Page 47 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

“I missed you too, Mom. Sorry it took me a while to accept your invitation. Work’s been busy.” I step into the house, handing her the bouquet.

“Oh! Peonies! You are so thoughtful. I’ve got a charcuterie platter on the coffee table in the family room. You can grab a drink from the mini fridge.”

I pull my mother into a hug.

She sinks into our embrace, carefully holding the flowers so they don’t get crushed.

She smiles up at me when we release one another. “I’ll just get these into some water. Your dad’s out at the grill. Dinner will be on shortly.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

“No, you’re fine. Unless you want to try some life coaching on that brother of yours.”

I don’t answer her. Jacob is living in this luxury house rent-free. As far as he’s concerned, he doesn’t need anything beyond the misguided generosity of my parents.

I walk into the family room while Mom heads back into the kitchen. Jacob is sprawled on the couch playing video games with the charcuterie board nestled on the cushion in front of him as if it’s his own personal snack tray.

The sounds of cabinets opening and shutting filter through from the kitchen. The smell of my mother’s sourdough rolls fills the air. Around here, we’ve been known to fight over them warm from the oven.

Dad passes through the family room. “Jacob, what are you doing?”

“Give me a minute, Dad,” Jacob answers him. “I’m almost through this round, and I don’t want to lose my level.”

Dad turns to me. “Son, could you grab this tray of steaks and bring it through to your mother? I’ve got to put the pineapple on the grill.”

Ever since my parents took a Caribbean cruise years ago, grilling pineapple has become a part of our meal anytime the barbecue is involved.

I take the tray from my dad and walk through to the kitchen while Jacob shouts at his video game.

A few minutes later, he saunters in, pinching a noodle right out of the bowl of macaroni salad sitting on the island.

“So, I heard it’s your class reunion,” he says.

“How’d you hear that?” I ask.

“Oh, how nice,” Mom says. She opens the oven to pull out the rolls.

“Olivia will be going, right?” Jacob asks.

“Olivia Pennington?” Mom says Olivia’s name with fondness.

“How should I know?” I ask Jacob.

“Well, she’s living in your building,” Jacob says. “Is she single?”

“How should I know?” I say again.

“You could ask her,” Jacob suggests.

“I always wondered why you avoided her so much in high school,” Mom adds unhelpfully.

“I didn’t avoid her.”

“You didn’t pursue her,” Jacob says, pinching another noodle from the bowl.

Mom playfully swats his hand with a potholder. “Jacob Alexander, stop sneaking bites.”

Mom smiles affectionately at Jacob.

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