The Art of Scandal(98)
“I’m done washing clothes.” She stuffed the shirts she’d folded into a laundry bag. “And I’m too old to bite my tongue around that snitch. She told that hippie at the community center that I only go to PETA meetings for the cookies. Which is true, but that girl’s got too many opinions about grown folks’ business.”
Nathan grabbed the last pair of pants and folded them neatly for her. “What are you, thirty? Thirty-five?”
“Don’t flirt,” Ruby said, and winked. “I know you like ’em older too.”
Bobbi leaned into the door with a grocery sack in each arm. Nathan rushed to open it for her.
“Why are you so picky?” she huffed. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to make you a birthday meal? There’s stuff for three different dishes in here.”
Nathan smiled. “I’m not picky. I’m—”
“Discerning. Yeah, right.” She set the bags on the folding table and looked at Ruby. They faced off like hostile cowboys. “I’m not making cookies.”
“I’m leaving.” Ruby snatched her bag and left with her chin in the air. Bobbi rolled her eyes.
“So, what do you have a taste for? Waffles, French toast, or croissants?” Bobbi rubbed her hands together like a villain. “I plan to ply you with pastries.”
The door swung open again before Nathan could respond. Joe entered in workout clothes, holding two green smoothies. “Happy birthday, little—” He saw Bobbi and frowned. “Is it a breakfast day?”
“It’s Saturday,” she said. “You two don’t work out on Saturday.”
“Well, it’s my brother’s birthday,” Joe said, with a possessive tone that implied a superior claim on Nathan’s time. “I thought we could spend the day together.”
Over the last two months, they’d abandoned their rigid schedule for something more frequent and spontaneous. Most days, Nathan had lunch with Joe at his office. After work, Joe would stop by the laundromat to chat before he went home. They both attended Sunday dinners with Sofia.
Nathan lifted a hand to stop the debate that was brewing. “I can do both. Have breakfast and go work out. I’ve got no other plans today.”
“Really?” Bobbi said. “I thought you might go to—”
“That sounds great,” Joe interrupted. He gave Bobbi a pointed look.
Nathan caught her eye. “What were you going to say?”
“Nothing, apparently.” She gathered her groceries and looked at Joe. “My food isn’t vegan.”
He lifted his smoothie. “I’m good.”
“We’ll meet you upstairs,” Nathan said. He waited until she was gone before turning to Joe. “Mom said Zara filed for divorce. How are you holding up?”
Joe sat on the folding table. “Depends on the day. Numb right now. Probably angry tomorrow. She wants full custody of Angel, even though she’s never in the same city for more than a few months. That’s not a way to raise a kid.”
Nathan didn’t say what he was thinking, that Joe’s busy work schedule wasn’t ideal for raising a kid either. “What are you going to do?”
“Only thing I can do. Fight for my son.” He looked at his hands. “Don’t ask me if it’s the right thing, because I don’t know. But I can’t lose someone else I love.”
Nathan squeezed his shoulder. “Let me know what I can do to help. Babysitting. Moral support. Anything you need. I’m here.”
Joe batted Nathan’s hand away. “Okay, but you’ve got your own shit going on. Mom told me you’ve booked another art show?”
It would have been nice to share his own news once it was official. But his mother was desperate to replace the gossip swirling around town with something more positive. Nathan explained that he hadn’t booked anything yet, but there was interest. He’d set up meetings with a few gallery owners and art dealers for next week. In the meantime, he’d started doing research. “They mentioned career goals, and I’ve never thought about any of that. Now I’m working on a portfolio.”
“A portfolio?” Joe raised his brows and emphasized every syllable. “Look at you, little brother. Can I see it?”
Upstairs, Nathan’s apartment smelled like sugar and cinnamon from Bobbi’s skillet. He didn’t recognize the heavy cast iron but didn’t say anything to avoid a thirty-minute lecture on why he should know what was in his own kitchen. Nathan pulled out the new leather sleeve he’d purchased and flipped it open to show Joe the sketches he’d put together. Rachel had told him once that a portfolio should tell the story of who he was as an artist. He decided to show the evolution of his drawing, from the fantasy creatures he’d loved as a child, to the fan art that helped him channel his anger, to the portraits he’d done while working with Rachel. Putting it together, he couldn’t help but think of how much of her was in his art now. His first love. His first broken heart. He’d done some of his best work with all of it bleeding into the lines.
“So, are you going to her art show or not?” Bobbi side-eyed Joe with a bowl of batter on one hip. She stirred slowly, waiting for Nathan’s answer.
Joe groaned and sat on the couch. “You have always had the biggest mouth.”