Page 100 of Accidental Theirs
On the next Sunday after Sophie’s birthday and Olivia’s confession, I call my brother, Brendan.
When he answers the phone, he sounds surprised. “Bash?”
“Bree,” I drawl, and he groans.
“I’ve asked you repeatedly not to call me that.”
“What else are younger brothers for, if not to tease you?” I pause. “Listen, I know you’re busy, but there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Is it important?”
“Maybe the most important thing that’s ever happened to me,” I answer honestly, skipping the bourbon tonight and making myself a glass of ice water.
“Then I’ll fly down.”
I nearly choke on my water. “FromFrance? You don’t have to do that. We can just FaceTime or something...”
“I’m coming. Next flight out.”
He hangs up, and I head into the living room, bewildered.
I flip on the television and in all the commotion, I have forgotten that our wedding video is still up on the screen. I haven’t turned it on all week.
It’s stuck on a scene of me with Sophie scooped up in my arms, bridal-style, her train trailing over my arm down to the floor.
My throat feels tight with emotion, and I switch the input quickly.
I can’t spiral right now. No matter how much I want to.
Brendan has worked overseas for the last ten years, and I haven’t seen him in about five. The reason I called him, apart from him being my only family, is because he’s a family man himself.
I have a niece and a nephew, and I shower them with gifts and affection whenever I can, even though I don’t see them often. We keep in touch via FaceTime and phone calls, and that’s always been good enough for me.
I like kids but can’t imagine the responsibility of two of them.
Right now, I need advice, and my brother is my best option given the circumstances.
It’s three days before he can get here, and we meet at an exclusive Italian restaurant, one I made reservations for as soon as I knew when he’d arrive.
Brendan looks exhausted as he gets out of the rental car, bags under his eyes, and guilt rolls over me as I approach him.
He smiles, and his face lights up.
I go for a handshake, and he pulls me into a hug.
“It’s been too long, little brother.”
We’re technically what our mother always called Irish twins, just eleven months apart, but he likes to remind me that he was here first far too often.
“Jet-lagged?”
He groans. “Like you wouldn’t believe. Vicky wanted to come with me, but we couldn’t get our schedules together.”
I nod slowly.
It’s for the best that Vicky didn’t come. We get along fine, but we’re just not as close as I’d like us to be because of the distance.
Plus, I’m fairly certain she thinks I’m a dog, given some remarks she’s made about my sexual proclivities.
