Page 5 of Mismatched

My wife returns with a strange assortment of fried chicken, dolmades, bean casserole, and tamales. I hold the food in my lap, but it seems like way too much effort to actually chew and swallow.

Seth takes his dish to the armchair across from me, and I find myself thinking about how we used to sit there with our dad reading books when we were little, and I wonder if he remembers that. Bruno winds between his legs, purring like an aircraft engine.

“So, Seth, what are your plans... now?” Lydia asks, settling on the couch beside me. “Or is it too soon to ask?”

“I don’t know. There isn’t much left for me here.” I feel his gaze land on me. “I was kinda thinking of moving.”

I raise my eyes from the cat, pulse throbbing under my skin.

“Oh yeah? Where to?” Lydia asks. Bruno spots her open lap and launches himself into it, curling up to shed orange and white cat hair all over her gray skirt. Vaguely, I think, she never wears skirts. And I wish I could appreciate this one.

My brother clears his throat. “Ah, Denver, actually.”

Something stirs in my chest. It isn’t earthshaking, but it’s more than the numbness I feel like I’m drowning in. “Really?” I croak, like I haven’t spoken for days.

“Yeah.” Seth turns to me, looking uncertain. “I—I think I’d like to sell this place. If it’s okay with you.”

I release a long breath and set my untouched plate aside, letting my gaze wander around the room. Some of the things here stand out—the chair, a few knickknacks, some pictures. But the actual house? It hasn’t felt like home for a while. Not since we had to move Mom out of it and into a care facility.

But the thought of Seth being in Denver—living so close? That does.

“Not my decision,” I say quickly. “You’ve more than earned the right to do whatever you want with this place.”

Seth shrugs. “It made sense to be here when I was needed... but I think I’m ready for a change.”

“When were you thinking?” my wife asks.

“I have an appointment with a realtor this week,” he says. “There are a couple things I’ll need to fix, some painting to do, but I think it should be ready to list pretty quick.”

Lydia studies the overflowing bookshelves, looking doubtful. “There’s still a lot of stuff here. Do you want us to stay a little longer and give you a hand?”

I know for a fact Lydia has work piling up back at The Pooch Park and Ooh La Pooch. She hasn’t said a word to me about it, but we’ve been in Dallas almost a week, and I’ve overheard her talking to her managers and her business partner, Henry. It’s been a lot, asking her to step away from their businesses for so long, and at the last minute.

“We need to get home,” I tell her. “Just have an estate sale, Seth. Get rid of everything you don’t want to keep.”

Seth and Lydia exchange another look.

“Uh, is there anything you’re interested in?” he asks awkwardly. “I could bring furniture or whatever with me to Denver.”

It’s a practical question, but my lip curls at the idea of divvying up the remnants of our mother’s life. I take another look around, deciding the reading chair is just a chair and not the memories made in it. But surely there’s something here I’d like to keep? Stupidly, what comes to mind is the slow-close toilet seat Mom got all excited about after I left for college. I press my lips together. What I really want is to be able to talk to her. Give her a hug. Tell her I love her one last time and know she understands. But eventually my eyes land on a framed photo on the mantel. A family portrait. The last one taken of the four of us before our dad was killed in the car crash. I rise up and retrieve it, glancing down at the smiling family from the past.

I must’ve been nearly ten, and Seth was six or seven, missing his two front teeth. Mom is clearly restraining him in her lap, looking exactly the way I always picture her: poofy blonde hair, too-big glasses, and a huge smile. My dad has one arm around her and one resting on my shoulder, dark hair askew, like he just ran into the frame right before they took the shot.

“I’ll take this.” I hold up the picture to satisfy my wife and brother.

“Oh, I like that one. You look so much like your dad,” Lydia says.

Surprised, I look down again. I was a scrawny kid in a Scouts uniform, and beside my dad’s broad form, we hardly seemed alike then. But maybe I do resemble him now. Tall, with unruly brown hair, and the hazel eyes Seth and I both have. But there’s something else about my dad that’s different from me. I just can’t put my finger on what it is.

Bruno suddenly scampers off Lydia’s lap and up onto Seth’s shoulder. “Meow.”

“Oh, excuse me. Did I forget your evening sardine?” My brother rises and heads for the kitchen, cat wrapped around his neck.

Lydia reaches out and gives my knee a squeeze. “Guess we should go pack.”

I place a tentative hand over hers, and she smiles in my peripheral vision. I know she’s trying to get my attention. Check in with me. Connect. And especially after the last two months, after we’ve worked hard to grow closer, it feels foreign not to just lean in and reach for her. Allow myself to take comfort in her hair, her skin, her scent. But for some reason I just... can’t. I pull my hand away, trying to ignore the way the air cools between us as I head for my old bedroom.

“Sure, let’s pack. It’s an early flight.”

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