Page 28 of Upshot

“Come to think of it,” he finally adds, “I think all dads have to do is know how to put the shit together on Christmas Eve and look confused most of the time.”

I laugh. “I can do that. Thanks, Pete.” I wish that was all there is to it. That World’s Greatest Dad mug would be mine, no problem. “What about passing out cigars in the waiting room?”

“That too. The most important part is introducing second-hand smoke to your newborn early.” He grins at me. “You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve talked you off the ledge. You remember when we were freshmen, and I literally had to talk you off that ledge near the beach.”

“Maybe we don’t reminisce about my unhappy youth in front of Brontë? She already thinks I’m insane.”

“Don’t worry, bros before hoes, I always say.”

“I know. I’ve tried to stop you from saying that so many times. And please don’t refer to the mother of my baby as a ho.”

“Come on,” Pete says, rising from the couch. “Give me the grand tour so we can figure out how to salvage this mess.” That’s the best part of having a guy for a best friend. It’s always a face-it-and-forget-it relationship. Peter has saved me from myself so many times, I’ve lost count.

We spend the rest of the day arguing over the floorplan of the house. Geneva returns at some point to announce the front needs a facelift. If I was putting it back on the market, she would be invaluable. But she’s just in the way at this point. Her strengths are marketing, not design. By six, we’re starving.

“So, what’s edible here?” Geneva asks as we settle in our seats. We decided on dining at Sam’s Steakshack after she turned her nose up at our other options.

“It’s all pretty good,” I answer. “The local specialty is a chicken-fried steak.”

“What’s that? How is both chicken and steak involved?”

“It’s just breaded steak that’s been fried.”

“Sounds horrible.”

Pete and I share a smirk. My sister has deemed everything new to her as horrible for as long as I can remember. She’ll eventually try whatever it is. If it’s still horrible, it’s your fault for forcing it on her. If it’s amazing, then good thing she found it. We’re both used to it. I guess it can be labeled as endearing. If you’re into obnoxious habits of little sisters.

“Well, don’t you just class the place up? What can I get you, sweetheart?” the waitress says to Geneva. Her eyebrow raises a fraction, but she smiles. My sister loves nothing more than a compliment.

“I’m going to have the chicken-fried steak with all the fixings. Whatever that is,” she answers.

“Darlin’, if you can eat all of that and still look like this,” the waitress says, motioning at Geneva, “then Jesus did you a solid.”

“He did indeed,” Geneva agrees. When the waitress returns to the front, we turn to stare at Geneva. “What?”

“She’s getting a big tip, isn’t she?” Pete asks.

“I’m about to make it rain all over her,” Geneva drawls.

“So, it’s not enough to run off after the ultrasound. You had to send a spy to my work?” The voice behind me is annoyed, but I don’t detect any anger. It also turns me on like nothing else. Quickly, I stand.

“What did you do?” I ask my sister.

“I bought a plant from your lovely friend. What did you do?” Fair point.

“I didn’t know that’s where she was going,” I quickly tell Brontë. “I promise.”

“Obviously. Can you introduce me?” she answers.

“I’m sorry. This is Peter Winsloe, my best friend.” Brontë shakes his hand. “And this is my little sister, Geneva. I assume you’ve both figured out this is Brontë Caraway.”

“We’ve already been talking,” Geneva answers.

“About?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, dear brother? Would you like to join us?”

“I can’t. This is family night. My older sister Austen got it in her head that we have to do an official family dinner out night once a week. We already see each other every day, and I eat most nights with my parents, but sure, let’s get together more often.” Brontë rolls her eyes. Geneva barks a very un-Geneva-like laugh. “I mean, it’s not like we don’t all live ten minutes apart.”

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