I wander toward the picnic table, the heap of crawfish, corn, sausage, and potatoes somehow still steaming on the newspaper. I put down my wineglass, grab a crawfish, and twist it, letting the juice from the head drip down my wrist.
Then I hear movement behind me—footsteps. And a voice.
“Don’t worry, it’s just me.”
I swing around, my eyes adjusting in the dark to the body before me. The cherry-red tip of a cigarette glowing between his fingers.
“I know you don’t like to be surprised.”
“Coop!”
I drop the crawfish on the table and walk toward my brother, wrapping my arms around his neck and inhaling his familiar scent. Nicotine and spearmint gum. I’m so shocked to see him, I let the jab about the surprise party slide.
“Hey, sis.”
I pull back, inspecting his face. He looks older than he did the last time I saw him, but that’s normal for Cooper. He seems to age years within months, his hair turning grayer at the temples, the worry lines in his forehead creasing deeper by the day. But still, Coop is one of those guys who seems to get more attractive with age. In college, my roommate had referred to him as a silver fox once when his neck started to grow patchy with salt-and-pepper stubble. For some reason, that stuck with me. It was a pretty accurate depiction, really. He looks mature, sleek, thoughtful, quiet. Like he’s seen more of the world in thirty-five years than most people have seen in their lives. I let go of his neck.
“I didn’t see you in there!” I say, louder than I intended.
“You got mobbed,” he answers, laughing, taking a final drag before dropping his cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out with his foot. “How does it feel to have forty people swarm you all at once?”
I shrug. “Practice for the wedding, I guess.”
His smile wavers a bit, but he recovers quickly. We both ignore it.
“Where’s Laurel?” I ask.
He shoves his hands in his pockets and glances behind my shoulder, his eyes growing distant. I already know what’s coming next.
“She’s not in the picture anymore.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “I liked her. She seemed nice.”
“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “She was. I liked her, too.”
We’re quiet for a while, listening to the murmur of voices inside. We both understand the complexities of forming relationships after going through what we’ve been through; we understand that, more often than not, they just don’t work out.
“So, are you excited?” he asks, jerking his head in the direction of the house. “For the wedding and stuff?”
I laugh. “And stuff? You’ve got such a way with words, Coop.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I say. “And yes, I’m excited. You should give him a chance.”
Cooper looks at me, his eyes narrowing. I sway a little.
“What are you talking about?” he asks.
“Daniel,” I say. “I know you don’t like him.”
“What makes you say that?”
Now my eyes are the ones that narrow.
“Are we really going to do this again?”
“I like him!” he says, holding up his hands in surrender. “Remind me what he does again?”
“Pharm sales.”
“Farm sales?” he scoffs. “Really? Doesn’t strike me as that kind of guy.”
“Pharmaceuticals,” I say. “With a p-h.”
Cooper laughs, digs the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and pops another one between his lips. He offers me the pack and I shake my head.
“That makes more sense,” he says. “Those shoes are a little too shiny to be spending much time around farmers.”
“Come on, Coop,” I say, crossing my arms. “This is what I’m talking about.”
“I just think it’s fast,” he says, flicking open his lighter. He lifts the flame to the cigarette and inhales. “You’ve known each other for, what—a couple months?”
“A year,” I say. “We’ve been together for a year.”
“You’ve known each other for a year.”
“And?”
“And how can you really know someone that well in a year? Have you even met his family?”
“Well, no,” I admit. “They’re not close. But come on, Coop. Are you really going to judge him by his family? You of all people should know better than that. Families suck.”