Page 30 of The Art of Scandal

“Apparently that’s all I’m capable of.”

“Dad didn’t mean it like that,” Joe countered. Nathan knew his brother was trying to stay neutral, but just once, he wanted Joe to pick a side and stay there. Or at least call their father out on his objectively fucked-up bullshit. Beto was imprinted on his brother in ways that ran so deep it was scary.

“That’s exactly how he meant it,” Nathan said.

Joe propped both hands on his hips, revealing a creased shirt and wrinkled pants. He’d probably come straight from the office. “All right, so what? He’s a seventy-year-old asshole that doesn’t care about anything but a stock option. Toss a coin in this room and you’ll hit five more just like him.”

“That makes it okay?”

“No, but your attitude is pointless. Who gives a fuck what he thinks? Let it go.”

Nathan bit back a laugh because Joe never let go of anything. He balled things up and choked them down with a chaser of sleep deprivation and antacids. Then he dragged himself to events like this to avoid dealing with their parents’ disappointment.

Sometimes, when Joe would visit Nathan’s apartment, his brother would slouch on the couch with his tie loose and his shirtsleeves rolled high. They’d drink beer, make guacamole, and watch some romantic Korean drama that Joe refused to admit was his favorite. He’d tell jokes, and laugh, and sound like the teenage boy who used to squeeze Nathan’s fingers to distract him when he was frightened. That was the real Joe, a goofy romantic who didn’t think twice about holding his little brother’s hand, not this brittle Brooks Brothers drone constantly beating his life into submission. Talking to this guy made him miss his brother.

Nathan surveyed the crowd of party guests. The men checked their watches while the women greeted each other with slack-armed hugs to preserve their hair and makeup. It was like watching anSNLsketch about what rich people do in their spare time. “How do you deal with this every day?”

“It’s just a party.”

“You know what I mean.”

Joe sighed and claimed a bare spot of wall to lean against. “I haven’t left the office before eight in months. Most nights I skip dinner. In the morning, I hit the gym before five. I never see Mom. Don’t see Dad outside the office. Makes things easier.”

Nathan laughed. “And I’m the one getting shit about ghosting this family?”

“It’s not the same thing and you know it. You leftus, Nate.”

Nathan could hear the rest of his brother’s accusation. Joe had learned that Nathan moved out the same way everyone else did—in a group text of his new address. They’d argued about the way it went down a few times, but Joe had never said out loud what his eyes were saying now.Why didn’t you talk to me? You didn’t even try.

“I lefthim,” Nathan said, and nearly addednot you, but stopped himself because they weren’t having that conversation.

“He built this life for us,” Joe lectured. “Like Tomás did for him. Call it pride, machismo, whatever, but what you did broke his heart.” He sighed. “Look, I know he talks shit about your art—”

“Finger paints. Get it right.”

“Come on, Nate.” Joe looked up at the ceiling, probably praying for patience. “I know what it means to you. I know you better than anyone, don’t I?” He paused, waiting until Nathan nodded in agreement. “I’d never let them take it from you. But you can do more. We’ve got a dozen subsidiaries with creative teams at Vasquez. Take your pick.”

Nathan’s head was starting to hurt. He rubbed his neck and fumbled for a polite way to say that becoming his brother’s clone was one of his worst nightmares. “I can’t kern fonts on coffee bean labels every day.”

“You can’t—hold on, what the fuck is kerning?”

“Adjusting the space between letter—”

Joe lifted his hand. “Stop. Forget I asked.” He sighed. “Dad is dying. If you want to do something about your relationship with him, you need to do it now, before it’s too late.”

Nathan’s patience snapped. “Ourrelationship? You mean the one where he sent me away because he droveyouto a fucking breakdown? That relationship?”

Joe tensed. He looked like he wanted to grab Nathan and shake until something rattled. “Don’t make this about me. I’m not the one about to bury his father holding grudges like a spoiled kid.”

Nathan’s vision tunneled, blotted by rage. “I buried that fucker eight years ago. I’m not digging him back up again.”

Joe looked stunned and then defeated, like Nathan had destroyed the last of his hope. The sight was sobering. Nathan didn’t want to hurt his brother. He wanted to save him.

“Joe, please,” Nathan pleaded. “Stop burning through your life trying to make him happy. Or he won’t be the only one digging his own grave.”

Rachel made the entrance she wanted. The outfit turned a sea of heads in her direction and prompted a rush of whispers as she made her way through the room. One of the board members from the public library stopped to compliment her new look. A close friend of Sofia’s looked Rachel in the eye for the first time and said, “That damn dress is killer.” Dennis Marks, a partner at Matt’s law firm, who always flirted with her when Matt wasn’t around, practically leered at her over his drink.

Rachel reached for a glass of wine, but the server moved away too quickly. Someone touched her arm, and another glass appeared in front of her. “This look is definitely a statement, though I’m not sure it’s the one you were going for.”

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