AVA

The hostess looks up when I come in, squinting against the glare of sunlight that bursts through the open door. It’s early afternoon, and the restaurant is deserted.

“Is Aden around?” I ask her politely.

She tips her head to the side, looking me over. I’ve never met her, but Aden goes through hostesses faster than dishwashers. She’s probably only been here a few weeks, probably will only be here few weeks more. The restaurant business in San Francisco is really competitive, to say the least. An attractive hostess with experience is always in demand. They don’t stick around if the business isn’t good. It doesn’t look good on a resume.

She squints at me suspiciously, then nods like she’s made a decision.

“He’s in the back,” she informs me. “I’ll go get him. Would you like to sit at the bar?”

“Sure,” I agree.

I feel bad that I haven’t been here more. I know Aden has been struggling, and I didn’t think that he would have wanted me interfering or criticizing, or even just witnessing it. So I stayed away. But this is worse than I thought.

The restaurant is open for lunch, so there should be somebody here. But there’s nobody. The booths are sparkling clean and ready, like any minute now a crowd will come in. The TVs are on in the bar. I can hear kitchen staff moving around.

I can only guess what happened. He spent too much on the decor and food for this neighborhood, which hasn’t gotten trendy in response. It’s still “interesting” bordering on “seedy.” Then he had to raise his prices to compensate. Being the most expensive restaurant in the neighborhood isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but you have to have something to make up the difference. Customer service, unique food items, maybe a charming and agreeable business owner who likes to get to know his patrons.

That last part, that’s where Aden could use a little work, if I’m being honest. He’s more likely to kick people out than give them a free dinner if they decide they want their steaks done a different way. He is sort of like Gordon Ramsay that way. Sometimes he yells. Aden isn’t cool under pressure, not by a long shot.

He thinks it’s okay, but I’ve seen his Yelp reviews. Nobody ever complains about the food, but there have been enough run-ins with Aden’s terrible temper that I guess he has scared pretty much everyone away by now.

Hopping up on a barstool, I swing my heels back and forth and watch C-SPAN on one of the thirteen flat screens distributed around the empty bar. The bartender gives me a Sprite with grenadine and extra cherries when I ask, then resumes his post polishing already polished glasses at the other end of the bar.

“Well this is a surprise,” Aden chuckles, pulling out the barstool next to me. The metal legs scrape loudly against the floor as he sits down, leaning against the lacquered wooden bar. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

I sip at my Shirley Temple, shrugging and chewing on the end of my straw.

“Can’t I just come to visit?” I ask innocently. “I love what you’ve done with the place. It looks really nice in here.”

He nods stubbornly, looking around with his jaw set. I’m sure he’s proud. Aden has been working on carpentry projects since high school. He probably did most of this with his own two hands.

“Yeah, but the remodel was two and a half years ago. Didn’t you see it then?” he asks, knowing full well that I didn’t.

“Yeah, I think you were just about done the last time I saw it,” I mumble, not sure if I’m right or not. I have definitely not been spending as much quality time with my family I should have been.

He just nods, smiling thinly. I hear the accusation in his voice, but what am I going to do about that now? He’s been under a lot of stress, so I avoided him. Frankly, the whole restaurant business has been something I’ve been happily willing to avoid ever since the drama with the Mercers. That may not be very sisterly of me, but at least it kept me out of trouble.

Until now, that is.

“So, did you come here to try the food? You want to write a review?” he jokes, knowing full well that I would do whatever he needed me to do if he would just ask. He would never ask, of course.

“Actually, I thought maybe we could talk,” I finally sigh.

“It’s about time,” he grumbles. “You ready to come clean?”

“I just want everybody to be happy,” I say, totally trying to dodge the question. “I don’t like this feeling where everybody’s waiting to be mad at me. I don’t like it at all. This is supposed to be so happy, and I’m just stressed out all the time.”

He shrugs one shoulder, mangling a plastic straw between his fingertips. “Well, that’s your decision, right? Didn’t you give us a big speech about how you’re an adult and everything? Everybody is just going along with your decisions, Ava. Everybody.”

I take a few cleansing breaths, turning the glass in place on the bar. Water condenses on the outside and forms a little puddle underneath.

“Well, maybe I was wrong about that,” I begin. “Maybe I shouldn’t be shutting everybody out. Because it doesn’t matter at all. Right? I mean, the most important thing is I’m supposed to be having healthy babies, right?”

“Yeah, that’s definitely the best part,” he says. “Nothing else should really matter. So you ready to talk about this? To bring the father into this discussion?”

I sit up straight in my chair, folding my fingers together. I look him over, noting how he’s trying to seem relaxed, but he isn’t. That vein is twitching and jumping at his temple, like it does just before he freaks out. He’s under control, but just barely.

The front door opens, and the hostess greets a couple of men in khaki pants and pale blue polo shirts, then takes them to a table by the window.

“All I want is a good relationship with everybody. With the father, especially. I definitely want to try to have a relationship with him and the babies. All of us, together.”

Aden narrows his eyes at me. His nostrils start to flare. “You came all this way to talk to me, and you still think that you’re not going to tell me who the father is?”

“That’s not really the most important detail, is it?” I counter. My voice sounds meek, thin. It’s not my strongest argument, I have to admit.

“Because I think I already know who it is, Ava,” he says in a low voice, leaning toward me.

“Aden, I didn’t come here to fight with you. I came here because… you’re my brother. Because it would really mean a lot to me if you could have, you know, a better attitude about this.”

“A better attitude about this?” he repeats, his voice rising in volume. “A better attitude, Ava? After you spent the last few weeks pretending like I’m stupid? Like I don’t know exactly what happened?”

“Aden, you have customers,” I remind him in a whisper. The bartender looks over at us, alarmed.

Aden slides off his barstool, scrubbing his face with the heel of his hand. He paces a few steps in either direction then comes back to me.

“Aden, I just want you to try. I just want us all to be happy.”

He shakes his head, then looks up at the ceiling, then glares at the television. He’s having a conversation with himself, I can tell.

“It’ll kill them, Ava,” he mumbles. “You don’t even understand. It will absolutely kill them.”

“No, you don’t understand,” I snap back, suddenly. “You’re my brother. I’m coming to you to ask you for help. You owe me that. So suck it up, Aden!”

He glares at me, startled.

“Excuse me?"

I heave myself from my barstool, trembling with rage. I know I need to keep my voice down or risk those two guys in khakis leaving Aden yet another bad Yelp review, but I have had quite enough of this. If patient begging won’t work, I’ll try convincing him another way.

“You heard me,” I hiss, pointing at him. “You’ve got a job to do, so do it! You’re supposed to have my back. And if you can’t do it with a good attitude for real, fake it!”

Snatching my purse off the counter, I stalk back out of the restaurant before I can say anything else. The hostess swerves out of my way, alarmed.

When I am back on the sidewalk, my anger dissipates like air being let out of a balloon. I’m suddenly tired, so tired. I don’t understand why everybody thinks it’s their right to fight with me.

Our families may have fallen out six years ago, but we’re about to have two brand-new family members in the immediate future, like it or not. It’s not the twins’ fault that all the adults are behaving like children.

I won’t stand for it, I decide. I am done trying to beg everyone for a little bit of support, walking around on eggshells, wishing everyone wasn’t angry at me. I’m done hiding in my apartment because I am the walking embodiment of everybody’s hurt feelings. I had nothing to do with this feud, and I’m done feeling responsible for something that really had nothing to do with me at all.

Everybody’s going to have to get on board. All the adults are going to need to stifle their objections and give me the help and support I need right now. It shouldn’t be my job to coddle a bunch of other adults, especially the ones who aren’t currently growing tiny humans inside them.

I want to shout: Just grow the hell up and get on board!