by J.P Jackson
*
Sylvia opened the apartment door and rolled her eyes at her brother-in-law.
"Take your shoes off."
Sylvia was a prosecuting attorney and graduate of Yale Law School. Olive skinned and bony, her pulled-back hair pinched what would have been a pretty face. Sylvia came from old money and had the aspirations and heritage to go all the way to the top. Living on the 167th floor, she was almost there.
To Sylvia, Taylor was the family scandal on her husband's side, one she tolerated. To Taylor, Sylvia was a certified cunt. For Donald's sake, they made it work.
The dining room offered a staggering view of the Big Apple, sparkling in the night. The dinner table was set with candle light and a meal too large for this small family.
It warmed Taylor's heart to hear his nephews play in their bedrooms. He glanced down the hall to their rooms, frowning when he noticed five large suitcases against the wall, hurriedly packed judging by the sweater sleeve dangling from a closed lid.
Donald stood alone on the magnificent patio, sipping a glass of wine and gesturing his brother to join him. Sliding the door open, Taylor winced at the chilly night air.
"Glad you could make it," Donald said, appearing pale as Taylor pressed beside him at the balcony. "I needed to talk with you alone."
"You can talk to me anytime."
Taylor bent over the edge of the balcony, readying a ball of phlegm at the back of his throat.
"Don't," said Donald, nudging his arm.
Taylor smiled and swallowed. "You going on a trip? I saw the suitcases in the hall, you never mentioned a word, mate."
Donald turned to face him, his eyes watering from the cold or something else.
"Ham," he stuttered. "It's just..."
Taylor exhaled and patted Donald's arm. "Sack up, okay? I promise I won't try to kill myself again. No more 4am phone calls, alright? Shit boy, you really are too soft for your own good."
Suddenly and desperately, Donald clutched the ends of Taylor's fingers. "Ham," he hissed, an inch from Taylor's nose, "...something's coming."
Taylor mimicked Donald's scowl until pounding hands on the patio window snapped the brothers' from thought and conversation. Donald's sons - Cameron and Lucas - were blowing their mouths against the glass.
"Boys," Donald sighed, throwing up his hands as Taylor swung open the door.
"You wee buggers!" he exclaimed, reaching out for his nephews.
Sylvia left the kitchen and wrangled both boys and men to the dinner table. She poured herself a glass of wine as Taylor took his seat.
"The new decor is crackin'," he said, faking enthusiasm. "Aye. Nice spread as well."
Donald poured himself a glass of wine then absent-mindedly began passing the bottle to Taylor, halting the pass in mid-air. "Sylvia, dear," he added, manoeuvring the bottle back to his side of the table. "Can you fetch Ham some water?"
"I'm a whisky man," Taylor said, reaching for a bowl of peas. "Save the wine for somebody who'll enjoy it. I saw more protesters outside. It's getting worse out there. Fucking elevator ate my cigarettes again.”
Donald glanced up from a spoonful of spuds. "Language, eh?"
Taylor grinned mischievously while his nephews snickered at either side of him.
"How you lads doin'?" he asked them. "How's school?"
Donald beamed, as if delighted by the subject. "Cameron made the team this year."
"Oh, aye!" Taylor declared, glancing proudly at the boy. "What position?"
"Midfield," replied the chewing eight-year-old. "I played well. Can do better."
"That was your uncle's position," said Donald, bending forward. "He was holding midfielder and captain of the Scotland under 19s."
"We know!" Cam droned, dropping his mashed potatoes. "You've told us like...a gazillion times!"
"I'm just saying. No-one could take a free-kick like your uncle! You should've seen the spin he could put on a ball!"
Taylor lowered his eyes to a plate of lonely peas as his second nephew, seven-year-old Lucas, looked at him wide-eyed. "Uncle Ham, can you teach me some tricks after dinner?"
"He can't!" Sylvia interrupted. "Your uncle has to leave after dinner. We have a lot to arrange before tomorrow."
"Mum," Lucas then asked, innocently forking his meal. "Is uncle Ham coming to the hotel with us?"
"No," she sniped. "No more talking."
"Which hotel is that?" Taylor pried, smiling at the blue eyed boy.
"Mum said it's a special hotel. Will you come with us uncle Ham? It'll be boring without you."
Donald took a hard gulp while Sylvia tittered. "Just taking the boys on a work thing. Eat your food Lucas."
With little to no appetite, and his mind on other things, Taylor ate as much as he could and waited as long as possible before squeaking back his chair and making his excuses.
Donald prepared to stand but Taylor interrupted. "You owe me a pack of smokes, carcinogens an' all."
Taylor bent to squeeze his nephews shoulders. “Cameron, put your laces through the ball. Lucas, you'll need to eat those vegetables if you want to play with the big boys.”
Taylor winked at a brow beaten Donald. "Enjoy your holiday. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Eat up children!" Sylvia said, clanging her fork on china as Taylor saw himself out.
The apartment door opened and Donald, ready to spring from his chair, felt Sylvia's hand grip his wrist.
"Let him go," she whispered. "He's not one of us."
The apartment door closed and Taylor was gone, leaving Donald to wipe the tears from his eyes.
