Page 121 of In Case You Didn't Know
“I’ll be back soon,” I say, though none of them look like they’re going to be mad if I take my time. Linc is pouring out what looks like paint stripper from the cocktail shaker, Brooks and Eli are in a deep discussion about God knows what, and Liam and Myles are looking at their phones. Eli, on the other hand, already turned on the television in the kitchen and is scrolling through the sports channels.
Some things never change.
I miss you – Francie x
I type it out quickly and send it to him. Because when he’s around, even in my texts, I feel less alone.
So much, baby. – Asher
And that’s the last I hear from him as I walk upstairs to my childhood bedroom and unpack my toiletry bag, ready for a shower, to make myself ready for the big reveal.
thirty-three
FRANCIE
By the time I come back downstairs, freshly showered and wearing linen pants and a t-shirt, the smell of something delicious is wafting from the kitchen. I peek in to find Linc and Brooks bickering over pasta.
“Finally,” Linc says, grinning. “I need your help. You’re a woman of taste. Pasta should always be underdone, right?”
“Al dente.” I nod. “With a bite.”
The oversized table is set for seven, with linen napkins, crystal glasses, and the kind of silverware that only comes out when Mom’s hosting.
“Is all this for me?” I ask. Because my brothers aren’t usually ones for such pretense.
“Of course.” Myles says, sweeping in. “You’ve come home. It’s something worth celebrating.”
There’s a stupid lump in my throat that no swallow will get rid of. I let out a breath. “Thank you.”
“Always,” he says softly.
“Dinner’s up,” Linc calls out, always the domesticated one. When his son was born – Rowan who’s now twenty and breakinghearts at college – he took a sabbatical and became a house husband. “Brooks, take the salad and bread over. Myles, can you pour the wine? Everybody else, help me serve.”
For a minute or two, there’s complete mayhem. The kind you can only get in a big family, six of whom are all over six foot two. But finally we’re sitting down, eating Linc’s delicious carbonara, groans of appreciation echoing around the room.
I eat politely, carefully twirling the spaghetti around my fork the way my mom taught me, but my brothers eat like a pack of wolves who’ve been fasting for a year. And I can’t help smiling as they banter and bicker and steal food off each others’ plates.
It’s loud, warm, and just a little overwhelming. And it makes me feel like I’m part of something that I haven’t been for a long time.
Which makes it harder to bring up the thing I have to bring up.Ugh.
So I don’t. Not for a while. Instead we talk about everything and nothing. Eli’s coaching schedule, Liam’s new house project, the fact that their kids are growing up and making their gray hairs turn steely.
The food disappears faster than I thought humanly possible, and by the time I go to clear the plates – and am swatted away by Linc – the air is thick with satisfied sighs and the sound of wine glasses being refilled.
Then Myles clears his throat and my stomach tightens.
He’s at the head of the table, his posture straight, his hands clasped together like he’s chairing a meeting.
Which technically, he is, even if he doesn’t know it. I know I need to tell them. But right now, I feel like the food is sitting heavy in my stomach, my nerves twisting tighter with every laugh and bite.
“We should raise a toast to Francie.” He lifts his glass to me. “It’s good to see you.”
“To Francie,” my brothers say, lifting their glasses.
I give him a smile. “Thank you.”
“We wanted to talk to you about something,” Myles says once they’ve all swallowed down their wine. He glances around at the others. Every single one of them goes suddenly silent.
