Page 51 of A Favor Owed

We park in the driveway of our yellow two-story house. It’s close to eleven, but a couple of neighbors are still sitting outside on their porches in the mild September air. They wave and call hello when they see us.

“Brady!” My mom pulls me inside and gives me a bone-crushing hug as soon as my dad puts his key in the door. “How’s my boy? Oh, God, I missed you, hon.”

“Missed you, too, Ma,” I say, squeezing her tightly. My mom, Deirdre, has copper hair that used to be red; blond highlights hide the gray. Her eyes are deep blue and framed by long, dark lashes. I look over her head at her dark-eyed, younger version, my sister Siobhan.

“Hey, jerkface,” she says.

“Hey, McNugget.”

My mom reluctantly lets me go so that Siobhan can give me a hug. She’s at least three inches taller than my mom, her long, straight red hair falling over her shoulders and framing a pale, freckled face that blushes easily.

“Getting tall there, Shiv,” I say.

“Getting fat, you mean,” says a voice from the hallway.

Siobhan whirls to face our brother. “Eat shit, Mikey.”

“Mikey, I don’t want to hear that come out of your mouth again,” scolds my mom.

“Sorry, Ma,” says Mikey. He grasps my hand and pulls me into a one-armed, back-slapping hug. “What’s up, man?”

“What aboutmyapology, you sexist, acne-infested pig?” snaps Siobhan.

“So good to be home,” I say. I give Mikey a shove. “Seriously, man, don’t say that shit to a girl.”

“She’s not a girl. She’s our sister.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” says my dad. “Is the pizza here?”

“Just got here,” my mom replies.

We all head into the kitchen and sit at our usual places around the table. I’ve lived here since I was nine years old. We moved right after Siobhan was born. Everything about it is as familiar to me as the back of my hand, from the floors my dad laid to the chips in the molding that Mikey put there riding around in his toy race car.

My mom passes around the pizza on paper plates while my dad pours sodas for Mikey and Siobhan and opens beers for him and my mom and me. We’re talking over each other like we usually do, Mikey and Siobhan bickering and my mom telling them to shut up. It’s during a brief lull that Siobhan decides to pipe up.

“How’s your girl, Brady?”

All eyes turn to me.

“Yourwhat?” says Mikey mid-bite, a string of mozzarella suspended between his mouth and his pizza.

My mom stares at me with wide eyes and a tentative smile. My dad puts his pizza down and swallows.

“She’s not my girl,” I mumble, taking a bite of pizza. “And shut up, Siobhan.”

“Why?” she whines. “I think it’s cute. And it’s about time.”

“It’s nothing,” I say, gulping beer. “Can I have another slice of sausage, Ma?”

“She’s tall,” announces Siobhan.

Oh fuck.

“Tall, huh?” says my dad in a quiet voice. I can’t meet his eyes.

“But she won’t give Brady the time of day.”

“That’s enough, Shiv,” I say, shooting her a warning glare.

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