I grin at the name that flashes on my screen. It’s true I came here to be alone, but I’ll never mind these kinds of phone calls.
“Hey, Uncle Craig, it’s me, Dustin.” Because all my nieces and nephews announce themselves even though their names flash on the Caller ID. Dustin just got his first phone for his twelfth birthday and I’m one of the few contacts he’s allowed. Ergo, I get a lot of calls from the little dude.
“Hey, D, how’s it going?”
“Fine. Mom said I should call you and ask if you want to come for brunch tomorrow.”
Just the thought of my older sister’s homemade biscuits and gravy makes my stomach growl, and a glance at my wristwatch confirms it’s long past dinner. “I’ll be there. What’s the occasion?” Not that I need a reason, but I don’t want to show up empty-handed if it’s someone’s birthday or other. I stopped trying to keep track of the family calendar long ago. As the token (and much younger) bachelor brother, I’m basically exempt, anyway.
But I have a stack of used vinyl records that’s historically worked in a pinch, especially for my older nieces and nephews, and they have the added bonus of spreading the gospel of lyrical brilliance.
I’m mentally flipping through my collection for one to part with when Dustin tells me, “Jenna got into ’Bama.”
I groan with a laugh that echoes in the empty booth. “Oh, man, Uncle Scott owes me fifty bucks. I knew she’d Roll Tide in the end.” While my siblings didn’t inherit millions from Uncle Huckleberry, they haven’t done half bad for themselves, either, to the extent that I’ll happily collect my winnings.
“Yeah, he’s not gonna be happy about that!”
Nope. But it’s not my problem he ignored the near decade of intense loyalty pouring out of my niece’s eyeballs every time someone brought up the Crimson Tide. I don’t make a bet I don’t already know I’m gonna win.
“My mom wants to talk to you, but me first. Can you bring your extra Xbox controller tomorrow?”
I bounce in my chair with an easy grin and adjust my ball cap. “Why, so I can beat the short pants off you in Fortnite?”
“As if, old man.”
I snort at his razzing. He’s getting pretty good at smack talk. I’ve taught him well.
“Yeah, sure. Put your mom on, kid. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I’m the youngest by seven years, so I’ve always been sandwiched between my siblings and their kids. That means I’m the fun younger uncle but also that I have four additional parental types always on my case. My actual parents are long retired and settled in the Florida Keys these days. My siblings visit them often enough, towing their growing families along to enjoy the beach, but I don’t get spring break or summers off. It’s easy to see them only on Christmas.
Melissa, though. She lives right outside Nashville and always invites me around, making sure I eat vegetarian home-cooked meals and leave the studio often enough to absorb some vitamin D. No escaping that, not that I try real hard or at all. Like I said, my nieces and nephews are great, and Melissa’s biscuits are mighty tempting for a guy who’s rarely home early enough to cook a real meal for one.
After a few seconds of shuffling, my sister’s familiar voice comes over the speaker. “Did D invite you to brunch?”
“He did. What time and what do I need to bring?”
“No earlier than eleven and why don’t you bring Lorelai with you? I’ve been dying to try out this gluten-free biscuits and gravy recipe I found, and I need to get her thoughts on this new chalkboard paint I picked up for that one wall in the kitchen.”
“You do realize Lorelai doesn’t work on HomeMade, and aside from being best friends with Shelby, has no special skills in home decor?”
I can practically feel my big sister’s eye roll. She likes to pretend her kids get their sass from her ex, Randy, and we all like to pretend she’s right. “I do know that, thank you very much. But she happens to have exceptional taste and I like having her around. She balances out all the testosterone. Ever since she’s moved in, you’re always hogging her to yourself.”
This time I’m rolling my eyes when I notice a missed drop of coffee rapidly drying on the board. Hell. I dig around in the trash for an unused napkin. “Well, I’m sorry to say she’s out of town at Shelby’s wedding, so you’re stuck with me and all my unchallenged testosterone. You can save your recipe for another time.”
There’s a beat of silence. “Oh, did you have to come back early?”
I pause my dabbing, mentally cussing out Arlo and his obsessive cleanliness. “From where?”
My sister huffs into the phone. “From the wedding? Tell me you didn’t leave the wedding early to come back to Nashville to work? Oh, wait. Are you still there? I just assumed you were home.”
“I’m home. Well, I’m in the studio, anyway. But I’ve been home. I didn’t go to the wedding.”
“Why not?”
I sigh at her incredulous tone. Big sisters. “Um, because, Mel, I wasn’t invited.”
“Oh.”
I scrub my hand down my face, grimacing at the soggy napkin, forgotten in my hand, and toss it in the trash. “Yeah. Oh. Listen, I’m not sure what you think is going on, but Lorelai and I just work together. And she doesn’t actually live with me, she rents the other half of my duplex.” I don’t mention it’s at a premium and that I can hear when she sings in the shower, because that’s not relevant information and my sister is on a strictly need-to-know basis. “We’re friends. Nothing more.”
Another loaded pause. “Huh. Well … so eleven tomorrow. Just bring yourself, then. And apparently your own Xbox controller.”
“Any food or drink?” I offer for no other reason than I get the feeling I’ve let my sister down somehow and it’s making me feel weirdly guilty.
“No. I’ve got it all under control.” I bite back a groan at the obvious resignation in my sister’s voice. She gets this way every other month or so. She thinks she’s being casual about her over-interest in the way things are between me and Lorelai, but she’s not. It’s almost enough to make me long for the days on the road when it was clear to my family I wasn’t gonna settle down.
I don’t think the words casual and big sister go well together, even when you’re a grown-ass man running your own successful business. Especially then.
“Okay,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “Sounds good. I need to get going, Mel. I have an appointment with a new client soon.”
“On a Saturday night?”
“The music biz never sleeps. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I end the call before she can ask me any more questions. Obviously, I would have gone to the wedding if Lorelai asked, but she didn’t. And Lore isn’t known for being shy, so if she didn’t ask, she didn’t want me there. The only saving grace to the whole thing is she didn’t want Drake there, either. I smirk to myself, leaning back in my chair again, recalling the way his eyes bugged out when he saw me carrying off Lorelai’s luggage.