But he doesn’t care about the issues. He just wants to win.
While I’d love to get into public service, I wouldn’t be able to stand having the media crawl up my ass every ten minutes and butting its nose into my private life. I don’t know how my brother can stand the intrusion. Being a member of a high-profile family is challenging enough.
“Wait,” Spence calls out to everyone. “Get my good side.” And he turns infinitesimally in the other direction.
Everyone laughs, and I roll my eyes.
For a moment, I don’t know if I should be more embarrassed by my brother or my best friend, who basically lifted his leg to whiz on a bush.
It’s a toss-up.
Glancing at my watch, I wonder how much longer I have to stay. I want to leave and go have pizza with Drew. Or cherry pie with Evie while sitting on her front porch, watching her dog chase a squirrel. Or help Evie fix up her house. Or feel her warm, lush body next to mine.
Evie.
This is the first family event I’ve had to attend since we’ve gotten together. We talked about it and both agreed it would be better if she didn’t come with me.
But being here now is like the rain cleared, and I can see—I have no interests that are the same as my family’s. I’ve changed. They haven’t. I’m into my business, my blog, my girl, and my friend, and I can’t really share any of that with my family.
My business? I mentioned to my father that my infill project in Sellwood got approved. He congratulated me and asked when I was going to get a “big” project.
Sellwood is nine city blocks of urban redevelopment.
My blog? Never. I’d ruin the Cartwright reputation and tank Spencer’s campaign.
My girl? She’s too closely tied to my blog—and she’s my lawyer. I’m not sure I trust my family to welcome her with anything other than forced politeness.
And my friend? Unfortunately, it’s Drew we’re talking about, so they know about him. But he’s dangerous to bring when he’s this drunk. Today, my goal is to keep him from doing something too stupid. He’s got grass stains on his jeans from where he fell after the fourth shot of whiskey and six pack of beer, and his Mudhoney T-shirt is riding up his belly under his blue flannel.
On the steps of the house, under the giant American flag, my brother calls for my parents to join him for a few photos. He straightens his tie and presses a hand over the top of his hair to make sure it’s just right before he grins at the press.
No. I’m nothing like my family.
Nor do I want to be.
With sudden clarity, I realize Evie should be here. I shouldn’t give a shit if her presence bothers my family or throws a wrench in their perfect plans. Not that I want to be a deliberate pain in the ass, but being someone I’m not and trying to fit in the Cartwright mold is fucking stifling.
And I’ve had enough.
Evie is important to me, and I’m done trying to hide her. We can keep things quiet until we figure out a way to find another attorney, but then I’m done keeping her a secret.
A sense of relief washes over me as I sip my beer and glance at Drew.
I love the guy, but. Finally done, he zips his pants, burps, and throws his arm around my neck. “So why’n’cha bring the babe you’re banging?” he slurs.
His belt is notched so that his baggy pants are gathered. I have no idea why he doesn’t buy new clothes since he’s obviously lost weight. He always looks like a 90s grunge rocker, but he doesn’t care. Guess that’s what happens when your parents own almost all the clothes in the United States.
I take another swig of my beer and glare at him. “Nice. Real nice. Evie has a name, and you know it. You’re gonna meet her and Kendall next weekend.” Initially, I thought we could start small by introducing each other to our best friends. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
We walk into the tent and head for an empty table. Drew’s weaving, and I play it off like he’s telling a joke.
But he’s a little too loud. “Dude. I dunno what I can say about you these days. You’re all secrets and shit. Like, I can’t talk about anything.”
“Secrets? What secrets?”
My mother looms behind me, clad in Jack Rogers sandals, a sleek white pantsuit, and sparkling blouse. She stares at us with one eyebrow pointed skyward.
Fucking Drew and his loud mouth.
Leaning over, I kiss her on the cheek. “Nothing, Mother. Nothing.”
She points with her nose. “I see Tiffany is here.”
Of course.
My eyes dart around the room. Henry and his friends are talking to Tiffany. I realize that I don’t care about her or her drama anymore. I’m over it.
Gesturing with her hand, my mother beckons Tiffany, who is all smiles and styled hair.
“Joshy!” she squeals exuberantly as though we didn’t have a screaming match on the drive home from the gala last month.
Tight lipped, I nod.
“It’s so nice to see you two talking,” says my mother.
Even though I’ve said nothing to Tiffany.
This shit is getting ridiculous.
I turn to my mother, look her straight in the eye and lay it out. “Mom, I’m not going to say this again. Tiffany and I broke up, and we are never getting back together. Ever.”
Christ. Isn’t that a pop song?
“Josh, don’t be rude,” she hisses as she scans the horizon to make sure no one overheard. “I’m sure all you need is a little time to talk things over with Tiffany. She loves you, don’t you, darling?”
My ex looks like she’s about to cry as she nods quickly. “I’ve always loved you, Joshy. Since we were kids.”
What a fucking joke. I wonder if that included the time she banged her financial advisor.
Tiffany grabs my arm, and I shrug her off. “Don’t. Remember what I told you about this shit. Do you really want to do this here?” Her eyes widen, and a second later, she steps back. About goddamn time.
Turning to my mother, I lower my voice. “Look, I’m seeing someone else. In fact, I’d like to bring her—”
Out of nowhere, a male voice booms, “You have a new girlfriend?”
I turn to find a beady-eyed guy I know all too well.
Fuck.
It’s Gary the Gossip, Portland’s own walking, talking version of TMZ.
I want to tell him it’s none of his goddamn business—because it isn’t—but if I snarl at him, that will be the first thing on the blog tomorrow morning. Well, the second, if Drew hurls on his shoes. He’s looking kind of green. It’s probably wrong to want my buddy to puke in the middle of this party, but it would make for a good distraction.
“I do. It’s not for the public, though, I’m afraid,” I tell Gary with a plastered-on smile.
Across the way, I spot Spencer. I’m sure he’s the one who invited Gary. I’m doing this for you, brother. If you weren’t running for office, I’d tell that gossip blogger to go fuck himself, but I’ll smile and be polite so I don’t ruin your campaign.
Drew’s response is to giggle. If he wasn’t such an idiot, it would be kind of charming.
But he’s an idiot.