“Good,” I say. “Come on, food’s getting cold.”
For being a guy who’s fucking my sister, he’s actually pretty cool. They’ve been married seven years and are good together. He joins us, sitting at the head of the table. If it weren’t for their generosity, I’d eat takeout most nights of the week. Instead, I come here.
After dinner, David and the kids play in the driveway while Beth and I tackle the dishes. I used to try to encourage her to go out and play, let me handle the work, until I realized that she’d been playing with them all day and actually just wanted some adult conversation. Now I happily supply that.
We have a system. She passes me plates, and I rinse and stick them in the dishwasher. Only tonight, she uses our sibling time to grill me.
“So . . . Emery. Yoga. You owe me details, little bro.”
“That’s what those crab roll-ups were about. Damn, you’re good.”
She grins an evil smile at me. “Don’t mess with the master.”
I chuckle. “She just moved in last weekend. She’s from Michigan and is working at a law firm downtown.” I fill her in on my experience at yoga, and before I know it, I realize I’ve been prattling on about Emery for ten minutes. I’ve only stopped short of describing the fabulous way she smells and her glorious rack.
I can’t help but remember how cute she looked after her first day of work. Rumpled suit, killer heels, and little makeup smudges underneath her eyes. She’d put in a hard day’s work and was obviously tired, but there was still that undeniable spark of excitement simmering just under the surface that I’d grown to appreciate about her. I still wonder what might have happened if she’d said yes and taken me up on my offer for a drink.
“Wow. I’m impressed,” Beth says, taking a break from wiping down the counter with a dish towel to face me. “Are you finally going to settle down and date a nice girl? She sounds sweet and normal.”
“No, come on. We’ve had this conversation before. I’m not looking for anything serious.”
She tosses the towel into a basket in the pantry. “God, what’s wrong with you? This girl sounds great. Why not just see where it goes?”
“Because, Beth, not everyone wants a house in the suburbs with two kids. It wasn’t the life I was meant for.” Not anymore, anyway. Not after what happened with Roxy. But I do my best to push that from my head.
“Right, because emergency trips to the clinic when your pee-pee burns are so much fun.”
I square off, facing her with an angry scowl. “That was one damn time, and it turned out to be nothing. And you’ve been hanging out with toddlers too much. It’s called a cock.”
“On that note, I have to get them ready for their bedtime routine.”
Beth heads for the back door, and I reach out and stop her. “Hey. I didn’t come here to fight with you. Just let me live my life my way, okay?”
There’s fire in her eyes, and she puts one hand on her hip. “You’ve never dated your emotional and intellectual equal. You always go for these one night is good enough girls who jump into bed with you on the first date. They don’t have goals. They don’t have careers. And surprise . . . they don’t hold your interest longer than one night.”
“First of all, I’m not dating anyone. And second, what’s wrong with one night? I have needs, you know.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, I know. I shared a bedroom wall with you in high school, remember?”
“Where is this coming from all of a sudden?” I’m trying to understand, because up until this point, sure, she’s occasionally given me shit for my lifestyle, but it’s always been with a mocking laugh in her voice, a jab to the ribs while she grins at me. Right now she seems legitimately pissed off.
“You were top of your class in high school, graduated early and with honors in college. It makes sense that you should be with a smart, capable woman you can have lively discussions with, someone to hold your interest and challenge you.”
It’s strange that she uses that word—challenge me. Isn’t that exactly what Emery did? Making me go to yoga, asking me to explain my past. Refusing my offer for a late-night drink.
“Who’s going to take care of you when you get old, Hayden? I want you to have a partner in this life. God, I picture you sixty years old with a bad fake tan and dyed hair, still trying to live this playboy lifestyle. It’s sad.”
“I’m only twenty-seven, Beth. Calm down.”
“Yeah, well, you’re going to blink your eyes and tomorrow you’ll be thirty, and all the good, quality girls will be married. I’m only trying to look out for you.”
“I know you are. But just try and relax, okay? Everything will be fine.”
She lets out a heavy exhale. “I just don’t think you can do it, being friends with a woman. Be careful with this one.”
Her lack of faith in me feels like a kick to the balls. Beth’s always been my biggest cheerleader, supported me in every crazy thing I wanted to try.