Page 78 of The Photograph

I sit down when a server wearing a bright pink mohawk and an intricate tattoo on her upper arm takes my order, notepad in hand.

“Gin and tonic, please. Sorry, I haven’t had time to look at the menu… Do you have fish tartare?”

She lifts her eyes from her black electronic gizmo. “We do. They come with two oysters, tuna, or salmon?”

“Tuna, please.”

She watches me with narrow eyes, slides her notepad in the front packet of her black apron, and says, “You’re the perfect pearl in those choppy seas.”

Oh, this is terrible.I laugh as she bows deeply. “My name’s Jessie and I’ll be your poet this evening.”

“Thank you, Jessie, my friend should be here soon.”

As she strides away, Mitch crosses paths with her and hugs me before dropping his long body in the wicker armchair next to mine.

He rakes his fingers through his overlong hair. “I know we said no Cara or Gabe, but … is Cara seeing someone?”

It’s odd to experience Mitch so … intense. “I don’t think so. Why?”

He sits back and exhales sharply. “She won’t talk to me.”

When I touch his wrist, he squeezes my fingers and lifts his aquamarine eyes to mine.

“What do you want with Cara?”

Mitch’s reply is quick. “Her. I just want her. That’s all I ever wanted.”

I like that. I like that a lot, so I grin at him.

Later, Mitch tells me more about his life. Things I didn’t have time to ask ten years ago. He tells me how Gabe and he lost both their parents when he was eleven years old, and Gabe seventeen. Their mother’s sister and her husband, a childless, cold but dutiful couple—his words—took them in, treated them well, but were never affectionate. When Gabe left for university, he visited his baby brother often, and as soon as Mitch turned eighteen, he went to live with his brother. As I lean in over the glass table, I’m struck by the similarities of our upbringing and how lucky we were to have extraordinary siblings who stepped up for us.

“Our aunt and uncle provided for me, but Gabe’s my only family.”

When he slants back in his seat, I smile. “It’s nice to have you back, Mit…Michael.” I narrow my eyes. “Which one do you prefer?”

A small smile curves the corner of his lips. “Gabe calls me Mike. Our parents used to call me Mikey, but after they died, it didn’t feel right, so I asked him to call me Mike.” He winces. “Michael comes out when he’s pissed off. Gabe can do pissed off really well.”

“Yes, I know.”

Mitch studies me with narrowed eyes and my face catches on fire under his scrutiny, so I hide behind my cocktail.

His muscles swirl under his black t-shirt as he edges closer. “Yeah? And you’re not scared of him?”

I whip my eyes to his. “Of Gabe? No.”

Jessie steps to our table and sets Mitch’s beer glass on a coaster. He dips his chin and turns to me. “He scares a lot of people.”

“Oh, he’s intimidating, but I’ve seen glimpses of goodness underneath the façade.” I scrunch up my nose. “You know when he’s not hell bent on revenge wanting to destroy someone and their whole family.”

When Mitch laughs, I clear my throat. “Anyway, we said no Cara and no Gabe.”

He raises his glass in a cheer.

****

On Cara’s and Emma’s advice, I’ve started dating.

With mixed results.

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