Page 5 of Together

“What do you mean?” I take a bite of one of the boneless wings.

“She had to know that you were about the marriage stuff, right? Anyone can see that you’re a marriage kind of guy. Why wouldn’t she just break up with you rather than keep up the charade?”

“Charade?”

“Whatever you want to call it. She was basically lying to you.”

“Well, you know how I feel about liars.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m okay with this change of plans.”

“Wow. So much sympathy for your brother.”

“Meh. You’ll survive,” she teases. “I love you, big brother. I’m always here for you.”

“I know and I love you, too. Now that you know it didn’t happen…” I trail off, hoping she gets the picture. Nothing against my sister, but I’m in the mood to forget and talking to Josie about what didn’t happen doesn’t exactly make me forget.

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Make sure you don’t drive home tonight. Call that guy, okay? The one that drives that local cab that I find super sketchy?”

I almost roll my eyes at her comment. Our parents were killed by a drunk driver. We don’t drink and drive. Ever. Our small town doesn’t have cabs. The ‘guy’ Josie’s referring to is just a random person who needed extra money — he’s not sketchy at all but the vehicle he drives looks like there’s a high possibility that it’s been involved in a drug deal or two. He slapped a “Roy’s Taxi Service” on the side of an older minivan, posted about it on social media, and that was that.

“I’ll call Roy. Don’t worry. I’m not an idiot.”

“I know. But I worry.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow, Josie. Sorry I didn’t have better news for you tonight.”

“Maybe it’s not the news I was expecting, but it’s not terrible news. Everything happens for a reason, right?”

It’s what we’ve been saying to each other since our parents died. They were driving home from the grocery store in the middle of the day and a drunk driver t-boned them on the driver’s side. Unfortunately, our parents’ car was hit with such force that it slammed into a semi-truck parked at the light, killing both our mother and father immediately. The drunk driver didn’t survive the accident either. The driver of the semi survived physically, but I know he’s suffered mentally since it happened.

“Yup. Love you, Josie.”

“Love you, Niko,” Josie says, using the nickname only she uses for me.

I hang up just as the waitress delivers my water and whiskey and Coke. I thank her and dive into the wings. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her bringing the woman from earlier another drink also just as she starts eating what looks like enough food for an army. There’s hardly room on the table for even her plate.

Did she order every appetizer on the menu? By the way she’s diving in, she has zero regrets over the abundance of food sitting in front of her. I don’t really blame her. The food here might be nothing out of the ordinary but it’s definitely tasty.

I lick my fingers after devouring a buffalo wing and glance over at her again. She rolls her eyes and sits back in her seat after dipping a handful of cheesy fries into a bowl of ranch dressing and shoving them into her mouth. My own mouth waters in jealousy. Damn. I should have ordered the loaded fries, too.

“Just come over and join me instead of staring,” she mumbles through a mouthful of food but loud enough that I can hear.

My stomach drops and my face heats in embarrassment.

“You heard me. But bring your wings with you.”

Rather than letting her know how mortified I am, I clear my throat and throw back, “You sure there’s room on your table for more food and people?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she gets up and drags the table next to hers over, moving chairs out of the way so there’s room for both of us. The table legs scrape along the hardwood floor and she huffs when she sits back down, rearranging all the platters of food.

“Fine,” I grumble and join her.

“Help yourself. None of this will reheat well but I couldn’t decide so I told her one of everything. Also if you help eat all this then I won’t feel so bad about myself when I go to bed tonight and given the fact that my boyfriend of three years told me tonight that he never saw himself getting married — not in general, oh no, TO ME — not adding more reason for me to be upset later on would be ideal.”

A mozzarella stick dangles from my fingertips just an inch from my open mouth and I blink slowly.

“Whoa.”

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