“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUUU!”
Scowling at Tanner’s high-pitched yodeling, I turn and whack him in the stomach to get him to shut up.
“Ouch, ye tit!” he bellows loudly just as everyone in the room stops singing.
“Tit!” peals the newly one-year-old voice with all the enthusiasm of a happy little girl on her birthday.
All heads swerve to our niece, Adrienne—affectionately nicknamed Rocky. She’s a blue-eyed, blonde stunner in a fluffy pink dress, perched in her pale pink painted highchair adorned with a rainbow of colourful ribbons. The pink cake in front of her is glowing with a single birthday candle.
“Fuck,” Tanner groans, rubbing his stomach where I thumped him.
“Fuck!” Rocky peals again with a giggle and nearly the entire room inhales sharply.
“Tanner!” Vi exclaims, shooting him a murderous look.
His eyes go wide. “It’s Gareth’s fault. The wanker elbowed me in the guts!”
“Wanker!” Rocky sings.
“That’s it. I’m moving to a different country,” Vi grinds through clenched, smiling teeth as she bends over to speak to Rocky in a sugary sweet voice. “We’re going to move far away from your naughty uncles who don’t seem to know how to filter themselves in front of their niece. We’re going to move to a place where my stupid brothers can’t find us, aren’t we, my little sweetheart?”
“Stoopid!” Rocky mimics.
I swear I hear Vi begin to weep.
Vi’s fiancé, Hayden, shoots us all a scowl.
Tanner shoots him a pouting scowl back. “I’m just as upset as you are. I’ve been trying to get Rocky to say Unky Tan for months, but she won’t do it. Give the princess an expletive and she repeats it like a losing footballer on the pitch!”
I elbow a moping Tanner and give Hayden a subtle nod in apology. We all go back to encouraging Rocky to blow out her candle, and I can’t help but roll my eyes at what we must look like from behind. Quite a sight. A bunch of adults huddled around a Gaviscon-coloured highchair in the dining room of our dad’s house just east of London.
On the left side of Rocky’s highchair are Vi and Hayden—the proud parents celebrating their daughter’s first birthday today. Vi’s giant mutt of a Saint Bernard, Bruce, is eye level with our beloved Rocky, slobber dripping from his jowls in the hopes of her dropping a tasty morsel.
Then there’s Camden and his bride, Indie. They shocked all of us with a secret elopement to Scotland last month. Indie is the new official team doctor for our dad’s football club, so their schedules are always conflicting. However, when they discovered that Arsenal and Bethnal’s schedules matched up for one rare off weekend, they ended up doing a quick getaway to tie the knot without all the fuss of a formal wedding. Since Camden and Tanner are twins, Tan was a pouting baby about the whole secret wedding none of us were invited to. But I knew it had everything to do with Indie not having any family who would have attended the wedding. Camden would do anything to save her from that pain.
Beside Indie is her best friend, Belle—a foetal surgeon just as brilliant as she is—who is happily married to our idiot of a brother, Tanner, despite the odds. How our twin brothers both found doctors to actually marry them, I’ll never quite understand.
On my other side is the youngest of our family, Booker. He has his arms wrapped cosily around his childhood best friend, Poppy. His skilled goalkeeping hands are freely rubbing her small, five-month pregnant belly. They aren’t engaged quite yet, but with the way they’ve been getting on, I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.
Dad is standing on the opposite side of Rocky, smiling bigger than I’ve ever seen him smile in my entire life. Having a granddaughter has changed him, and I honestly don’t know what to think of him these days.
Our family has been changing in general. In a matter of only three years, my sister and three brothers have all done a complete one-eighty. All any of us used to care about were Sunday dinners at Dad’s, football schedules, football formations, football scores, and football recruits. Now, it’s all about babies, birthdays, engagements, and weddings. I’m the oldest of the lot, yet here I sit, fixating on the same bloody woman from last year who won’t even speak to me.
I thought I was nearly over her until I saw her last week. She was flirting with me in the changing room. I know it. All this time, I thought she regretted what happened, but that little spark she had in her eyes the night we fucked was there again. Even as she smacked me at the end, I saw that fire in her eyes.
I crave that sort of fire in my life.
“Gareth!” Hayden’s voice cuts into my thoughts. “Do you want vanilla or chocolate?”
Shaking myself out of my deep thoughts, I take the chocolate cake out of his hand and sit down on the stool at the end of the large kitchen counter. Looking down, I break off a bite and attempt to conceal my wandering thoughts before any of my nosey family catches on.
Vi dishes out a piece of vanilla to Booker, who sidles up next to me. “You all right, Gareth?” His dark eyes pin me with worry. “You seem tense.”
I shrug my shoulders dismissively. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Vi interjects and hands a piece of vanilla to Tanner, who’s hoisted himself up on the counter next to Vi. “You’re in a mood, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because you’ve missed a lot of Sunday dinners this year.”
“It hasn’t been by choice,” I argue over a forkful. It’s fucking delicious. God, I love when Vi bakes. “My schedule has been mad.”
Vi eyes me dubiously. “Look around the room, Gareth. You’re not the only footballer here with a heavy travel schedule, yet the rest of this lot manage to make it home just fine. We’ve been doing Sunday dinners at Dad’s for years now. It’s important. And this year is no different than last year.”
Except it is, I think to myself as I glance around at all the happy couples surrounding me.
Tanner takes a bite and nudges Vi’s shoulder. “I think it’s a girl problem.”
Everyone’s heads snap to me, but Dad interrupts the moment. “I think our little Rocky Doll needs her nappy changed.” He lifts her out of the highchair and strides out of the kitchen with purpose. I have to force myself not to roll my eyes because he rarely changed Booker’s nappies after Mum died.
A dark memory hits me like a ton of bricks. Dad is sitting at the dining room table in our house in London, and I am coming into the kitchen to get Mum a drink.
8 Years Old
“What are you doing?” Dad snaps at me from his place at the table. He’s been sitting there for hours. No book. No telly. No food or drink. Just staring at his fisted hands in front of him.
My eyes narrow. I look over at Vi, who’s struggling to change Booker’s nappy on the floor. She shakes her head at me in fear. But I’m not afraid, so I reply, “Mum is thirsty.”
I fill a glass and turn to find him standing behind me.
“I’ll take it to her.” He reaches out for the glass, his sweaty fingers gripping mine wrapped around the cup.
“No!” I shout, yanking it back toward my chest.
“I said I’ll take it to her!” he booms and reaches for the glass again. I refuse him again and attempt to push him away just as the glass of water crashes to the floor.
“Look what you did!” I cry and bend down to pick up the shards before Booker crawls over and cuts himself. I look up at our father, who just stares down at the mess. His face is blank, like a cartoon character without any feelings. He bends down to help, but I shove him back. “Go away. I’m taking the water to Mummy. If you do it, you’ll only fight, and she’s really bad today!”
He sucks in a big gulp of air and, without another word, he leaves.
I stand up and look at Vi. “Are you okay?”
She nods, her tiny four-year-old eyes wet with tears.
“Take Booker upstairs while I clean this up.”
Vi was only four and struggling to pin down a one-year-old, and I was taking care of our dying mother. Now Dad’s changing nappies and hosting Sunday dinners like we’ve always been one big happy family. Sometimes it’s difficult to remember what it was like before Mum died. Other times, it feels like only yesterday.
Vi turns to Tanner. “Why do you say Gareth has a girl problem, Tan?”
“Just a feeling,” Tanner answers smugly. I glare at both of them while they discuss me like I’m not right fucking here. “That and I think he was shagging his personal shopper when Belle and I went to Manchester last year to watch Cam and Gareth play each other.”
Vi gasps. “What do you mean? You walked in on them?”
“Well, no, not really.” He looks crestfallen. “But the two of them strolled out of his house looking like cats that got the cream. Right, Belle?”
Belle laughs awkwardly beside him and murmurs, “I wouldn’t say that.” Her eyes shoot to Indie from across the room like they’re having a secret conversation.
Tanner continues, “And last summer, Gareth was adamant about us getting the suits for my wedding from his shopper girl even though I told him I didn’t give a toss what we wore.”
“Nice, Tan!” Belle interjects, jabbing him with her elbow.
“Shush. I’m making a point here, wife.” Undeterred, Tanner swerves his eyes to me, addressing me straight on now. “I think you were trying to find an excuse to be near her, and you were quite disappointed when she rushed in and out like a shot.” Tanner strokes his beard and stares at me with a challenging twinkle in his eyes.
I stare blankly back at him. “I didn’t give a toss how long she was there. I just knew that if the suits were left to you alone, we’d all probably show up in Union Jack tuxedos.”
Tanner pauses thoughtfully, as if he likes the idea. After a second, he shakes his head with a scoff. “Bollocks, Gareth. I think you like her. I think you maybe even looove her.” Belle smacks Tanner upside his ridiculous man-bunned head, and he scowls with indignation.
Vi looks at me with wide, hopeful eyes. “Is there any truth to what he’s saying, Gareth? Do you fancy your personal shopper?”
“She’s a fashion stylist, and she does a lot bloody more than just fucking shop.” I huff out a laugh, completely uncomfortable with their line of questioning and how my entire family seems to be pressing in closer to me for answers.
My head snaps when I feel Camden’s hot breath on my neck. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you with a woman, bro.”
I shove him away. “So what? I’m too busy to manage a woman anyway. I have Kid Kickers, team captain responsibilities, all of your bloody dramas that are a bloody full-time job. It’s enough. Just because you lot are all off getting married and starting families doesn’t mean I have to.”
“Of course it doesn’t!” Vi responds, resting her hands on her hips in that motherly way she has about her. “But none of that means you can’t fancy her. So, do you?”
Shrugging and really hating the fact that it’s impossible to keep a secret in this family, I reply woodenly, “I might have…thought something could…happen between us, but it won’t. End of.” I need to get them off my arse before they fucking show up in Manchester and try to help.
“Not end of,” Camden interjects, still standing way too fucking close to me. “When’s the last time you talked to her?”
I look up at the ceiling, trying to recall what we said when we parted last week. “It had been months before I ran into her by accident last week.”
“Months?” Tanner bellows. “She still shops for you, right?”
“Yes, but she sends her assistant now.”
“She’s fucking avoiding you!” He hoots with laughter, like her rejection brings him great joy.
“But he’s gorgeous,” Indie utters, her voice meek amongst the boisterous sounds of the Harris family.
Tanner and Booker burst out laughing as Camden’s jaw drops with horror. He swerves accusing eyes at Indie, who’s standing behind us, nervously adjusting her cheetah-print glasses. Her eyes go wide as she snaps to attention like she didn’t realise she said that out loud. Even Vi and Belle are failing to hide their snickers.
Indie begins jabbering out an excuse. “In that rougher, masculine sort of way. I much prefer the pretty boy features of my husband, of course.” She reaches up to stroke her palm over Camden’s coiffed blonde hair, and he swats her wrist away in mock disgust.
“Pretty boy?” His face is deathly serious. “I’ll show you fucking pretty.” He bends over, throws Indie over his shoulder, and marches toward the back door that leads to the garden. “Specs and I will be back in fifteen to twenty minutes!”
“Way to go, broseph!” Tanner cheers. “You’re my fucking hero!”
“Language!” Vi shouts, rubbing her temples in small circles.
Tanner’s face turns red. “Rocky’s upstairs with Dad!”
“Well, you should be making it a habit!” she snaps back.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I groan and cover my face with my hands. “Our family is beyond dysfunctional. What’s worse than dysfunctional?”
“Mmm,” Belle says, raising a finger and finishing a bite of cake at the opposite end of the counter. “I think the word you’re looking for is psychotic.” She licks her lips, her face completely pleasant.
“That’s the one,” I reply with a finger wag. “You guys are all psychotic.”
“Well, we’re related, so you’re part of this bloody nuthouse.” Tanner tosses a peanut into his mouth and strokes his beard with a proud smirk on his face.
“But seriously,” Vi states, bringing us back to the task at hand. “That is so weird she hasn’t been speaking to you. Why would she do that?”
“She’s ghosting him.” Poppy sing-songs her statement from her seat next to Booker at the counter. All heads turn toward her. She looks surprised to have all of our attention.
“What the fuck is ghosting?” I ask, only mildly curious.
“Erm,” she starts, nervously toying with her short blonde hair. “It’s when someone stops all communication with a person in hopes that person will get the hint and give up.”
“We’re Harrises!” Tanners barks, straightening his posture. “We don’t get ghosted because we don’t give up. Right, Gareth?”
I roll my eyes. “I guess after a while I pretty much did give up.”
“So you ghosted her,” Poppy adds knowingly.
Shoving my cake plate away, I reply, “I tried to talk to her at first, but she wanted nothing to do with me. I just…Fuck me, I don’t know. I just didn’t do anything more.”
“But you guys had a connection?” she asks.
I nod reluctantly. God, this is bizarre. It’s usually me giving advice to everyone else. I hate being the focus, but I’m mortifyingly curious about Poppy’s thoughts.
“It sounds more like jitter ghosting to me then.”
I inwardly deflate. I’m almost scared to ask. “What the hell is jitter ghosting?”
Poppy leans forward, her green eyes alight with excitement. “It’s when you feel strongly for the other person, but you’re paralysed with the fear of rejection, so you say nothing at all. It usually applies to people who are too much of a coward to say what they’re really thinking.” Her eyes glance around the room nervously as we all stare, hanging on her every word. “At least that’s what I hear the kids say at school.”
“Bloody hell, my baby mama is brilliant!” Booker states, planting a sloppy kiss on Poppy’s cheek. Then he leans in and whispers, “Sunshine, did I jitter ghost you?”
“A bit,” she replies with a tiny shrug, then places her hands on her stomach. “But it’s all right now, Lamb Chop. We’re all the better for it.”
Their disgusting pet names for each other are enough to divert all of our attention away. In the background, I hear Tanner concocting a game plan for me to see Sloan. I think I even hear him mention a Harris Shakedown, but my mind is elsewhere.
When I saw Sloan last week, she was worried about a commitment, which wasn’t close to where my mind was going. I don’t have time for a girlfriend. I’m far too busy with the team and my family drama that’s an everyday occurrence. I also have no interest in sharing my deepest, darkest secrets with someone. In fact, the latter usually has women storming away from me in a huff.
But my reaction after we fucked was extremely traditional. Flowers, texts, phone calls. That’s a lot to blast at a newly divorced woman. She’d just gotten out of a bad marriage. The last thing she needed was traditional bullshit. What was I thinking?
Perhaps if I approach her with something decidedly untraditional, she’ll be more keen to agree. And the thought of untraditional and Sloan sounds better than Vi’s delicious cake.