Page 26 of Late to Love

She emphasizes the wordtalkand I have no idea what to do with that. Is that code for something? Does everyone her age know what that means and I’m just an old fuddy-duddy with no clue of what “kids these days” do?

I am a disaster.

She must see the confusion on my face, because she laughs. Then, with the softest smile I’ve ever seen on her face, she says, “I miss you, too.”

I clear my throat. “As—as friends.”

The smile falters and her eyes dim as she blinks, then nods once. “Right. As friends.”

It’s an asshole thing to do, and I know it. But I’m losing control here and the only way I know to take it back is to put some distance between us. I could feel myself wanting to kiss her. To do whatever I want to her. And I can’t. She is too young. And I am…well, I’m not old, exactly, but I’m too old for her.

She finishes up quickly, the silence suddenly stilted and awkward, and I lead her back out. She takes her leave without another word, turning to the loft while I go back to my comfort zone behind the bar. It’s the one place I control everything, and good God, do I need some fucking control right now.

I exhale, willing my thoughts to settle, needing to drop into the mindlessness of work.

But of course, this is the exact moment Ox chooses to waltz in, brandishing his phone screen at me as he closes the distance. “Okay, big brother, it’s time.”

“For what?” Then I see it’s Levi on the screen and inwardly groan. This is about?—

“Planning Mom and Dad’s party and Dad’s retirement!” Ox’s smile is so big and bright that it damn near hurts my feelings.

“Anthony,” Levi intones.

“Levi,” I return. We don’t talk much—okay, we don’t talk at all—but I really wish the asshole lived here. Ox would be a hell of a lot more, I don’t know, manageable. But Levi has a life in New Orleans with his wife, so whatever.

“I’m thinking we’ll have it here.” Ox dives right in.

“No.” Levi and I speak simultaneously.

Ox’s face falls. “Why not?”

“We can do better than that,” Levi answers.

“Fuck you,” I growl.

“Fuck you right back,” Levi says. “You don’t want to have it there anyway, so don’t get your panties twisted. Your place isn’t good for this, and you know it. We need a place that we can do up all fancy and shit. You know Mom would love that.”

I fight the urge to slam the phone to the ground. Whether I want to have the party here or not is beside the point. But for Levi to say my place isn’t good enough? Fuck him. Growing up, we would have all killed to come to a place like this.

Whatever. I’m not nearly as close to my parents as my brothers are. Which makes sense, I guess. I was six when they were born; old enough to fend for myself, and that’s exactly what I had to do. Mom had her hands full with the twins, and Dad was either working, grading papers, or doing side jobs to try and make ends meet. And even once the boys got older, they still took all the attention. I was always quiet and watchful, and my brothers were most definitely not. These days, it’s as though they’re only proud of the twins, and I guess I get it—one’s a successful lawyer and the other is the town chief of police. But it’s not like I haven’t done well for myself. I run a successful family entertainment venue off the pier. How is that not enough? They’ve been here all of one time.

I focus my attention back to the conversation that’s continued without me.

“Can we pay someone to do the decorating?” Levi’s asking.

“Where?”

Ox levels an exasperated look at me. “At the rec center, Anthony. Were you payinganyattention or were you just being broody, like always?”

I don’t answer. Because clearly, I was “being broody,” even though I disagree with the way he couches it. Also, how is it that the rec center can be made “fancy,” but my place can’t?

Levi snorts. “Good old Anthony. Always consistent, brother. Never change.”

The comment chafes. “We’ll do it here.”

“No,” Levi responds. “I don’t want little gremlins running around when we’re trying to have a nice party for Mom and Dad.”

“I can close the place.”

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