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I find Evie in the kitchen, bent over boxes and cursing that she stubbed her toe, again, on the sander in the middle of the room.
She spots me and frowns. “You said you were going to move that.”
“I know, but I didn’t.” I shrug, winking at her. “I’ll move it tonight.”
“You’ve said that every night for a week.”
I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “That’s your fault. You’ve distracted me every night this week.” Ethan honks his horn in the driveway. “Don’t be late tonight,” I tell her, kissing her forehead as she searches through garbage bags for a pair of gloves. She’s working outside today planting flowers around the pergola with my mom.
Evie doesn’t work anymore and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I feel better knowing she can relax and do what she wants to. I make pretty good money working construction, but she keeps telling me someday she’s going to college.
We haven’t officially moved into our new house that’s about three miles from my parents’ house, but we’re in the process ofbuilding it on my grandpa’s land he gave to us. And living out of boxes amongst a half finished house. We have electricity though. We didn’t last week. Plumbing, not yet.
We split the land Grandpa gave us with Ethan and Frankie, five acres each, and though I regret being their neighbor most days, it’s nice to know family will be nearby.
“Shit, what day is it?” Evie asks, pouring herself another cup of coffee and one for me to go.
I chuckle. Usually nobody asks me that anymore, but my memory is getting better. Good enough to remember what day it is. There’s a lump in my throat at the reminder. “June twenty-ninth.”
She knows the day, but neither of us say anything. There’s a hesitation in her eyes, a slow swallow following. “I’m never late,” Evie tells me, holding up the gloves she found. “You’re the one who is always late. And don’t forget, we have therapy at three,” Evie reminds me before I make it out the door to work.
I groan. Damn it. I forgot about that. “Do we still have to go? The guy’s a weirdo.” If I thought my therapist was weird, the one Evie and I see together is a fucking nut job. “He told me last week I have nice hands.” I stare at her, blinking. “Who says that?”
“You do have nice hands.” She winks suggestively. “They do a lot for me.”
“Stop that. You’re going to make it an awkward drive to work with your brother. Can we skip this one?”
“It’s our last session.” Evie laughs, rolling her eyes. “And if you had to listen to other people’s problems all day long, you’d be weird too.” She kisses my cheek. “We have emotional damage. We need to go.”
“No, we don’t,” I argue, reaching for my spare jeans so I don’t have to sing tonight in my work jeans. “I don’t think we need to keep going. We’re all better.” I tell her this all the time, but the truth is, it’s a lie. We’re healing, and I use that term loosely, believe me, but better? No, probably not.
Looking like she wants to slap me with the gloves, she gives me a skeptical look. “You’re going.”
“Nope, got it.” I chuckle but am a little annoyed. “Three, right?”
Wrapping her arms around me, she kisses me on the lips. “Yep.”
I notice my mom out of the corner of my eye, her smile secretive. She knows what I’m doing tonight for Evie. I draw back, holding her by the shoulders. “And then I have a surprise for you.”
“I hate surprises.” Evie groans, rolling her eyes. “They give me anxiety.”
“Maybe you should see a therapist about that. I know a guy who likes man hands.”
She bursts out laughing but then stops, pointing her finger in my face. “You’re going to be late for work. And no surprises later.”
“You’ll love this one,” I tell her, winking and not waiting for her to argue with me.
Ethan’s in the driveway, his windows rolled down in the truck, music blaring.
“Why is the music so loud?” I ask, wondering what’s up.
“It’s better than a screaming baby.”
Four months ago, Ethan and Frankie welcomed a screaming, very grumpy Wesley Brooks into the world. Little Wes, he’s pissed off most of the time and his cry will give you an instant headache. Frankie says he’s a grumpy pooper, but whatever the reason, they get very little sleep these days.
I reach for the knob on the radio. He frowns. “Don’t ruin my day.”
“I’m not. I need to talk to you about something.”