Page 64 of Book Boyfriends
He turns and starts down the path toward the gate, my attention follows each slow step. Hand on the knob, his shoulders slump, and he spins.
“I don’t think you’re a screwup. It kills me that you believe that’s my opinion of you.”
“Then why do you act like it?” I ask, my mouth dry. But I forge on, “Like every decision I make is the wrong one.”
“I’m the eldest. It’s in our DNA.”
“You don’tworryabout Jackson the way you worry about me,” I scoff, making air quotes.
He opens and then closes his mouth.
“Even when I do what you want, it’s still not the right thing.‘Don’t study English. Get a real degree, Georgia’,” I mock his deep baritone. “So, I did. I got my bachelor’s and master’s in social work to make you happy.”
“You love what you do.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that it wasn’t my first choice. You make underhanded comments about how much I make. You refuse to see that, despite your concerns about writing being a dead-end, I’m making it work. Yes, I don’t make a lot from it, but I make enough to pay for it. Jackson spends just as much on his recreational activities, but that isn’t an issue. At least I make money from something you call my hobby.” I toss up my hands. “It’s just some sexist bullshit and you know it.”
“It has nothing to do with you being a girl.”
“Then why?” I hiss through clenched teeth.
“Because Jackson wasn’t the sick one. The one I stayed up at night worrying about. The person I was terrified I was going to lose.”
My ire deflates just a bit, but not completely. Seven years older, Rem has always taken on a lot. He’s our family’s protector. It had to be so scary for him. The turmoil of our parents’ relationship was exacerbated by a sick sister. Each time areaction landed in the ER or kept me home from school, he’d held my hand.
It took a string of doctor visits to arrive at my diagnosis. Once we knew what was happening, it became easier to prevent the flare-ups. Everyone was careful once we knew, especially Rem.
“I’m not that sick kid anymore. Haven’t been for a long time.” I meet his gaze. “I just hope one day you can see that.” Turning, I walk away.
The showdown with my brother frazzles my nerves, but I suck in a deep breath. The cool morning air fills my lungs and quells the anxiety that prickles under the surface of my skin. Leaving the argument outside, I open the patio door and step into the kitchen. Hope sits at the Queen Anne-style table, a mini breakfast smorgasbord of pastries, fruit, eggs, potatoes, and meats covers its surface.
Plopping onto a chair, I release a long breath. “I like Davis.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Elbows on the table’s edge, she leans forward, her chin resting on her hands, and playfulness dancing in her brown eyes.
“I may have figured out a way to get my book boyfriends back to their stories.”
“You have?” Owen exclaims, causing me to spin in my chair. He stands, head twisted our way and teakettle mid-pour, at the stovetop.
I point. “What are you doing here… Jackson hasonejob, and he can’t even do that… And Rem thinks he’s the responsible one.” I shake my head.
“Jackson dropped me off before he and Lars went for a morning run,” he says, pouring hot water into the hummingbird-themed teapot.
“Advantage of an empty townhouse,” I mutter James’s words to myself. “Why are you here?”
Hope rubs her belly. “With this little biscuit coming in six weeks, my doctor wants me to slow down a bit, so Owen’s going to help me out.”
“As long as you need me,” he says, placing the ceramic pot in the center of the table. He takes the seat beside her.
Side-by-side, in their matching lavender Good Girl’s Grub T-shirts, it hits me how much my bestie and the cinnamon roll baker are alike. Both helpers. Both patient but willing to push when needed.
“You’ll be a dynamic duo in the kitchen together.” I accept the cup of tea Owen poured for me.
“That we will. I’m happy to have Owen as part of the Good Girl’s Grub team for as long as he’s here.” Affection shines in her features. “But you said you have an idea? What is it? How can we help?”
“I do…” I tap my fingers against the side of the porcelain cup. The action soothes the jitteriness inside me. “I have a plan, but I’d like to keep it between us because I don’t want to give Lars and James false hope. Sorry to ask you to keep this secret, Owen, but…”
He makes alocking-the-doorandtossing-away-the-keymotion against his mouth. It’s a little silly, but the sweetness draws a thankful smile to my mouth.
