“Happy Birthday, old man,” I say with a grin.
Roman sends me a narrow-eyed look. “I’m not old.”
Sabrina, his pretty blond fiancée, slides her arm around his waist and snuggles close. “Don’t pout. We’re here to celebrate.”
Roman grins down at her, eyes warm with affection. “Yes, dear.” He’s learning fast, I think to myself as he drops a kiss on her lips then spends a good long moment just looking into her eyes.
Watching their easy exchange should make me want the same for myself. It doesn’t. In fact, all the love in the room makes me queasy. My saving grace is that my nephew Thomas keeps me occupied. And that I let Emmy bend my ear about high school.
Pulling myself away from the love bugs, I stroll into the kitchen and help myself to a glass of wine. Mama is rattling something off in Spanish to my oldest brother, Cruz, and God bless Mia, his wife. She just stands there and nods, even though everyone knows she can’t understand one word.
I make myself scarce, taking my glass into the living room and settling onto the carpet where my brother Marco and his girlfriend, Amita, are fawning over baby Thomas.
“You guys should get yourselves one.” I gesture to the baby with my glass.
Marco shudders. “Yeah, not happening.” He pauses briefly, seems to consider his statement, then shrugs and adds, “Not now anyway.”
Amita and I share a knowing look before she lifts her brow and stares at him. “Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”
He grins and throws his arms wide. “I’m still me, babe. All the stellar parts you can’t seem to get enough of and then some.”
I snicker and sip my wine while Amita shakes her head. Truly, my brother is sometimes just this side of conceited. Of course, he has every reason to be; the Moran genes certainly don’t disappoint. All five of us are a perfect mix of our sweet parents. While Roman and my baby sister Sophia share Papa’s lighter hair and brown eyes, myself and the other two boys share Mama’s dark hair and blue-green eyes. Though we have similar features, they both wear it much better than I do; they somehow manage to look like something that walked off the page of a fashion magazine. I just look frazzled and kind of dumpy. Hospital scrubs don’t exactly do anything for a woman’s figure. Though, to be fair, Damian does look good in his.
Good God … let it go.
Mama, born and raised in Spain, is the epitome of the classic Spanish lady. Tiny in stature, she’s always ruled our house with equal parts toughness and love. Papa, on the other hand, is the complete opposite of his firecracker wife. He’s content to let her be the boss, silently sitting back and watching over it all with an amused expression.
Gazing down at little Thomas, I’m happy to see that he, too, shares that perfect mix of both parents. His eyes, large and almond shaped like his mom’s, curiously look up at all three of us as if he’s waiting for something magical to happen. He shares his dad’s nose and jaw and, of course, the Moran dark, wavy hair. The kid is going to be a stunner when he grows up, and I can’t wait to sit back and watch Cruz turn gray over it all. It will be a joy to see my buttoned-up, oldest brother a little unwound. Though, I will admit he’s done a good share of unwinding since meeting and marrying Mia.
I have a great family and I’m very, very blessed. I’m just so grateful they have no idea of the painful burden I’ve carried all these years. Some things are just better left unsaid. Knowing the truth would only hurt them unnecessarily. Mama most of all. I’d much rather bear the brunt of the truth on my own shoulders than ever witness my family breaking wide open under the weight of my pain.
Thomas begins to fuss and all three of us start to reach for him at the same time. Marco grumbles and shoots Amita and me a dark look before gathering up the little guy and perching him on his shoulder. Huh. He may say he doesn’t want kids, but the man is a natural.
“Thanks, Marco,” Mia says. “He’s hungry.”
Marco holds a squealing Thomas out in front of him. “Sorry, little dude. Can’t help you there.” Leaning closer to the infant, he whisper-yells, “You’re a lucky bastard, you know that? Tits are awesome.”
Mia turns about ten shades of red and whisks her son off to the other room. Amita and I burst out laughing, especially when Cruz makes a beeline across the room to slap him upside the head.
This is my family. God help us all.
“Uncle Marco, that wasn’t nice,” Emmy scolds, coming up behind him.
There’s a whole lot more laughing as we watch his face contort in shame when he slowly turns to face her. He tends to forget that he’s an adult and therefore held to a higher standard. “I’m sorry, kiddo, but it’s a fact.”
Taking her hand in mine, I remark, “Don’t listen to him, Em. He’s nothing but a dirty old man.”
He starts to protest, but Amita gently pats him on the chest and drags him off to the kitchen, where Mama can supervise his antics. Emmy and I settle down on the couch next to one another and almost immediately, I can sense she has something on her mind. I’ve spent a lot of time with this young girl since she joined our family, and we’ve developed a good relationship.
“Hey, pretty girl, something troubling you?”
She shrugs and leans against my shoulder and for a moment I feel hot tears pinch my eyes. This beautiful young woman has enfolded our entire family into her heart and has quickly become someone I look forward to spending time with. She’s had a rough go of it lately since her biological father appeared out of nowhere and started putting demands on her. Finding out after the fact that he never really wanted her and only wanted the money my brother had at his disposal should have devastated her, but tough kid that she is, she simply counted her blessings and moved on.
Having the adoption finalized has been a huge relief for us all, especially for this child who has known only a mother figure since the day she was born. She’s taken to having a dad as easily as Roman has taken to having a child, something that still shocks me when I consider how little amount of time they’ve actually been in each other’s lives.
Maybe it’s not about time that matters. Could be that it’s about the substance, the nuts and bolts, the love. Time doesn’t really matter when you love someone, or so I’ve heard. I’ve never actually ever loved anyone except my family so I have no idea.
“There’s this boy I like,” she says softly.
This is news. Emmy has always seemed disinterested in boys, electing to spend her downtime with her two best friends or all of us. “Oh yeah? Tell me about him.”
She smiles then launches into a ten-minute dissertation about the boy. I listen intently, like all good aunts do, though I do wonder what the hell I’m going to do if she asks me about the birds and the bees. Wouldn’t she laugh if she knew that my knowledge of sex and love is probably as limited as hers?
“He kissed me.” She glances around making sure her mom isn’t within listening distance. “Just once, but it was nice.”
Oh man. This aunt thing is harder than I thought. “Um, well, that’s good.” Way to be profound. “So, um, he didn’t try anything else, did he?”
Instead of the blush I expect, she wrinkles her nose and looks directly at me. “What? No, of course not. I’m not about to go there with a high-school boy. I’ve got things to do with my life.”
Oh, thank you, Jesus, I think as I internally cross myself like my good Catholic Mama taught me. “Good for you, kiddo. You’ve got your entire life to think about boys. No need to rush things.”
The evening is like many in our family household, with more than enough food to feed our clan and everyone talking at the same time. I tend to always sit back and take it in, and this night is no exception. The vast differences between myself and my siblings is never more evident than when we are seated around the dinner table. Everyone is paired off in twos, except for me and Emmy. She doesn’t count because she’s a child. There’s some hand-holding, one or two kisses exchanged, and Marco—as usual—is throwing Amita a few looks that are meant for the bedroom.
It wasn’t always this way. There was a time when my big brothers were as single as I am, though I can’t recall any of them being that single. Maybe Cruz. Before he met Mia, he kept his personal life very, very private. Marco and Roman though … those two were practically man-whores. I get it. What’s the point of tying yourself down to one person when multiple people will do? That’s not my shtick but hey, to each his own.
“Listen up, everyone,” Roman says, quieting the loud group with a tap of his fork to his wine glass. “We’re having a birthday party for Em next month. I expect to see all of you there.”
Yeah, like any of us wouldn’t show up? Geez, my brother is such an idiot sometimes. I do wonder, though, is it like this in other families? Do they get together for each and every birthday, anniversary, engagement, and whatnot like we do? Hell, sometimes it feels like that’s all we do.
Don’t get me wrong, I’d never begrudge my family the need to celebrate. Due to my schedule, there are a few that I’ve missed—not many mind you, but those I haven’t attended I have heard about and not in a good way. There are certain expectations that come with being a Moran, starting and ending with these family dinners. Sometimes it can all be very exhausting.
“Bella? Can you get the day off or switch with someone?” He rattles off the date and tells me to check my phone. Sadly, he’s so aware of my schedule that he has full knowledge of the stockpile of vacation days I have. Pretty pathetic, I know.
“Yeah, I’ll look into it.” I tap the reminder on my phone then shove it back in my pocket before meeting my brother’s hard, curious eyes. “What?”
He stares at me for what feels like hours then states, “Never mind.” That’s Roman speak for “we will talk about it later.” Fantastic. Just what I need.
I manage to avoid him by busying myself in the kitchen chatting with the other ladies and playing with Thomas. Since Roman can see right through my stalling tactics, he gently gives the baby to his father and takes my hand in his before pulling me outside onto the deck. Shoving me down into a chair, he pulls one up for himself and settles in facing me. Then he just sits there patiently looking at me like I’m about to start spilling some big secret or something. He should know by now that whatever secrets I have are mine and mine alone.
After a few tense moments go by, I snap, “What, Roman? Just spit it out.”
“What’s going on with you?”
I take a quick assessment of myself and my mood then throw him a quizzical look. “Nothing. Why?”
“You won’t come to the house and spend time with us. I can barely get you on the phone. Now you’re trying to dodge your niece’s birthday party.” His eyes narrow. “What the hell is that all about?”
Roman and I have been down this same road many, many times. It’s not like he hasn’t done his share of hiding, so I really don’t understand what the big deal is. I like being alone. I’ve chosen to be alone for reasons I elect to keep to myself.
“I told you I’d look into it. I have a busy schedule, Roman. You know that.”
He rolls his eyes. “Your schedule isn’t any busier than mine or anyone else’s. This is about priorities.” Reaching out, he grasps my hand again. “Since you and Damian split, you’ve done nothing but work and avoid hanging out with any of us. What gives?”
How ironic that he ties the two together when the truth is Damian has nothing to do with why I prefer to be alone. I suppose it may seem that way since I did drag Damian to a few family functions. Admittedly, that was mostly so I wouldn’t feel like such a third wheel and so I wouldn’t get interrogated. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, being the odd man out. I’m not.
Tugging my hand out of his, I grumble, “Nothing gives. Why do you have to grill me all the time?”
A wave of pain skirts through his brown eyes. “Because I love you, Bella. I worry about you. You used to talk to me, and now I can’t seem to get you alone for five minutes.”
With a heavy sigh, I turn my gaze to the moonlit water. He may be under the impression that I used to talk to him, but only I know the truth. I tell him and others what I believe they want to hear, especially when it comes to questions about me and Damian. “You have a life, big brother. A family. A child. They are your priority now. Not me.”
“You will always be my priority,” he snaps.
Being part of a family with five siblings, sharing rooms and bathrooms and squabbling over dumb things, it’s a wonder Roman and I managed to carve out the perfect friendship. We’ve always been very close, closer than either of us are to our other siblings, and while he might have confided most of his deepest, darkest secrets to me over the years, I’ve always held back things. Not because I don’t trust him. I trust the man with my life. It’s just that some things are not worth talking about. Some things, when spoken aloud, would only hurt him. Hurt others too. I’m happy to shoulder that pain alone if it means I’m shielding my family and protecting them. Besides, what good would it do after all these years? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Darting my eyes to his, I reply, “I will be at Emmy’s party. I promise.”
His silence tells me this isn’t the answer he was looking for. His silence also tells me he’s well aware that I’m saying nothing more. With a small nod of his head, he brings my hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to it. Pain settles in my chest as I avert my eyes once again and look out into the evening sky.
There are days when I just want to unload onto his strong, broad shoulders. I want to spew out my truth, hand him my heartache and anger, and let him absorb some of what I’ve been carrying all of these years. I want to be able to share this burden with him, ask for his help, find a sense of peace that on most days completely escapes me. I want so much, and yet I know without a doubt I’ll mostly likely never be able to open my mouth and say the words—words that will shatter this man who loves me and watches over me. Saying those three words will hurt him in ways I can only imagine. Ways that are far worse than me simply keeping the truth to myself.
It’s bad enough I endured it and have suffered the long-term consequences. I’ve had no choice but to learn to live with it. I’d never want to place that burden on the one person who loves me in spite of myself. Who loves me no matter what I do or who I am. Yes, my parents and other siblings love and support me unconditionally, but Roman has always been the one to pick me up and dust me off when I ran into trouble. He’s the one who bandaged my knees when I attempted to ride a skateboard and ended up flat on my face. He’s who I turned to when my “date” for the Sadie Hawkins dance decided to go with someone else. He’s been my confidant, my friend, my protector my entire life. I would never do anything to alter or change that. Not even tell the truth.