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Mom is missing you.

We miss you.

Why don’t you visit more often, Aden?

I answer as usual. “I visit regularly,” I say. “For the holidays for example.”

“Not for all of them,” he points out.

“Oliver,“ I sigh.

“I know, work,” he mutters. “Is that truly the reason?”

I frown, glad he isn’t here in person to see my expression. I do believe I have a fairly good poker face, but certainly not good enough to fool him. “What other reason would there be?” I toss the question right back at him.

“I don’t know, Aden.” He sounds soft, a stark contrast to the rough boy he was when we were growing up. “You tell me.”

“There is not much to tell.”

“Aden…” Another pause, this time longer than the one before. It sounds like he is about to say something. I prepare myself inwardly to rebuff anything he can say, but then his voice sounds lighter all of a sudden. “You are coming for Mom’s birthday, aren’t you?”

God, yeah, I have to.

“I will tell her you won’t make it on Sunday,” he urges. “But please come for her birthday.”

There is no chance I could miss that. I hate family meetings. If it were just Mom, I would visit her or invite her out more regularly. I don’t mind spending time with her, but I don’t enjoy spending time with the whole family. It always makes me feel tense, like I don’t belong.

“Aden?”

“Yes, I am coming for her birthday,” I say. “I need to go now, Oliver.”

“Aden—"

“Good night.”

I feel a twinge of guilt, like always, after I have talked to one of my brothers. I got used to it, though, and am now able to shake it off. To distract me, I switch on some music, realizing that Cedric put on a pop music channel the last time he drove with me, and forgot to change it back to what I usually listen to.

Well, I can just as well listen to some upbeat music now until I am home.

Homeis a townhouse I own. I used to have an apartment, but it felt too modern, too everything, so I rented it out and instead bought a small townhouse. The purchase was twice as expensive due to the area and size, but it feels more private and much more like me. I do have neighbors, but I don’t mind. I prefer it to a single house; it would make me feel too lonely.

Once inside, I pour a glass of wine, grab a plate of cheese, and then settle down on my sofa to go through the artists and their works again. We have an interesting bunch covered this time, a good mix of varied art styles and techniques.

I don’t sleep a lot, but I am used to running on low sleep for a gallery opening weekend. One glance outside shows me that the line waiting for admittance is already long, although we aren’t opening for two hours.

Cedric is so excited, I am afraid he might bounce off the wall. “Please tell me, you won’t be like that all evening,” Lynn says.

Lynn is one of my longest and most important employees, responsible for accounting and sales. She is fantastic with numbers and a good negotiator when it comes to buying paintings and artworks for our permanent collection. But she hates the more personal contact with customers and clients. That’s what I am good at.

“He will,” I mutter more to myself than to her, while going through the notes of my speech. “TV coverage?”

“Yes,” she says. “I invited the usual TV stations and a few influencers with the right target audience and content.”

I groan.

“Don’t be a boomer,” she grins. “You are not old enough to be one.”

“So, you are telling me you will deal with them?” I ask.