Nathan reached for a dish towel and started wiping the counter. “You seem to know a lot about it. Have you met someone? What happened to that one girl with the glasses who used to flirt with you at the library?”
“She moved.” Bobbi pointed a finger at his face. “Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s the same subject.”
She took a deep, patience-fortifying breath. “No, it’s not. I love you, Nathan. You’re like the brother I never wanted. But things get handed to you, which makes it harder for you to appreciate them.”
“Keeping things light reduces conflict. I don’t like drama,” Nathan said, even though his fixation on Rachel’s freckle screamed he was a liar.
“Intimacy isn’t drama. It’s a basic human need.”
Bobbi proceeded to lecture him about emotional vulnerability until the oven timer buzzed. She pulled her creation from the oven and set it down with a smug flourish. “You should ask this person who has you all introspective to hang out sometime. It sounds like they could be good for you.” She pointed to her finished dish. “Veggie frittata.”
Nathan nodded. “Right. So basically…”
She rolled her eyes and tossed him a fork. “Yes, eggs, asshole. Eat up.”
Rachel didn’t know how long she stayed in bed. Checking would require opening her eyes, which she refused to do. The shades were still open from the day before because Matt had ignored her request to close them before the party. “The sun is my alarm clock,” he said. He had to know she would be hungover with the sunlight tolerance of a vampire. They used to laugh at how two drinks could have her stumbling around, begging for electrolytes and Advil. Then he’d call her his “little teetotaler” while stashing bottles of Vitaminwater near her bed.
Rachel rolled onto her side and opened one eye into a narrow slit. According to the clock, it was almost noon. She never slept this late, especially on a Sunday. It was her planning day. She usually spent the early morning hours adding reminders to Matt’s phone so he wouldn’t overlook any events.
Her phone vibrated. She ignored it. The noise stopped for a moment and started again, somehow seeming more insistent than before. She glared at the caller ID: Ben Abbott, Matt’s younger brother. He wouldn’t call just to chat.
“I got your text from last night.” Ben’s voice was low and measured, similar to Matt’s, but more cautious. Rachel always imagined him running words through his mind like a script before he said them. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I understand what sort of help you’re asking for.”
When had she texted him? Before or after she’d been mistaken for a criminal breaking into her own home? “Um, okay. Could you hold on a minute?” She squinted at the cracked screen and navigated to her sent messages.
Rachel: Matt fucking chrysanthemums. Need your help.
She sighed. “I’m sorry. I had too much to drink last night.”
“You know I’m happy to help with home improvements, but gardening isn’t really my area.”
Being the overlooked, second-born Abbott son had given Ben the breathing room to develop practical skills while attending Harvard Law School like his brother and father. On the day he met Rachel, Ben was covered in grime and sawdust from building cabinets in a house he’d purchased to flip. She later learned he had briefly flirted with starting a contracting company that specialized in restoring Victorian homes. Matt told her the story as a joke because Abbott men didn’t work with their hands. Their calluses were from gripping mountain bike handles or holding pens with an awkward grip. Even though Ben had ultimately caved to his family’s expectations, his ability to see the value in creating something beautiful had always made him different in her eyes. He was her Abbott ally—the person who sent her Gordon Parks postcards each year for her birthday because he spoke a discerning creative language the rest of his family didn’t understand.
“That message wasn’t about flowers.” She hesitated. “Ben, if I speak to you as an attorney, this conversation is privileged, isn’t it?”
A long stretch of silence followed her question. “Yes, it is. Are you in trouble?”
“Your brother is leaving me for another woman.”
Another pause. “Shit.”
It was only the second time she’d heard Ben swear. The first was during a Christmas dinner, one of the obligatory Abbott family gatherings. Matt announced he was writing a memoir and Ben had declared it “a fucking joke.”