“Right,” I say, turning back to my plate. “Uh . . . who’s your favorite brother?”
He chuckles. “Going there, huh?”
“Might as well. I need to be prepared when I do meet them.”
“If I had to pick, I would say I’m closer to JP. We’re closer in age, we got into more trouble together, and we worked more on building the business together. He’s also the one I’d probably go to if I needed someone to help bail me out of jail.”
“Jail? Why are you going to jail?”
“We did stupid shit growing up.”
“Like what?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “A question for another day. Your quota is up. And don’t try that 2a, 2b bullshit on me, you already used it.”
“Well, aren’t you a killjoy?”
“Just playing the game as it was laid out. My turn.” He lifts his glass of water and takes a sip. When he sets the glass down, he looks uncertain. “I’m not sure how to ask this without it sounding harsh, but what happened to your dad?”
“That’s not being harsh. He left my mom early on. He was a truck driver. Didn’t want to stay in one place. I never had a relationship with the man, but he always sent my mom child support. It’s why she was able to afford the house we live in. I remember hearing my mom talk to my grandma late one night when Dad first left. Mom was saying she didn’t feel right taking the money from him, but my grandma shot down those feelings very quickly. It was the first time I heard my grandma talk in such a strict tone. She said my mom didn’t have her babies on her own. That the money he sent wasn’t charity, it was his duty. And from then on, Mom accepted his checks every month. We sent him homemade cards on holidays and his birthdays, but that was the extent of it. Now, I honestly have no idea what he’s doing or where he is. And we’re okay with that because we have Jeff, and Jeff is all we need.”
Huxley is silent for a moment before he says, “I couldn’t imagine abandoning my family like that, but at least he had it in his heart to be there in some capacity.”
“He helped give us a home Mom wouldn’t otherwise have been able to afford. And it’s such a great home, full of memories.”
“I felt that when I was there. Very homey.” He plops another piece of steak in his mouth and then goes quiet.
He remains that way for the rest of the night. And, of course, being the person that I am, I recount our conversation in my head, trying to pinpoint the moment or the thing I said that shut him down so quickly.
If only I could ask . . .
“What are you doing?” Kelsey asks as I bring my feet up into my chair and prop my phone on my knees.
“Getting ready to ask Huxley some questions.”
“About what?”
“About him,” I answer. “It’s part of the deal so I don’t freak out about having to live and act with a robot. I get to ask him questions. Two during the day and two at night. He gets to do the same.”
“Wow, that seems very . . . calculated.”
“That’s Huxley for you. The man needs order.”
Kelsey studies me and then scoots her chair closer so she can reach out and poke me in the arm. “You like him, don’t you?”
“What?” I ask with a pinch in my brow. “Are you nuts? No, I don’t like him. He’s . . . he’s a sociopath. Not the type of guy I’d ever go for. But it’s nice getting to know him a little bit better, because having dinner with someone who either spends his time irritating me or being completely silent isn’t what I’d call fun. This makes the deal easier.”
“Uh-huh,” she says with a smile as she gets out of her chair. “I’m going to walk to the salad shop around the corner. Want me to grab you something?”
“Please.” I smile at her, not giving in to her disbelief. “Chopped salad, no tomatoes. Thanks, sis.”
With that grin of hers, she grabs her purse and heads out the door. When it clicks shut, I open up my text thread with Huxley and ask him the question I wanted to ask him last night. Maybe he’d be more receptive to answering over text, where he doesn’t have to look me in the face.
Lottie: What stupid shit did you do as a kid?
I smile to myself as the dots appear on the thread.
Huxley: I knew that was coming.
Lottie: So, then you might have a good answer for me, right?
Huxley: Depends on what good is.
He’s so much more playful through text. Makes me wonder—does he feel as though he doesn’t have to maintain his fa?ade when texting, like he does when we’re in person? Most likely he feels as though he can be more himself. Hide behind the comfort of his phone like a protective shield.