Page 31

Never said another word to me about it.
When I walk in they’re sitting at the table, heads bent close together, talking quietly, like they used to and it’s like I’m fifteen again, envy and resentment so thick in my throat I can’t take a breath.
I clear my throat. “Hey.” I turn away from them to hang my keys on the hook. When I turn back, they’re looking at me.
Mom’s crying.
“What’s wrong?” It’s not envy that’s trying to choke me anymore. It’s sheer panic. “Where’s Da?”
“What?” Mom shakes her head before lifting a hand to her face. When it comes away wet she laughs. “Oh, I didn’t even realize I was crying.”
“Like a big, fat baby,” Con teases her and laughs when she swats him on the arm before standing to make her way to the stove. “Da’s fine,” he says, giving me a bland smile but he doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t tell me what they were talking about. Why Mom is crying. And then I know why.
Because it’s about Henley.
Because he doesn’t trust me with his happiness.
Because he knows that there is still something lurking inside me that will want to break it.
“You asked Henley to marry you.”
When he doesn’t answer me, Mom steps in. She doesn’t say anything but something passes between them. An admonishment delivered in the way she sets the kettle back on the stove. The way she closes the cabinet door when she fetches a tea bag from the cupboard.
Conner sighs and shakes his head. “Not yet.” His jaw works around the words like he doesn’t want to say them. Like he knows he’s already told me too much. “I just got back from New York. I went to see her step-father, to ask for his blessing.”
From the corner of my eye, I see our mom press a hand to her mouth to keep herself from crying out loud. Conner is getting married, something none of us thought would ever happen, and she’s so happy she’s about to cry herself into a puddle.
When I told them I was marrying Jessica, neither one of my parents spoke to me for a month.
Do you really blame them?
It isJessica we’re talking about.
I watch her wipe her eyes again before she turns to smile at me. “Declan, sit down,” Mom says, carrying her tea back to the kitchen table. “You Da went to Gino’s to pick up some pizza, We’re just going to—”
“No.” My tone is too sharp when I say it. Too hard. Shaking my head, I lift my keys off the hook. When I turn back, it’s with a forced smile. “I can’t stay—one of us needs to be at the bar to cover Happy Hour. I just stopped by to talk to Da,” I say being vague on purpose because I have no idea why I’m really here beyond the fact that I saw Con’s ride parked in the driveway and I had every intention of goading him into a fight.
“Oh.” My mom nods her head. “Okay. Well, I’ll tell your father you stopped by.”
“Thank you.” It’s always been like this between us. Awkward. Strained. Shifting my gaze to Con, I push my smile back into place. “Congratulations, man.” I nod. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks.” The corner of his mouth tips up in a smirk because he knows the truth. He knows that the something still lurking around inside me still hates him. Can’t be happy for him. Won’t be happy for him and no matter how hard I push, no matter how deep I dig, I can’t seem to cut it out.