Page 31 of I Could Be Yours

He rounds the corner wearing a pair of gray shorts and a black T-shirt with the word BAE in pink block letters. “Hey, bro. How’s it going?”

“It’s going.”

He pulls me in for a one-armed back pat, then steps back, glancing at the box tucked under my arm. “What you got there? Something for the guys’ weekend?”

“This was dropped off at Flip’s, but it’s for Rix.” I set the box on the counter.

“Oh. I bet that’s the thing she’s been checking for compulsively this week. Thanks for bringing that over.” He heads for the fridge. “Can I get you something to drink? Or eat? Bea made blueberry muffins, and raisin bran, and banana walnut.”

“She on a nervous baking kick?” Rix loves to make food, but when she’s stressed, she makesa lotof food. As of late there have been more deliveries than usual for Flip, and he and I have beeninvited for impromptu dinners because they have no room in their fridge.

“You know it.”

“All of Rix’s muffins are magical, so I’ll take whatever. Where is she, anyway?” I’ve come to really enjoy Rix. She’s soft and kind and like the sister I never had.

Tristan sets the container of blueberry muffins on the counter. “She’s at Essie’s.”

“Everything okay?” I haven’t said a word to anyone about that kiss/make-out session at the stag and doe, but I don’t know if Essie kept it to herself. I doubt Tristan would be all that enthused if he knew.

“Yeah, it’s all good. I think they’re planning their girls’ weekend.” He loads a plate and puts it in the microwave for thirty seconds.

“You find out where they’re going yet?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t really push Essie to tell me when you’re keeping the boys’ weekend all hush-hush.”

“I can’t believe Ess hasn’t even told you,” I muse. It’s been hard enough keeping the boys’ weekend to myself, and Tristan hasn’t been needling me for information.

“She knows it wouldn’t take much for me to spill the secret to Bea under the right circumstances.” He snaps a quick pic of the box and sends it to Rix.

The microwave dings, and I retrieve the butter dish from the cupboard and a knife from the drawer. Flip and I come over for dinner at least once a week, so I’m familiar with where everything is. Rix always sends us home with leftovers. It’s the closest thing to a family dinner I’ve had apart from holidays since I went away to university. Growing up we were always eating on the run. Tristan had hockey and so did Brody, and I had robotics competitions. It was a lot for a single dad to juggle.

Tristan and I take seats at the kitchen island. I pop the top off two muffins, add a pat of butter to each, and pass the knife to my brother.

“What’s in the box, anyway?” I ask.

“Don’t know. There’ve been a lot of deliveries lately, and unless they’re addressed to me, I leave them alone. Last week I accidentally opened a box from a lingerie store and got in trouble because it was supposed to be for the wedding night, and I ruined the surprise.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. She had to order something new, and I almost made her cry, so now I just steer clear,” he explains.

“She cried over lingerie?” Rix is pretty levelheaded most of the time.

“She spent hours searching for the perfect set, and it was expensive. I wish she wouldn’t stress over money so much, but hopefully with time that’ll ease up.” He slathers butter over his muffin tops.

“She and Flip had it rough when they were young.” I see hints of his thriftiness all the time. He always grabs extra vegetable bags from the grocery store, and he never throws out leftovers, even if they would barely qualify as a snack. I bite into the muffin and groan. “Man, these are good.”

“I know,” he mumbles around a mouthful.

“Mom never made us treats like this.” The words are out before I can call them back. It feels like a bad omen to talk about her.

He pauses, his muffin an inch from his mouth. “She call you again?”

“Not in the past week or so.” My stomach twists. I wish I hadn’t opened this can of worms, and that I could lie to him about it.

His eyes narrow. “When did she call last?”

“Before the stag and doe. I didn’t answer.” But I stupidly listened to the voicemail again.

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