I lock the door to my office, relieved the day is over.
Being the head of the IT department is a pleasant change for the most part. I manage several employees who do the hands on work. Who have to run around the building listening to people whine or gripe about their computer screen suddenly being frozen or not running fast enough. They handle the viruses and replacing broken parts, which is the little bit of my old job I actually miss. With them dealing one on one with the constant flow of complaints it allows me to focus on other issues, such as hiring and firing, merit raises, reviewing security protocol for the network, and documenting the internet history that violates policy. The amount of employees who can’t make it through the work day without using Facebook from their computer is alarming.
“Oliver,” Matty, a fellow employee and friend who works in the accounting department, calls to me.
Turning around, I’m met by him, Natasha Dover, a personal assistant to Marlene Walker, one of our biggest Interior Decorators, and Brando Summerland, one of the men in our public relations department. While I don’t particularly have many friends, these three are the ones I socialize with most frequently outside of work. We share similar fondness for haute cuisine and perfected cappuccinos. We also all love British television shows, which considering the notion no one else in my life does, it’s nice there are people to talk about it with.
“It’s never good when you’re all congregating around me.”
Natasha giggles in the girlish way she assumes men find cute.
Despite my casual clues over the past couple of months about not being interested, she continuously ignores the memo.
“You’re so funny,” Natasha coos, gripping her tablet harder to her chest.
Matty rolls his eyes. “We’re all going to try this new Oyster bar tonight. You in?”
I adjust the strap of my computer bag. “Can’t. Meeting my little brother for dinner.”
Something we used to do a bit more frequently before he fell in love. Actual love this time.
Natasha noticeably pouts, but Brando suggests, “Blow him off.”
Quickly, I shake my head. “I honor my commitments.”
“I bet you do.…” She swoons louder than intended.
Or at least I’m hoping that’s louder than she intended.
“I make plans. I stick to them. Rain or snow. Good mood or foul. Especially to my family,” I continue, eyes staying away from hers. “Sorry.”
“What about Friday night?” Brando questions. “Rumor has it this world famous chef might pop in at Braylore’s Bistro to cook for the night. Regardless if he does or doesn’t, they have an amazing happy hour and this onion blossom I would easily give my future first born child to have every day for the rest of my life.”
The comment steals a small smirk.
Can’t say I’d give anything up in exchange for my future children. Hell, I’ll consider myself the luckiest man alive if I ever get to experience half the amount of joy I get from being around my nephews. As much as I want my own kids there’s the not so small factor of meeting, marrying, and raising them with the right woman.
London’s bright smile flashes in my face.
She’d look adorable pregnant and pouty.
Taken off guard by my own thought, I clear my throat, and ask, “Mind if I bring someone along?”
“Like a date?” Natasha tries not to sneer.
“Yeah.”
“Not at all,” Brando quickly replies. “I’ll have Lainey book us a table for five.”
Matty intrudes, “Do we know her?”
“It’s not Aileen from downstairs, is it?” Natasha snips. “Because she’s married . She doesn’t wear her ring, but she is. He’s a pilot.”
“No,” I try not to shudder at the idea of the fake titty blonde many of my colleagues seem to enjoy staring at. “She doesn’t work here.”
“Interesting….” Matty mumbles as if holding something back.
Rather than investigate the skeptical expression on his face, I rush, “Look, I really gotta go. Traffic’s a nightmare, and I really hate to be late.”
My friends part themselves to allow me to slip by with staggered goodbyes.
The drive from downtown Highland out to the small town I grew up in isn’t unpleasant, just longer than I care for courtesy of rush hour traffic, reminding yet again the importance of leaving early rather than on time when meeting someone else. While country music fills the air of my black Audi Roadster, my mind tries to enjoy the distraction instead of longing to spend this time chatting with London.
To say we have fallen into a routine would be a flat out lie. The woman doesn’t do routine anything. I keep making the attempt at establishing one by calling her on my way home from the office, but there’s no guarantee she’ll pick up or even call right back. London lives on London time. Her response to my good morning texts varies from immediately to four hours later. She has no qualms about sending me a dirty picture just minutes after I’ve gotten off my lunch break and am trying to settle back at my desk. Her phone calls to me also lack a steady pattern. Yesterday she called me at midnight to listen to some new song she discovered on Spotify. Didn’t seem to matter to her I was dead asleep and had to be up in six hours for work. What’s worse is it didn’t actually bother me. I was flattered I was the first person she wanted to share the experience with. The song was…out there, too much tambourine and banjo, but it made her happy and the thought of her smiling was enough to subdue any complaints about the missed sleep.
I try to push away the disappointment of not hearing her voice as I pull into Pete’s parking lot. The local bar is the traditional spot my youngest brother, Runt, or Ford to the rest of the world outside our family, and I meet for the occasional dinner. Despite being the odd one out of my family spending time with them is one of the most important things to me. For instance, I hate horses yet every other week I try to take my oldest brothers’ children horseback riding. I mean I don’t get on with them, I just pay for the lessons and time while proudly watching the way they follow in their father’s animal loving footsteps. Afterwards when I return them we usually share a beer before my presence becomes a burden because I don’t like running around with a dirty dog chasing mud covered tennis balls, or eating Frito pie with my hands. I love my family, all four of my brothers, and do my best to at least try to let them know in my own way. But it never feels like enough. It never feels like I fit into The Shaw family name.
Once I’m inside, settled at the bar, Scrappy, the oldest bartender they have, places a bottle of Runt’s Beer in front of me. “Been awhile since I’ve seen you. Fancy new job keepin’ ya busy?”
“More like fancy new girlfriend keepin’ Runt busy.”
The counter causes him to chuckle. “That Ollie seems like a handful.”
I smile at the comment just seconds prior to Runt plopping down beside me. “She is. And so is our hog. My hands are always occupied.”
Scrappy gives him a short laugh. “You want a beer?”
My baby brother nods and adjusts himself on the stool.
“You’re late.”
“Four minutes.” Runt grouses, “Just. Four.”
“Late is late. You know that.”
He rolls his eyes. “Look, it wasn’t my fault. We had a meeting this afternoon, and it ran later than expected.”
After Scrappy places his bottle down and we order our usual, I ask, “Everything okay? Everything still going well with the merger?”
The brewery Ford owns, but Blake works for, was acquired by one of the largest names in the alcohol business. They not only loved the taste of my brother’s beer, but everything his company stands for. All the paperwork was finished late last year and like me, when the new year hit, new jobs were put into place for him and Blake. Seeing him happy…seeing his dreams make him successful makes me prouder than he’ll ever really know. We’re a supportive family, always encouraging and standing by each other, but I was the one back in the day who bought him the shit to brew his first batch. I was the first one to catch the gleam in his eye and have done my best to fan the flame from where I stand. Beer isn’t exactly my forte, most of it tastes like shit and takes too much to get drunk on, but I’d do anything to support my brothers. Anything. Their happiness always comes before mine. Always.
Runt gives me a quick nod of reassurance. “Yeah. Everything’s goin’ great! Sales are up. Wilcox Whiskey seems pleased with the acquisition so far. Pretty sure Blake loves his new position as head of promotional events.”
“Why wouldn’t he? He’s now getting paid to do his three favorite things for a living. Drink beer, party, and take fucking pictures of himself.”
By far the most narcissistic of us.
Runt lets go a short laugh. “That’s what the meeting was about. They wanted to go over what they have on the calendar for us as sponsors and discuss what they would like to fill the open space with. So far, we’ve got festivals along with a few beach concerts. They’re hoping they can get us a beer cart during at least one of the Hellcat’s games for the next season. That’d be a huge accomplishment for Runt’s Beer.” When there isn’t excitement in my eyes, he sighs, “The Hellcat’s are our NBA team here in Highland.”
“I know that.”
I didn’t.
My baby brother hides his smirk behind his beer.
“Hope they do,” I warmly state. “Can’t imagine a better beer to be drinking while watching a game.”
“The only game you like to watch is that weird one you and Ollie play together.”
“Hydra.”
He nods and tries to hide his jealousy.
I’m the only one out of the five of us who picked up the gaming gene. I prefer spending my downtime in an environment I can control with virtual people who don’t know dick about me, where I came from, or the fact that I am the ‘cowboy’ who fucking hates horses. Runt’s girlfriend and I have a lot in common in that department, which I know bugs him because he wants the two of them to experience everything together. It’s not like we exclude him. He just doesn’t feel the passion we do about the programming that goes into it or the graphics. He’ll never admit it out loud, but I think it makes him feel threatened. Which hurts the fucking most. I’d never stand in between my brothers and their happiness.
Once he’s had another sip of his beer he tries to steer the conversation back on track. “Blake’s pretty pumped about the beach concerts they have lined up.”
“Chicks in bikinis. Why would that surprise me?”
Runt’s grin returns. “Actually, he’s um….He’s got a girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” I choke on the beer I was swallowing. “Blake’s never-”
“I know. I know.” He surrenders a hand in the air to cut me off. “But this one is different. You’ve seen the pictures-”
“He takes pictures with everyone. Anyone . He once took a picture with labradoodle and claimed he had found the love of his life.”
“Yeah, well I’ve seen them together. I’m tellin’ you. It’s different this time, Oliver. He’s…changin’.”
There’s a distinct twinge in my chest. “You’ve met her?”
He slowly nods.
“And hung out?”
Runt nods again.
“Are you the only one? Or has the rest of the family met her too?”
His mouth bobs around yet he doesn’t reply.
“Am I the only one who hasn’t?”
The continued inability to respond forces me to shake my head. I try to wash away the building annoyance with another swig of beer.
“Oliver-”
“What is it about me, Runt?” My bite is much harsher than intended. “Why am I always…forgotten about? I was last to meet Dawn. I met Sienna two hours before the wedding-”
“Yeah but that whole situation was spontaneous-”
“I didn’t get to meet Ollie until you two were fucking moving in together ,” my tangent continues. “And now…now I’m the only one who hasn’t met the only girlfriend Blake’s ever had.”
“Oliver-”
“Forget it.”
“Oliv-”
“Drop it.” I finish the last of my beer, the bitterness of being the family’s most unwanted member still clinging to my throat. Casually, I lift my finger to let Scrappy know I need another. After he acknowledges my request, I turn my face back towards Runt. “Anything else new?”
He clears his throat and confesses, “I’m gonna ask Ollie to marry me.”
Fifty bucks says I’m last to know about this too.
I offer him the best smile I can. “Congrats, Runt. She’s gonna make a great Shaw.”
And not just because she’s the only one who doesn’t treat me like a freak for not liking dirt under my nails or not knowing what the hell a ball hog is.
“If she says yes.”
“ When .”
A fresh beer is delivered at the same time he states, “Man, I hope she does. I can’t imagine a life without her.”
There’s a feeling I’ve never even come close to. A feeling I’m not sure I ever will.
“You know what? Enough about me. What about you? I haven’t seen you in a few weeks. How’s your new job?”
“Fine.”
“Just fine?” He adjusts himself on the stool. “You seemed so excited when you got it.”
Tempted to tell him, I was until I realized I had no one to really talk about it with, I take a moment before answering. Forcing another grin onto my face, I simply shrug. “It’s just a job, Runt. Less hands on now. More paperwork.”
“But that’s good, right? You hate fixing shit.”
Wrong. And it’s a horrible feeling to have a family full of people who don’t know shit about you.
“The money’s nice.”
“You can buy more of those fancy suits you love.”
“Yeah.”
Runt gives me another nod. “How’s the whole online dating thing going?”
The smile on my face becomes genuine, wide, and completely involuntary.
“That good?”
I attempt to trample down the grin London always manages to bring, but fail. “Not exactly. I met a woman recently, but it wasn’t through one of the dating sites.” Scrappy places down our plates in front of us along with a bottle of ketchup. “We met at the high school reunion I attended.”
Runt shakes up the bottle before drowning his fries in it. “You reconnected with an old classmate. That’s interesting. Do I know her? Or…more likely her younger sister?”
“Actually, we didn’t go to school with her.”
He ceases moving the condiment covered fry closer to his face. “She just… crashed a high school reunion? That’s weird.”
“She went with a friend for moral support.”
“And left him for you?”
My casual shrug receives me a chuckle.
“You stole someone else’s date?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“It sounds exactly like that.”
“The other guy was gay!”
“Gay guys don’t need love too?”
My mouth bobs around in a jumbled effort to reply until Runt’s laughing makes me realize his joke was for this exact reaction.
I clear my throat. “His boyfriend or husband or something couldn’t make it, so she tagged along.”
“Good friend. Well until the part where she ditched him for you.”
“She ditched him all night and the following one for me.”
Runt shoves the food in his mouth, and I try not wince at the blob that lands in his lap. “What!”
“We were raised near barns, Runt. Not in them.” My head motions for him to wipe up the spill.
He ignores the comment. “What the hell did you just say? You had a one nightstand?”
“No. We spent the remainder of the weekend together. Took her to the airport that Monday morning.”
His jaw cracks and exposes his half-chewed food.
“That’s disgusting. Chew and then comment.”
Quickly, Runt finishes what’s in his mouth, the disbelief dancing on his face filling me with a sense of pride to finally do something unexpected. “That….That….That’s not you .”
“But I did it. I enjoyed it. And I look forward to seeing her again when she gets back into town.”
“She not from around here?”
“She lives in Highland, but travels a lot.” Picking up my burger, I pour water on the conversation before it burns out of control. “It’s not a big deal, Runt. We had fun. We’ll probably have some more. Doubt it’ll be anything too perpetual. We’re… different . Like night and day.”
I have a bite of the burger to mask the taste of those words.
We are different. Too different for anything long term is what I convince myself of in between each phone call. However, the minute her voice hits my ears, I reassure myself how wrong I am. How maybe we can find a way to make something work for longer than a weekend or two. How I want to find what works for us. How the thought of letting her get away grinds this pain past my chest into the crevice of my soul. How ridiculous is that to feel about someone you barely know?
“Trust me, Oliver. That whole opposites attract thing isn’t bullshit. Mama was right-”
“Words best not said within her ear range-”
“-when she claimed a little crazy is needed in life to make it worth livin’. This woman, whoever she is may be the little bit of insanity you’ve been missing….”
An unusual feeling rolls over my shoulders, and I let the corner of my lip lift.
Honestly wouldn’t mind letting her burn my world down for us to rebuild it together. She’s already sparked the flame. She already makes the entire thing seem to glow.
All of a sudden, a shrill voice stuns our ears. Runt’s expression does its best not to grimace, but I catch it.
Carol Ann, his ex-girlfriend, a woman he dated on and off for over a decade, catches a glimpse of my face just as I steal a glance over my shoulder to assess where she’s going to sit. “Come on, Gary. Let’s go sit near the bar.”
While Runt does his best to pretend he’s not bothered by her incoming presence I know he is. He may be completely over her. He may be completely over what she did to him. He may be blissfully happy with his soon to be fiancé, but I know deep down inside regardless of whether he admits it out loud, it still hurts. We were there to share a beer with him the first time they broke up. I was there late night after late night when he would call a little drunk and pissed, or in other cases really drunk and heartbroken, convinced he would never be good enough. The damage she caused was palpable. Thankfully, Ollie didn’t mind picking up and mending the pieces the rest of us couldn’t.
I watch her take a seat with her date at the table closest to us.
The moment she seems settled, I turn my attention to my brother and say loudly, “I am so happy for you, Runt!”
His eyes widen in confusion.
“I can’t wait to officially call Ollie my sister in law!” There’s a surprise squeak from over my shoulder but I keep my eyes on his. “She’s perfect for you, Runt. Best thing that could’ve ever happened to you!” When there’s another I increase my tone a little more and drop my hand onto his shoulder. “Scrappy! Can we get two more beers over here?” With a gleam in my eye, I glare her direction and state, “I wanna toast to my little brother getting to marry the woman of his dreams .”
The angry screech she releases forces Runt to smirk while shaking his head.
Carol Ann shoots her body back up and begins tugging her date back towards the front door. “Come on, Gary…We need a more romantic atmosphere.”
“Try TGI Fridays three cities over,” I suggest and raise my half empty beer in the air.
Once they’ve successfully fled, Runt lets out a triumphant chuckle. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes I did.” A warm smile crosses my face. “Not only for all the shit she put you through, but because no one fucks with my little brother.” I give his brown hair a tussle, and he instinctively flinches away.
“Quit,” he complains as Scrappy places two fresh beers in front of us.
“You really gettin’ married?” The old man asks.
“If she says yes.”
“ When ,” the two of us correct him in unison.
Scrappy raises the shot of whiskey he poured for himself. “Cheers!”
I lift the beer I’m almost finished with, and Runt lifts his fresh one. Together we repeat, “Cheers.”
The three of us all toss back our alcohol, yet afterward Runt gives me a gracious nod as if thanking me for saving our meal from being ruined. I offer him one back and try to push away the antagonizing annoyance he has never acknowledged the fact that I would save him from anything if I had too. None of my brothers have ever acknowledged the lengths I can and do go to for them. It doesn’t matter that they forget about me or hate how I dress different or how I vote for us to watch action movies with hackers rather than cowboys from the ‘60s. They’re still the most important people in my life and always will be, even if I’ve never been that to them.