Page 21 of Shattered Hearts

I grasp her hand and kiss her cheek. “She had a prior commitment.”

“Someone else then?” Mom smiles hopefully. All she’s ever wanted was to marry me off. I think she wants the wedding more than she wants me to have a wife.

“Yeah.”

“Well, where is she?” she asks impatiently. “I’d love to meet her.”

“She’s in the kitchen.”

Mom frowns but smooths the lines on her face. She’s always worried about wrinkles. “Whatever is she doing in there?”

“Looking for food, I imagine.”

“Gage, really. There’s a buffet set up in the sunroom. It’s no wonder you’re still single. You have no idea how to treat a woman.”

“I’m doing my best,” I say, tongue-in-cheek. “You look gorgeous, as always.”

“Thank you. It’s a sample...Carolina Herrera.” She says it like it should mean something to me. No doubt a man like Ash, or Zane, even Max, if he were still alive, would nod and hum, but I don’t know who Carolina Herrera is, and I don’t care.

Gesturing to the giant Christmas tree in the center of the far wall, I say, “The house looks nice. I’m sorry I didn’t come for Christmas.”

“The holidays are hard on all of us without Max.” Her eyes grow damp, and she blinks away the tears. “I try not to let his death get the best of me. He died doing what he loved. It’s what anyone can hope for.”

“I still have to pack up his apartment. Will you help me?”

Mom clutches at my arm in dismay. “You’ve been paying his rent all this time? Good Lord, Gage, whatever for?”

“I’m trying not to admit I was a shitty brother. Going over there, looking at all of his things. It’s a reminder we could have been closer and it’s my fault we weren’t.”

Her eyes widen. “Max never thought that. He loved you and looked up to you.”

“Then that makes the way I treated him even worse. He would have fit in here. I don’t.”

“And you can’t decide if you want to despise him or envy him. You don’t fit in because you don’t want to. Don’t blame your brother or the people in this room. You made your choice. I saw the way you glared at my guests, sneering, feeling better than them, and for what? There are good, kind people in this room. Let me prove it to you.”

“Okay.” I say it so she’s happy. I say it because of what Stella said. Reverse snobbery won’t hurt anyone but me. “If you help me pack up Max’s apartment.”

“Of course I will, and let me reimburse you for the rent. Don’t say no. He’s been gone for over a year and I know you can’t afford that. You treat me like a witch you have to placate to stay on my good side. I love you. You’re my first-born son. And I love your father—he gave me you.” She straightens my bow tie. “You’re so conflicted, and you don’t have to be. Come now, Bunny Mapplethorpe’s daughter is here. She’s about to graduate from Harvard. Social Justice or some such. I think you’ll find you have a lot in common.”

Just like that, the little progress Mom and I managed vanishes in a puff of vanity and disgust. Designer dresses hold more weight in her life than the social injustices people have to fight against every day.

Bunny’s daughter is actually very intelligent, and she’s pretty, too. We spend a surprisingly pleasurable hour talking about Nora Guthrie and the shit she’s in helping Ashton Black sell girls into the sex trade. She’s impressed I know Stella and asks if I can introduce her. I think the two women would appreciate each other, and I promise to pass along the request. Smiling her thanks, she excuses herself to mingle.

At 11:55 PM I text Zarah.Happy New Year, sweetheart. I love you, and this year will be our year.

She doesn’t respond, and that worries me and lets me down. I wanted to exchange mushy words as the New Year came in.

Mom passes around sparklers, and Baby trots to my side, excited by the anticipation in the room. Pop joins us in the corner, and the only way I’d be any more content is if Zarah was with me too.

Max might be gone, but life is good. I need to appreciate what I have. Even if Zarah’s recovery has slowed to a halt, we found each other and that’s the most important thing.

Mom’s guests start the countdown and as the clock strikes midnight, everyone breaks out into “Auld Lang Syne.” I don’t see Rourke anywhere, and I clench my jaw. He should be bringing in the New Year standing next to his wife, but she’s with a group of her friends, the sparks lighting her face.

“Happy New Year, Gage. I have a feeling this is going to be one helluva year,” Pop says.

“Yep, I agree. Happy New Year to you, too.”

He hugs me, clapping me on the back, and I’m grateful we have the relationship that we do.

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