Charles was decisive and took charge and was a no-bullshit kind of guy.
We’d been at this table—or one similar to this—way too many times before. It was always the same order—Charles sitting at the head of the family table or the head of the boardroom table, Brad to his right, and me to his left.
“What’s going on?” Charles asked. “Give me the ugly.”
And that was my oldest brother—to the point, direct, not wasting any time getting to the root of the problem.
Brad was staring at his Guinness like it held all the answers, so I went first.
“Janice came over again.”
“Mmm.” Charles tipped his chin. “Why did you let her in?” The way he asked the question indicated he already knew the answer.
Why did I let her into my place? Why couldn’t I break it off completely with her and terminate this endless cycle?
“She was standing at my door … crying. Again.” That was the truth of the matter.
Her tears got me every single time. She’d taken an Uber, thinking she’d sleep over. Too bad I’d had other ideas and had to drive her home.
Charles stood and then walked to the fridge. “I think I need a beer for this one.”
I didn’t blame Charles for his look of disappointment. I’d been down this road more than once over the last month, complaining about how I couldn’t get rid of her yet letting her back into my life over and over again.
“You know what I’m going to say, right?” Charles reached for the bottle opener on the table.
“Yeah. But I still care about her.”
We’d been together years, so how could I not? I just didn’t see her in my future anymore. Not in the way she wanted to be.
“We’ve been through this. You can’t be friends if she’s not over you.” He settled back into his seat, and before he spoke his next words, the sound of a six-year-old crying interrupted our conversation.
“Charles?” Becky, my sister-in-law, called from the stairs. She was Charles’s second wife, their former nanny, a saint, one who fit perfectly into our family and had saved Charles from the never-ending heartache of losing his first wife. “Mary wet her bed.”
Brad perked up and glanced toward the stairs. It was the first time he’d looked up from his beer.
Charles knocked the table twice and then stood. “Daddy duty calls.”
Brad’s eyebrows furrowed, his eyes looking troubled. “When did she start doing that again?”
Charles shrugged. “It’s been a long time since her last accident. She’s older already, so she shouldn’t be doing it anymore.”
“It could be anxiety,” I offered. “I read an article last week that anxiety is hitting kids younger and younger.”
Though I had no idea what his kids had to worry about. Charles paid the bills and put food on the table. Anything their parents didn’t get them, Brad and I bought.
Brad shot me a look and then turned his attention back on Charles. “Anything happen at school?”
“The same article said that kids are getting bullied in kindergarten,” I piped up again before taking another sip of my beer.
Brad sat straighter in his seat. “Has she said anything to you?” he asked Charles, looking like the worrywart uncle that he was. His grip tightened on the bottle. He shook his head and then stood. “I’ll ask her. She’ll tell me.”
Where I had a special bond with Sarah, my thirteen-year-old niece, Brad had a special bond with Mary.
Charles placed a light hand on Brad’s shoulder. “Stay here. I’ll take care of it. You two look like you have bigger problems to tackle.”
When Charles left, Brad plopped down on his chair and drained the rest of his bottle.
The air blasting through the vents filled the silence between us. He and I didn’t communicate all that well. Let’s just say, Brad and I went directly to Charles when we wanted advice or needed to vent. Never to each other. Mostly because I couldn’t stand his sarcastic ass, and he couldn’t handle the truth when I gave it to him.
After a few more minutes of silence, I decided it was time to head upstairs. If I was going to be in my own head, figuring out what the hell I was going to do about Janice, I could do that upstairs, in the comfort of my bed. Thankfully, this spacious place had enough bedrooms to accommodate Brad and me when we came home.
“Do you want another beer? I’m heading upstairs.” I pushed out the chair and tossed my empty bottle in the recycling bin.
“No. I need to get back to Sonia.”
I raised an eyebrow. He isn’t staying here? “Where does she think you are?” I wondered if they’d gotten into a fight.
“Getting her mango chocolate ice cream with chocolate chips.”
I frowned. Women. “Is that even a flavor?” Why the hell is he out for ice cream at one in the morning? Must have been one hell of a fight.
He sighed loudly. “Who knows? Probably not. I was thinking of getting mango ice cream and just adding chocolate chips.”
He rested his elbows on the table and dropped his head in his hands, rubbing the top of his forehead.
Whatever he’d done, it must have been bad. What happened?
And then he blurted out, “She’s pregnant, man.”
I reeled back and double-blinked.
Well, shit, I wasn’t expecting that.
“She’s been extra moody lately, and I know when her time of the month is because she doesn’t like to have sex. I don’t care, but she does.” He fidgeted with the neck of his T-shirt. “Those are the longest days of my month.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a breath. “I noticed she was out of pads, and I was at the grocery store, so I told her I’d grab some.”
Pick up sanitary napkins for his girlfriend? Who is this guy?
“Then, she started crying. Out of the blue.” He lifted his head, his eyes tired. He must have known for weeks because judging by the bags under his eyes, he hadn’t just found out today. “And that’s when she told me she was pregnant.” He narrowed his eyes, and his voice was strained. “Have you seen Sonia’s dad? Of course you’ve seen her dad.”
The first thing I’d noticed about Sonia’s father were his hands—how big and thick his knuckles were. The next thing I’d noticed was the huge crucifix around his neck. Brad had gone to church with their family a few times.
Yes, church. Brad was now a pretend Catholic.
Brad rubbed at his brow again as though he wanted to tear his brains out. “He has guns. Plural. He cleans them in front of me.” He pounded one hand against the table. “He’s going to kill me for knocking up his daughter before I married her.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
His head shot up, and his eyes narrowed. “Sorry? Why would you say that, man? I’m not sorry. I’m having a kid.” His face softened.
“I meant about her dad,” I cleared up.
My brother and I might not communicate all that well, but the last thing I wanted to see was his face bloodied by Sonia’s father.
“A kid. My own kid.” The corners of his lips tipped up in a small smile, and he stared at his Guinness, his gaze unfocused. “I’m going to marry her, bro.”