Chapter 8
Tippi
“Hey, mind if I crash here a bit longer?”
Leo looks up from bottle-feeding Toren, brows lifting in surprise. “Of course.”
I’ve never asked my brother that before. Much as I love being with my family, especially now the kids are here, I normally move on like clockwork. This is new.
“Thanks,” I say. “Only a few extra days.”
He huffs a laugh. “Tiplet, you know I’d let you move in full-time if it wasn’t for those itchy feet of yours.” He hasn’t called me Tiplet in years. His gaze sharpens. “Everything OK?”
“Yeah great. Just… enjoying myself.” Our eyes meet. Leo can usually shake the truth out of anyone, but not me. With me, he only gets what I want to give.
I know it drives him nuts.
“Fine,” he grumbles, when pointed silence doesn’t work. “But I’d put money on a certain tall, shy brother-in-law of mine having something to do with it.”
Damn him. Ever since we were kids he’s always known exactly what’s going on with me. And with our other sister, Theda. He calls it Big Brother Duty, but really he’s just perceptive as hell and pays attention better than anyone I know.
“Nope,” I say, kissing Toren’s forehead, then Leo’s cheek. “Just not thrilled about my other plans. And why wouldn’t I want to maximize time with you and your disgustingly adorable family?”
On cue, Toren detonates in his diaper.
“Yeah, who’d pick globetrotting over baby shit-splosions,” Leo jokes, grimacing, and heads off to deal with the carnage, chatting amiably to Toren about how proud Dada is of his mad pooping skills.
Sadie and Rhi are having girl time at Sadie’s mum’s today.
They invited me, but that’s sacred territory.
Sadie carves out one-on-one time so her bond with Rhi doesn’t vanish under a pile of tiny boy laundry.
I respect that. Besides, it means I can hang with the twins, and later, help Leo with some business stuff.
And it gives me the perfect window to try out the idea that hit me at two AM this morning.
I Google Arcus Security and follow the directions into town. I think I’ve found the right place, but there’s no sign on the building, just a bland office block front. If there’s a secret lair anywhere on this street, it’s this one.
I really hope I’m right. The double pram is heavy and basically a land tank. Steering it is a full-body workout. Good job I left my jacket at home; between the sun and the effort, I’m already warm.
The twins look ridiculously sweet in their matching onesies, though, and people are happy enough to step aside with smiles and ‘double trouble’ comments.
I dig my phone out of my dress pocket and hit Jacob’s name.
“Tippi?” He answers on the first ring, sounding puzzled. His voice is so sexy I get a little stomach flip just from the sound.
“Hey. Your nephews and I were hoping to bring you lunch at your office. What d’you want me to pick up?”
“Oh.” He sounds pleased, but hesitant. “Well, that’s… that’s really nice, but I’m afraid I can’t let you into the premises. Security protocols, you see.”
“Ah.” Boo. But also, intrigued. If the rules are that strict, I definitely want to know more.
“But I can come out and meet you?” he adds quickly, like he’s rushing to plug a leak.
“Cool. We’re near the Alan Turing memorial fountain.”
Foxton is so queer-friendly it makes my heart swell. Year-round rainbow flags, queer icons on plaques, memorials like this one. One of the Foxton Pride festivals I attended is still in my top three of all time.
“Right. I’ll… see you in five minutes?”
“We’ll be here. What are you having?”
“Whatever you’re getting, just order it twice.”
“No allergies?” Always check.
“No. Though I hate mushrooms, if that should come up.”
“No mushrooms. Got it.” I hang up and look down at Ezra as he stirs. “Told you we were going to see Uncle Jacob,” I murmur, stroking his soft cheek. He wriggles contentedly while his brother lets out a tiny snore.
There’s a Thai street food stall a few feet away, so I buy two Som Tums and park myself on the edge of the fountain, rocking the pram with my foot as I start eating.
“Hello.” Jacob’s voice floats over before I see him, uncertain but warm. He comes into view, still in work clothes, and bends to peer into the pram. “Hello, boys.” He greets them like they’re little adults, without cooing or baby talk. It’s oddly charming.
“Hope you like Thai,” I say, holding out his container.
“Love it. That looks terrific, thank you.”
“And, bonus, the container and fork are recyclable.” I nod toward the stall’s proud little chalkboard.
He chuckles. “Even better.” He sits beside me, turns the pram so he can take over rocking duty, and digs in. “Sorry I couldn’t let you in,” he adds. “To do that, I’d have to run a pretty rigorous security background check on you and, well…”
I shrug. “I’ve got nothing criminally interesting to hide, other than my boobs.
But it’s a nice day. No biggie.” The breeze is cool, and the way the sun shines is almost kind; I can see why Leo never wants to live anywhere else.
If I had to pick a base somewhere, Foxton-on-Sea would be a contender.
“Oh, by the way,” I add, casually as I can manage, “I’m sticking around a few extra days, though.
Just while I figure out where I want to go next. ”
I don’t miss the way his face lights up before he very deliberately smooths it back down.
“So, where are you thinking?” he asks.
“Well, I’m torn.” I scoop up more papaya and chili.
“I think I mentioned Sicily’s an option.
I’ve got friends there, and it’s been a while.
Scandinavia’s calling, too; there are some amazing events coming up in Norway.
And then this,” I nod at our food, “is delicious and makes me want to go back to Thailand.”
He shakes his head, smiling a little. “It really is that simple for you, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You go where you feel like, when you feel like.” He sighs softly. “I wish I could be like that.”
I pause. I don’t normally talk about this stuff; too heavy when there’s fun to be had.
“My dad died when I was a kid,” I say, surprising myself.
“He left the three of us plenty, and Mom invested it smart. That’s what I used to start traveling.
Now I make enough that I hardly have to touch it.
” I don’t know why I told him, but it feels right that he knows.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says quietly. “It must be tough.”
I nod. “I’d rather have grown up with him and worked a million crappy summer jobs to afford flights, but… it is what it is.”
“He’d be proud of you,” Jacob says, tone suddenly firm. I look over; it’s the most certain I’ve heard him sound. “And not just because you used his gift to live a fantastic life. It’s more. It’s your confidence. The way you’re… free. Just completely unbound by anything.”
Warmth sparks in the middle of my chest. “I’m no hero,” I say. “Just a nomad who can’t imagine life another way.”
“And it’s awe inspiring.” His Som Tum sits forgotten in his lap. “In the literal sense. It fills me with awe, listening to you.” He swallows. His jaw tightens. “And I… I want to thank you for pushing me towards diagnosis. It’s changed so much, I can’t even explain.”
My heart jumps. “You got it confirmed?”
He nods. “Autism spectrum disorder. I got the report faster than expected, and it’s… shining a light on everything. My past. My present. It’s such a relief. I’ve got another follow-up at the end of the week to talk about adjustments. How to work with autism instead of against it.”
“Congratulations.” I lean in and kiss his cheek. He turns at the last moment so our faces brush. Hello, moment. We’re having one. Neither of us moves for a beat, and then the world creeps back in.
“Tippi…” He hesitates. “If it’s OK with you… I’d like to see you every day before you move on.” He stares at his food as he says it. His fingers are white-knuckled around the container.
“Sounds perfect,” I murmur, smiling. When he looks up, something in his expression melts, and it feels like it’s just for me.
“You don’t have to,” he begins, but I run my thumb along his jaw, shutting that down.
“I want to. I want you.” He surprises me by catching the pad of my thumb between his teeth, giving the tiniest nip.
“Oh, god,” he mutters, eyes roaming my face, “you have no idea how mutual that feeling is. And… can we talk about stuff? About the… s-sex.”
I blink. “Sure.” I was not expecting that, but damn if it isn’t hot that he asked. He keeps me on my toes, this tall, dark Brit with an ass that won’t quit.
“Because I want to be more like you in that respect as well.” The words tumble out of him at the speed of light. “In the interest of honest openness... I lie awake thinking about your blog posts and… wishing that had been me, or that I’d been there.”
“Like what?” I ask gently. When silence stretches, I add, “We can pace ourselves. You don’t have to jump in -”
“I don’t want to pace myself.” He cuts me off, eye contact hitting me like a truck.
“I’ve been thinking about being undiagnosed my whole life, and what it’s cost me, and it’s…
heartbreaking. I’ve spent years chasing my father’s approval, trying to keep him happy and not shouting, and in the process I barely know my own family.
I wasted my youth on an impossible goal and I’m only just getting to know my siblings now.
That’s terrible. And it’s time I can’t get back.
” He takes a shaky breath. “Hell, I don’t even know myself that well, and you can’t imagine how dreadful that feels.
So I’m done being cautious. I’m done bending myself around someone else’s idea of the right thing, the smart thing, the sensible thing.
I want to live. I want to jump in and just see what happens. I need to make up almost four decades.”
Wow.
The depth of his self awareness floors me. It’s one of my favorite traits in a person, and on him it’s sexy as fuck.