Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Earlier in the week, while I was doing the dishes, Rafe’s sister Gabriela called. I was half listening to Rafe’s side of the conversation, amused at how often Gabriela cut him off to lecture him about something. It sounded like it might be about some family dinner. After a few minutes of being interrupted, Rafe came up behind me and dropped his forehead down on my shoulder, sighing in irritation. He’s too tall for it to have been comfortable for more than a minute, though, so he wrapped an arm around my waist and pressed against my back.
“Gabri, no— No, thank you. I appreciate it but— Well, he sounds— No— Sí, but— I’m sure he is— I don’t even know what that means, Gabri— Yes, I’m sure doctors do make a lot of— I don’t— Por el amor de dios, sis, stop!— Porque!— Fine, because I’m already seeing someone, okay?”
Rafe glanced at me, but I was careful to give the dishes my full attention.
I don’t know why it freaked me out that Rafe would say that. I mean, I’m not an idiot. I know that’s what’s going on. I just don’t know what it means. About me. About the future. Anything.
Rafe was looking at me intently.
“Hermana, I have to go—no, I’m hanging up. I’ll talk to you later. Te amo. Okay. Colin?”
“Hm?”
“I think it’s clean.” He took the dish I’d washed three times out of my hand and dried it. He tipped my chin up so I meet his gaze. “I probably should have confirmed that with you before I said anything.”
“What? No. I mean, no worries. I know that—that we’re… you know. Sure.”
“Well, you’re nervous rambling and you can’t even say the word ‘dating,’ so I think maybe it’s not fine.”
I shook my head and changed the subject, but things were awkward for the rest of the night and he hasn’t brought it up since. Of course, neither have I.
“YOU WANNA watch the game with us?” Brian asks as work is winding down.
I search my memory, trying to remember if Rafe is going to come over tonight. Maybe we’ll go running….
“Dude, what is your deal lately? You never want to hang out anymore. You don’t come in on Saturdays, and you never stick around after work.” Brian’s looking at his feet and twisting his shoulders nervously like he did when he was a little kid. “You too cool for me now, bro?” He says it like a joke and slugs me on the shoulder, but he looks hurt.
And he’s right. Usually, I’d hang out here with Brian and Pop after work on Saturdays and a few nights a week. We’d get pizza, have some beers, and watch whatever games were on, arguing about players and stats, adding our bottle caps or beer tops to the jars where Brian and I have measured our rival victories for years, until Pop fell asleep in the permanently reclined recliner. But the last month I’ve barely seen them outside of work and I hardly even noticed.
“Well, I’m definitely too cool for you,” I say, throwing an arm around Brian’s shoulders. Brian gives a weak smile but shrugs me off. “Sorry, man. It’s not like that. Um, yeah, let’s watch the game. Pizza sounds good.”
“Yeah, well, we get it from a new place now,” Brian says, not quite ready to forgive.
“Okay, whatever you want.”
And Brian, incapable of holding a grudge for more than five seconds, grins and starts bouncing up and down on his toes, drumming on my shoulders.
“Sweet!” And he darts away.
It’s always been me, Pop, Brian, and Sam. Since Mom died, anyway. Hanging out with them always felt normal, easy. Now, though, the last repair done and the tools put away, following Brian into the living room feels strange. The house seems darker or something. And the smell of beer that starts in the kitchen and gets stronger in the living room seems sharper.
Pop comes in from his room looking like he just woke up, which is strange because I saw him in the shop an hour or two ago. Jesus, for the first time, when I look at Pop, I see an old man. He grunts when he sees me and settles heavily into his chair.
“Son,” he says, and he nods approvingly. Warmth washes through me. He immediately turns his attention to Brian.
“You order yet?”
“I’m about to.”
“Just not that crap place from the other day. Where’d you find that place, anyway? Pizza tasted like fuckin’ cardboard.”
Brian looks embarrassed. Guess they don’t have a new favorite after all.
As Brian and I walk to the corner to get the pizza and more beer, I ask, “So, what was that other pizza place you tried and how’d you live through Pop’s fury?”
Brian blushes. The only time I’ve ever seen Brian blush is when—
“Hey, did you go to a new place because one of the servers is in love with you?” That’s what Brian always says about any girl he thinks is cute: “she’s totally in love with me.” He’s a hundred percent cocky and only about 20 percent accurate when it comes to recognizing when someone’s actually flirting with him. But right now he’s practically tripping over his own feet to avoid looking up. I catch his shoulder.