And so, I decide our first stop is going to be my house.
“You’re making me meet the parents?” He shoves his hands into his front pockets, taking in my street through hooded eyes. “This is the worst date I’ve ever not been on.”
The reminder that it isn’t, and never will be, a date stings. The truth is, I have no idea what we are right now. Friends? Brothers-in-arms? Grievers? Acquaintances? He is obviously over me—he had a threesome. Maybe one of the women he had it with is his girlfriend. Add to that the fact that after the last time we had sex, he didn’t want to hear from me . . .
We’re walking shoulder to shoulder. Well, more like my shoulder to his waist, he is so tall.
“You’re not meeting anyone. Stay here.” I shove him away from the little gate leading to my entrance.
I unlock my door, then slam it before he can peek inside. I rush to collect a six-pack of beer that belongs to Renn—he is going to kill me when he finds out—and some snacks from the pantry. I shove everything into one of Donna’s reusable supermarket bags. When I get out, Joe is exactly where I left him. He is even wearing the same bored-with-your-shit expression. My heart thuds.
“I can see the six-pack from here.” He points at the bag with the hand that holds a cigarette. “Are you pegging me for a cheap date?”
“As you said, it is not a date. And I need a car for where I want to take you.” I round Dad’s emergencies-only ancient Buick, which is parked on the street. I shove my version of picnic food into the trunk.
There’s a Dom-shaped cloud above our heads, but neither of us acknowledges it. I think we’re both asking ourselves the same questions—what would he have thought about this scene if he were alive? Would he hate that we’re together, even as friends? Is what we’re doing wrong? Bad? Immoral? Should we even care?
Joe cares either way. He cares, because in some sense, he will always be his big brother’s shoulder to lean on. The strong one. The one who gave up things so that Dom could have them.
Joe flicks his half-smoked cigarette sideways. “I know what you’re thinking. There’s nothing wrong with what we’re doing right now.”
My gaze swings to him, and I bet my eyes are full of shock. “I just don’t want you to regret this.”
I slide into the driver’s seat. He takes the passenger seat and buckles up. “I’m never going to regret you.”
“How are you handling things?” I ask, clearing my throat.
“Some days are better than others. But the bad days are getting to be few and far between. I go to therapy, because . . . well, why the fuck not? All the cool kids are doing it now. And I live my life the way I think Dom would have wanted me to. I think that’s the best we can do under the circumstances. Not let death dictate life for the living. What about you?”
I signal out of my parking spot and slide into traffic. “Yeah. I try to live my life the way Mom wanted me to. Or at least, I’m getting there. I still think about Dom all the time, but it no longer feels like someone is stabbing my lungs every time I try to breathe.” I feel a little guilty admitting that. “Are you in touch with Sarah at all?”
Joe’s lips press together into a hard line. He looks out the window. “Kind of. She is dating a new guy. Rich. A medical consultant. Who the hell can blame her? It’s not like Dom was faithful. She doesn’t have to play the devoted-girlfriend role. She gets a free pass.”
Unsure if this rule applies only to Sarah or to me, I simply hmm.
And what about me? I want to scream.
We arrive at Twin Peaks about thirty minutes later. The pair of uninhabited hills almost a thousand feet high offer the best view of San Francisco. I hurl the reusable supermarket bag out of the trunk and plop it between us on the car’s trunk, popping open one beer for him and one for me. San Francisco spreads in front of us like a calendar girl. A mixture of medium-size skyscrapers nestled between sleepy neighborhoods, all built on hilly, uneven streets.
Joe clinks his beer with mine. “To being a little less fucked up than we were at the beginning of the year.”
“And to helping our therapists finance their Hamptons time-shares.”
We both take a pull of our beers.
“Why’d you choose this spot?” Joe asks, looking around us.
“The Twin Peaks are the only hills in San Francisco that have not been built over. I thought you’d get a kick out of being somewhere completely uninhabited.”
“I’ve always been partial to people.” He smirks.