Page 106 of The Mistakes I've Made
Clearly not getting the hint, he kept going, kept prodding and poking. “You seemed pretty chipper when you and Leilani left the festival, practically pawing at each other. You got second place by the way, although I don’t see how, considering you basically just stood there like a damn idiot the whole time, but—”
“We had breakfast together,” I finally said, unable to meet his eyes.
A palpable silence filled the room before the sound of my brother’s laughter broke it. I blinked several times before turning in his direction, only to see where I needed to aim my assault.
“That’s what’s got you in a wreck this morning? You had breakfast with a woman? Come on, Taylor. When are you going to grow up?”
I blew out a frustrated breath as I tried to remember all the reasons I shouldn’t kill my brother.
My mom would hate me.
My niece would be sad.
“You don’t get it,” I finally said.
“No,” he replied, leaning back in his desk chair, “I don’t because you never talk to me about anything other than the business and family stuff. I’m your brother, Taylor, and yet I barely know you.”
I scoffed, taking a sip of coffee and turning my head as I set a pace around the room. “That’s not true. You know plenty.”
“I know the cursory stuff. I know you put way too much creamer in your coffee and that, up until recently, you hit on every blonde tourist who crossed your path. I know that you make a mean omelet, and you still go to Mom’s early on Sunday to help her cook the family supper. That is, when you’re not busting your ass, working overtime here.”
“You know that?”
“Of course I do,” he answered. “But what I don’t know is why you’ve completely shut yourself off to the possibility of love. What rocked your world so massively that you think something as simple as sharing the first meal of the day with a woman is a death curse?”
“Dad was making breakfast,” I said faintly.
I caught his movement as he swiveled his chair toward me. “What?”
“The morning it happened, he was making us all breakfast. And then he…he was just gone.”
Dean shook his head. “How could you possibly remember that? You were too young.”
“I remember,” I said, the memory replaying like an old home video. It was hazy, no words or conversations.
Just tiny bursts.
My father’s face as he’d turned back from the stove and smiled at me.
My mother running across the kitchen toward his collapsed body.
And then the screams.
The terrible screams.
“I thought you said you didn’t have any memories of Dad,” Dean said, looking somber and sullen, his hand reaching for the back of his neck as he leaned forward in his chair, no longer the picture of casual ease.
“What was the point of telling you that the only memory I have of him is right before he died?”
Dean shook his head, clearly distressed. “We could have talked about it,” he said.
“Talked about what? What is there to talk about, Dean? He died; it’s over.”
“It’s clearly not over. It’s been decades man, and you can’t stand to have breakfast with the woman you love. You think that’s normal?”
I slammed my empty coffee cup down on the counter. “Coming from a guy who gave up on life, that’s rich. If it wasn’t for Cora, you’d still be moping about this goddamn island while I worked my ass off, running the business to take care of you.”
“You’re right,” he agreed, rising to his feet. “I had issues. Still do. I nearly fucking died, Taylor. And when I needed to sort that shit out, you stepped up and did more than your fair share to allow me to do that. So, is that what you need? Time? To work out whatever the hell is going on with you?”
