by Ember Leigh
Hazel’s face softens. “I take it that thing with the mystery Cleveland Cavs man didn’t end well.”
“You could say that.” I sigh, absentmindedly fiddling with the decorative bolts along the arm rest of my chair. “I just want to have a great night out with my girl…and her soulmate, of course.”
Hazel bites her bottom lip. It’s so funny how she gets coy about her and Grayson still. Like she hasn’t seen it coming for approximately, oh, her entire life. “We’re going to have a great night. And you’re going to forget all about that stupid man you’re contractually forbidden to mention by name.”
Dom. His name is Dom. The words run like a marquee through my head, as I’m sure they will all night. Hell, all weekend.
Seeing Grayson so much is only going to remind me of his older brother. But I can at least feel confident in one thing. That stubborn, nearly estranged mule is tucked into his penthouse in Cleveland, counting his awards or hearts saved or whatever it is he does in his nil free time.
I have no chance of running into Dom while I’m home.
And I don’t know if that makes me relieved or unbearably sad.
Chapter 25
DOM
I don’t think anyone in my family is as surprised to see me walk through the front door of my parents’ house as Grayson.
Honestly, the genuine confusion that wrenches at his face could have won the grand prize in the Great Sibling Estrangement Race. The runner-up is when he says, “Dominic? Is that you?”
“Not sure who else it would be.” I set my overnight bag on the floor before I head to greet my family in the kitchen. Mom is there, as well as Grayson, who looks like he just lost a battle with a paint roller, and Maverick.
Grayson follows me into the kitchen. “There’s just no way it would be Dr. Dominic Daly. He doesn’t leave his golden Cleveland skyscraper for anything.”
My teeth clench. Shots fired, and I’ve been here thirty seconds. Mom shushes him and sweeps toward me, pulling me into a hug.
“We’re so happy you’re here,” she murmurs into my ear. Patting my back, she squeezes me one last time before pushing me away to get a good look at me. “I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow.”
“I was able to clear my schedule,” I say, glancing at Grayson. I have a hundred evil things I could shoot him down with, but the acidity dissolves before I get a chance to. “I thought I’d enjoy some extra time at home.”
A weird silence settles through the kitchen. Grayson’s brows draw even closer together.
“Okay,” he says.
“Good luck actually enjoying it here,” Maverick mutters, and then disappears down the hallway.
“I think it’s wonderful,” my mother oozes, with those Mom-grade earmuffs that allows her to ignore all the bullshit coming from her spawns’ mouths. “What’s new, honey? Is work still going well? Dad said you had some big news coming up.”
Of course he said that. Because I’ve been spoon-feeding him the highlight reel of my career, waiting for…something. I don’t know what. An award that says, “Congratulations, you’re definitely the best of all time, so no need to keep trying anymore,” maybe. A trophy securing my place as the eldest and most successful Daly brother. In the worst-case scenario, a pin that says “#1 SON.”
Thanksgiving is the ideal time to dangle this accomplishment over my brothers’ heads. To elicit gasps and delight from Mom while my brothers watch Dad nod approvingly.
But I’m missing my usual verve for one-upping, for showing Grayson he’s not as great as he thinks he is. Maybe it’ll come back to me once I figure out why I should give a shit about the board position these days.
While I’m silent mulling over my response, Grayson chimes in. “Big news, huh? Let me guess. Lifetime Achievement Award for Arrogance.”
I narrow my eyes. “Good guess, but wrong. They only give that award out once. And if memory serves correctly, you were the recipient last year, Mr. Bigtime Banker.”
He frowns. “Ex-banker, thank you very much.”
“That’s right. Banker turned Tim ‘the Tool Man’ Taylor.” It’s a low blow, but I’ve spent my life sending out the barbs without considering the consequences. But this time, something deep inside me wrenches. Not sure what that is, though. Maybe my anxiety is breeding indigestion now.
“Wow. I can’t believe you just used the show Home Improvement as an insult. Thanks, Wilson.”
“Boys,” Mom says.
“Wilson was a source of guidance and inspiration,” I remind my brother, “so thank you for the compliment. I’ll be sure to get it printed out and framed so I can hang it alongside the one other compliment you’ve paid me my entire life.”
Grayson props his palms on his hips. “There is something seriously wrong with you.”
“Do you two have to be at each other’s throats like this the second you’re in the same room?” There’s a tinge of desperation in her voice that gets both of us to look her way.
“It’s just hard for me to believe that Mr. Know-It-All gives a damn if his lowly little tool man brother pays him a compliment,” Grayson goes on.
“It’s less about receiving a compliment,” I clarify, “and more about receiving anything that isn’t actual piss out of your mouth.”
I can see his hackles rise—I’m good at making that happen. The slump of my mother’s shoulders combined with the skyrocketing testosterone in the room reminds me suddenly of London—basically-estranged non-family man—as if her words haven’t been ringing in my head since she spoke them. And here I am, proving her right.
“You are one to fucking talk—” Grayson begins.
“Listen, I piss out of my mouth too. It’s whatever. Can we move on now?” It’s my best on-the-fly attempt to smooth things over. Is this a baby step? My heart is racing, and I’m tense, as if waving a tiny white flag has somehow outed me a wuss.
“There we go.” Mom sends us both a strained smile. “An odd way of saying ‘welcome home,’ but I’ll take it.”
Grayson seems slightly subdued, so maybe I made the right move. Maybe he’s just planning his revenge, like that time he waited in my closet for four full hours just to snag the perfect chance to jump out of my closet in full gorilla regalia, in the hope that I’d piss my pants.
I didn’t piss my pants, but I did trickle. He never knew that, though.
“I’ve gotta get back to work,” Grayson says brusquely. “Thanks for lunch, Mom. Thanks for nothing, Dom.”
He storms down the hall before I can respond, and when the front door slams, my mom and I simultaneously sigh.
“Just in case you forgot what it was like to have your two eldest sons in the house,” I tell her, squeezing her arm.
“Thanks for the reminder.” She sends me a wry sidelong look. “If I’d known you were coming, I would have waited to have lunch with you. What do you have planned for this afternoon?”
“Nothing,” I admit, and the confusion on her face echoes the confusion inside me. I don’t entirely understand why I’ve taken time off to come home early. Nancy was thrilled—with me taking time off, sure, but more because I’d be going to the same place London is from. Like I wasn’t from Bayshore first. I’m four years older than London, for God’s sake. But Nancy has been gaga for London since the first time they emailed. Their sisterhood would delight me more if I weren’t so hellbent on removing London from my headspace.
“Well let’s do something just you and me,” my mom says, a big smile stretching across her face. “How long has it been since we’ve had the chance? Probably almost a decade. God, how time passes.” She sighs, and then gasps, grasping my forearm. “I know! Let’s go see your inheritance!”
“My inheritance?”
“What Grammy Ethel left you, silly.” She swats my arm, and that’s when the pieces click into place. I’d forgotten about the inheritance. All about it, actually. Mom told me after the funeral that Grandma had bequeathed me a piece of property downtown, but I bolted back to Cl
eveland the first chance I got and never thought of it again.
“That sounds great, actually.” I wouldn’t mind visiting downtown, spending some time just being a person again, out with his mom. “Want to go now?”
Mom grin and pinches my cheeks, just like she used to when I was a boy, and scoots off to find her coat. When she’s bundled up in a sleek pea coat, I offer to drive.
“No, let’s walk. I want to see the water.”
No complaints there. It’s a decently warm day, especially for Thanksgiving, which is always a fifty-fifty chance between outright blizzard or 60-degree heat wave.
The sidewalks are still cluttered with fallen leaves, but I can tell that the city leaf collection has been around at least once or twice. The piles of leaves lining the streets are thinner; all the big oak and maple trees are now completely bare. The air holds something crisp and invigorating—slight decay mixed with the freshwater breeze.
Our footsteps scuff down the sidewalk as we head toward the boardwalk, which wraps around the lakefront toward downtown. Being this close to the lake feels better than I anticipated. Sure, I live less than a quarter mile from the lakefront in Cleveland, and I look at it every day from the penthouse. But this feels different. Maybe because I’m here without a to-do list. Maybe because I’m searching for something. Maybe because I’m actually giving myself a chance to unwind, however it ends up.
By the time we make it downtown, Mom has made it her new job to act as my official Bayshore tour guide. She’s pointing out all the new developments—a lash and brow bar that she visits with Hazel for their girl dates, a Vietnamese restaurant, a bakery that specializes in Instagram-worthy cookies that has gone viral twice since opening. They’ve redone sidewalks and updated planters. All the Christmas decorations are out in full force too, which is disorienting, because in my mind it’s still June.
We’ve walked almost the entire width of downtown Bayshore, lost in conversation and nostalgia, when suddenly my mom stops and grins up at a dilapidated building.
“Here it is,” she says, gesturing toward a forgotten wooden door with a grime-caked window looking into an abandoned showroom. The navy-blue paint is peeling off the door, and you can still read the faint outline of the letters that used to be painted on the window: “Heineman’s Photography.”
I’m so underwhelmed by this building that it takes me a moment to put two and two together.
“You mean this is what I inherited?”
Mom nods and fishes a key out of her pocket. The front door opens with a painful lurch, and Mom leads me into the cool, musty front room of the building.
“Your Grammy Ethel was the landlord of this place for the past fifty years. She always wanted to pass it on to her eldest grandchild. She viewed it as a business venture that she wanted to pass along.”
I blink, taking it all in. I can’t imagine what on Earth I’m supposed to do with this place other than get rid of it. “But…why not sell it?”
Mom shrugs, our footsteps echoing through the cavernous space as we go deeper into the building. The walls are a mix of dusty plaster and peeling wallpaper. If I had to guess the last time this place was inhabited, I’d say pre-nineties.
But the ceilings. Oh, lord, the ceilings are gilded and exquisite and easily fourteen feet high. I stop walking to crane my neck and stare. The geometric designs are mesmerizing up there.
“Holy shit,” I murmur.
“Yeah. Just wait until you see the back part.” Mom leads me down two steps and through a small doorway that opens into a long room with bay windows overlooking the lake. Natural light fills the space, and I gasp.
“This is a nice surprise,” I say. “Wish my office looked like this.”
Mom chuckles, and the idea hits me like a sack of bricks. My office. This could be my office.
At my Bayshore clinic.
My throat catches, and I actually need to take a few breaths to calm the sudden surge of excitement. I spin on my heel to look at everything again. My low-income clinic could fit perfectly here. Walking distance from several senior living centers. Accessible by residents of any part of the city via the Bayshore bus system. I swallow a knot in my throat and head back into the main area, scanning things with the clinic in mind.
“What used to be here?” I ask, trying to sound casual and not like I just stumbled upon a piece of my personal puzzle that I’d been missing for the last five years.
“Oh, it used to be a lot of things. Back in the fifties, it was a legal office. At some point it became a yacht showroom.”
“In here?”
“The yachts weren’t in here,” Mom clarifies. “But you could browse their catalogs and hear a spiel from a guy with a bad combover.”
“I take it you were approached by a yacht salesman.”
“I dated one,” Mom confirms wryly.
I can’t believe I’ve never known this juicy little detail before. “Who was it?”
She frowns slightly, her gaze moving toward the back of the building. “Kinsley’s dad.”
My mouths rounds, but I don’t say anything. The whole thing is still kinda wild to me—not only that Connor dared to date a Cabana girl, but that it’s lasted this long. Much less with someone as...well, odd as Kinsley.
“He had a combover in the seventies?” It’s the only thing I can think to say.
“No, but his boss did.” She laughs. “God, I hope that family doesn’t become related to me by law.”
I can sense we’re stumbling into awkward territory. “You think Connor and Kinsley are going to get married?” If so, then my whole get-married-before-the-others window is shrinking way faster than I bargained for.
She lobs a sigh, shoving her hands into the pockets of her pea coat. “I think it’s coming. Connor hasn’t proposed yet, but he and Kinsley have started that business together.”
This is news to me. Guilt trickles through me. Connor took the entrepreneurial leap, just like Grayson, and I had no idea.
“I had no idea they started a business together. Why didn’t you tell me?” It’s hard to keep the accusation out of my voice.
“You’re able to talk to your brothers on your own, you know,” she shoots back. “Besides, would you have cared?”
The question is a dagger in my chest. Because she’s not wrong. About any of it. I wouldn’t have cared. But for some reason, I do now.
“I care now,” I say, my voice sounding weird and distant to my own ears. God, have I ever said these words to my brothers? “I think that’s great. I’m glad for him.”
Mom offers a small smile, taking one of my hands in both of hers. “He’s doing extremely well. And the business is taking off. They’re making it work. And if they can make something like that work, I can only imagine that marriage will be the next step.” She heaves a sigh, like she’s preparing to unleash something from the depths of her soul. “Kinsley is really good for Connor. She’s a sweet girl, even if she has an unfortunate last name.”
We take our last looks at the space, I snap some pictures, and we lock up before heading back across town. Our conversation is ringing in my head.
I don’t quite understand it, but I want to be the third Daly brother to join the entrepreneurial ranks. I’ll even cede bragging rights about being the first to do it. The only question is when.
If I want to be smart, I’ll wait until the board makes their decision. I’ll figure out my marriage conundrum, finish out at least another two years at the clinic, and then tackle launching something as big as a clinic of my own.
This building has been hanging around since my great-grandmother’s time. I’m sure it can wait a little longer.
Mom pauses at Hazel’s office when she notices that Hazel is inside. We push into her warm, cinnamon-scented office, and—surprise, surprise—Grayson is there too.
“Hey, guys!” Hazel sends us a red-lipped smile and comes toward my mom like they’re BFFs 4EVER. They hug like they haven’t seen each other in years, though I suspect it’s
maybe been a day. “Dom, you’re in town! What a nice surprise.”
Grayson remains annoyingly quiet in the background.
“I was missing Bayshore,” I say, the words feeling bulky in my mouth. But it’s true. God, it’s actually true. “Your office looks great. Amazing location.”
“As a realtor, those are the two best things you could tell me,” she says with a laugh. “Are you excited for Thanksgiving?”
“Mostly for Mom’s famous corn crap,” I say, which elicits an enthusiastic Fuck, yeah! from Grayson. He’s crept a little closer. Maybe Hazel is the mediator here.
“I’ve never had it,” Hazel admits, pulling my mom into a side hug. “But believe me when I say there’s nothing I’m looking forward to more.”
“As soon as we get home,” Mom says, “I’m going to start preparing.”
“I can help,” I blurt suddenly. I think the last time I helped Mom prepare for Thanksgiving was when I was twelve.
“Oh, no, honey. It’s the night before Thanksgiving. You should go out and do something,” Mom insists.
“Yes! Dom, why don’t you come with us?” Hazel grips my arm like it’s the most exciting thing she’s ever conceived of. Grayson is already protesting.
“I don’t know about that—”
“There’s this amazing private cocktail party we’re going to tonight,” Hazel gushes, looking between me and my mom. “It’ll be so fun. And I bet you’ll run into a ton of your old classmates there.”
“Honey, you should go with them,” Mom urges.
“I’d really rather stay and help you, since I doubt any of your other sons will stick around.” When I sense Grayson’s mouth turning into a scowl—which, I assure you, is something I can just feel energetically, without witnessing it—I hurry to add, “And I’ve shirked my Thanksgiving prep duties for long enough. It’s my turn.”
Hazel sags a little. “Well, if you change your mind, you’re welcome to join. My best friend London is coming, too, and—”
