Page 22 of Until the Storm Breaks
“Excuse me?” Jack cuts in. “I’m right here. Still the pretty one, thanks.”
“You’re never here,” Alex shoots back. “Doesn’t count if you’re pretty in Monaco.”
“Cinnamon rolls?” Jack says, already reaching for the box.
“They’re not Mom’s,” Alex says quietly, and we all know what he means.
But we each take one anyway, going through the motions. Mom would make them from scratch, the whole house smelling like butter and cinnamon before sunrise. These are from the bakery, good but wrong, like everything else about doing this without her.
Dominic pulls out Mom’s photo box with the kind of care usually reserved for newborns or explosives. The leather is worn soft from decades of handling, corners reinforced with duct tape that’s probably older than Alex. Inside, our entire family history waits in Kodak moments and fading Polaroids.
“Found these when I was cleaning out a drawer last week,” Alex adds, pulling photos from his jacket. “Figured they belonged with the rest.”
We spread them across the desk and start passing them around, each image landing differently. Opening day with Dad looking young and invincible. Mom in his boxing gloves, laughing at something off-camera. The five of us at various ages, in various states of brotherhood.
Then Dominic pulls out a photo that makes me stop breathing for a second. Mom and Maren behind the bar at The Black Lantern, leaning together like conspirators mid-laugh. Mom’s face is bright with genuine joy, fully present in the moment. Maren beside her, glowing with that particular light she has.
“When was this?” I ask.
“Right after Maren bought the place, so maybe seven years ago now.” Theo says. “Mom spent weeks teaching her everything. The regulars’ drinks, the books, all of it.”
“She loved doing that,” Alex adds. “Passing it on.”
“You know,” I say to Dominic, taking a sip of coffee that burns going down, “the other day you mentioned the buyer wants to close fast. How’d you even find someone that quickly? Mom’s barely been gone a week.”
The room goes quiet like I’ve pulled a pin on a grenade. Alex suddenly finds his coffee fascinating, studying it like it holds the secrets of the universe. Theo clears his throat and looks at the ceiling tiles like he’s counting them.
“The buyer’s been interested for a while,” Dominic says, his shoulders going rigid.
“How long is a while?” Jack’s voice has gone flat, that dangerous calm he gets before he loses it.
“A few months,” Theo admits quietly, still not meeting anyone’s eyes.
I set my coffee down hard enough that it sloshes over the rim, pooling on Dad’s old desk. “You’ve been negotiating this while Mom was dying?”
“Be realistic, Calvin,” Alex jumps in, finally looking up. “The house was falling apart. The roof, the plumbing, everything. We had to start thinking ahead?—”
“Mom was still alive!” Jack stands so fast his chair rocks back. I see his hands clench into fists, the same way they did when he was sixteen and about to punch someone.
“Barely,” Dominic shoots back, standing too, matching Jack’s energy. “She didn’t recognize us half the time. Thought I was Dad. Called Theo by your name.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to decide she was already gone,” I say, heat rising in my face. “You don’t get to make that call for all of us.”
“Someone had to make decisions,” Dominic’s voice rises,filling the small office. “While you were in Seattle playing professor and Jack was playing race car driver, we were here. Actually here. Watching her scream at three AM because she thought strangers broke in. Cleaning up when she forgot how bathrooms work. Holding her while she cried for people who’ve been dead for years. Where the hell were you two?”
The truth of it hits like a punch to the sternum, but it doesn’t make this right.
“You should have told us,” Jack says, quieter now. His jaw is working the way it does when he’s trying not to explode.
“Would it have changed anything?” Dominic asks. “Would you have come home? Helped? Or would you have just felt guilty from a distance?”
“That’s not—” I start.
“Are we really going to do this?” Theo cuts in, his voice tired. “Stand here and compete over who failed Mom more? Because nobody wins that contest.”
Through the office window, we can see members starting to arrive for early classes. Normal people with normal problems, not five brothers circling each other like fighters waiting for the bell.
“We need to finish this conversation,” Theo says, always the peacemaker even when there’s no peace to make. “But not here. Not now. Not like this.”
