I get dragged into their conversation against my will.
“You’ve changed,” she adds. “Something happened.”
“Have I changed for the worse?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I want the answer.
Cora shakes her head. “No, you seem…” She stares at me as she runs her hands down her braid.
“Happier,” Brinley finishes for her. “Which is a shame in a way, because I had a hundred bucks on you being arrested.”
I glance between them, my eyes narrowed. “You guys bet on me?”
Cora chuckles, the heaviness from a few seconds ago gone. “Well, yeah. Duh. Of course we did.”
“And what did you bet on?” I ask Cora, hoping she has more faith in me than Brinley.
“I put money on your eloping,” she replies.
My chest hollows out like my heart stopped on a dime.
Brinley giggles. “That was a sucker bet. You should’ve kissed that money goodbye the second you picked it as a possible option.”
“Yeah, ridiculous,” I say with a fake laugh as I rub my beard that’s quickly grown out of control.
Cora’s and Brinley’s eyes slide to me. My cheeks heat as they study my face, and I feel like my wedding vows are written on my cheeks. My sisters are perceptive. Not much gets by them, but so far, I’ve been able to stay under their radar.
“What was that?” Brinley asks, pointing her long, painted fingernail at me.
“What?” I ask, my voice cracking on the single word.
“Your nervous laughter. You don’t laugh like that,” she replies, her eyes narrowing.
Cora clamps her hand down on my arm that’s resting on the table, trying to play it cool and casual. “Wait a damn minute,” she says as her gaze flicks across my face. “Did you get married?”
“No,” I choke out, trying to sit still in my chair, but I find it impossible. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Brinley gasps. “He did.”
I shake my head. “I did not.”
“Then what’s Jasper working on?” Cora asks, her grip tightening on my arm.
“Something,” I tell her.
At that very moment, Jasper walks into the room, as if the world is conspiring against me. He’s staring down at a plate of pickles, oblivious to anything that we’re talking about.
Cora turns her gaze our brother’s way. “How’s the divorce going?” she asks him.
“Paperwork is ready,” he says as he takes a seat across from us and pops a pickle sliver in his big fat mouth.
Brinley and Cora gasp in unison this time.
“I knew it,” Cora says with a clap of her hands.
“Fuck,” Brinley hisses. “One hundred bucks out the window.”
Jasper’s face drains of color as he looks around the table, finally realizing he spilled my secret. Three months of keeping my mouth shut flushed down the toilet in the blink of an eye. The culprit? Fucking pickles and Jasper’s love of anything bitter.
“Fuck, man. I’m sorry,” he says to me.
“You’re fired,” I tell him.
“You weren’t paying me,” he replies.
“We want all the details,” Cora says. “No more lies.”
“We’re about to have dinner,” I tell her.
“Fine,” Cora replies, tapping her fingers against the table. “After dinner, meet at the firepit.”
When we were younger, we spent a month building a firepit in the backyard, far enough away from the main house so we could talk without our parents overhearing.
“Some things are meant to be private,” I say, scratching at my beard that now feels claustrophobic.
“Sure,” Brinley says. “Sex lives, but not wives.”
I sigh, knowing I’m going to lose this fight. I could murder my brother for letting my business slip. It’s so unlike him. He’s usually rock solid for secret keeping, especially when something legal is involved.
“Brin, you don’t even keep your sex life private.” Cora reminds her of the earlier conversation.
Brinley shrugs as she giggles. “I didn’t think we kept secrets from one another, but obviously Reed didn’t get the memo.”
“There was nothing to tell you. It was over before it began,” I explain.
“What’s over?” Mom asks, carrying the biggest platter of burgers I’ve ever seen.
Lee picked today’s menu. His tastes are simpler than the rest of us. Instead of going big, he wanted burgers and fresh-cut fries.
“Nothing, Ma,” I say before anyone has a chance to spill my business to our mother.
“Just talking sports,” Jasper tells her. “These look great.” His eyes nearly bug out of his head as he stares at the sandwiches.
“Dinner’s ready!” Ma yells out, alerting everyone who isn’t in the dining room to hurry the hell up or else they may be shit out of luck on getting food.
Raising six kids wasn’t easy. We were more like a pack of wild wolves than children. We fought over everything, including food, and that hasn’t changed even after more than thirty years.
“Hurry up and eat,” Cora tells me. “I’m about to cash in on my bet.”
Fuck me. My sisters are going to make a bigger deal out of this than it really is. What was supposed to be put behind me soon will now live on forever as a family joke.
“Only the four of us,” I tell her. “No one else.”
“What?” Frankie asks. “I want in.”
“No,” I snap as I reach for a burger, needing to fill my mouth with something other than the words I want to spew about the clusterfuck of a situation.
“Someone’s crabby,” Frankie says with her nose wrinkled. “You seriously need to find yourself a woman.”
“Oh, he did that,” Cora whispers, earning herself a glare from me.
“What?” Frankie asks, her eyes moving from me to Cora.
“Nothing,” Cora mutters, lifting her hands.
“Damn, June. You outdid yourself,” Dad says as he slides in behind my mother where she stands over the table, staring at us like we’ve all grown three heads. He leans over, kissing our mother on the cheek.
She usually leans into his affection, but she’s too busy staring at us to bother.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, following her gaze. “Did something happen?”