Growing Pains

by Cass Lennox

  Brock looked ready to throw up again.

  Oh God, it was actually happening.

  He was here. Back in this stupid town, with his stupid old friends and his family. Brock wondered how long it would be before they heard through the grapevine that he was here with Toby Rosenberg for Sophie Rosenberg’s wedding. He wondered if maybe he should call them first rather than let them hear from someone else. Yeah, that was a great idea, be yelled at on the phone, then marched back home and yelled at there. Or worse. Likely worse. Fuck.

  To say nothing of meeting the Rosenbergs, plural. Brock had met Sophie and Alan a bunch of times, but Gigi’s parents exactly once. They’d come to Toronto to spend Christmas with Gigi, who always had an excuse not to go back for holidays, and Brock had met them when he’d come by for dinner. That had been a nice meal, but now he was sharing a house with them and their relatives.

  He had no idea what to expect. His family was small, so his idea of big families came from movies and TV. Stuff like kids running around underfoot and screaming, while adults talked over each other as they watched TV or ate, and dogs (always dogs) lay around drooling on things, and the elderly grandmother or grandfather misheard everything. If they were anything like Gigi, he could expect a chorus line every ten minutes.

  And of course they were late because he’d chickened out of going in the first place, then needed to literally puke his guts out. Oh man, he had to forget that ever happened. So embarrassing. Gigi must think he was pathetic, because they shared opinions on most things and Brock was definitely one hundred percent pathetic. Total wimp.

  He should never have come here.

  Gigi gripped his shoulder, and Brock stared at him in surprise.

  “Ready to go?” Gigi asked, eyes bright.

  “No.” Seeing as he couldn’t imagine this trip turning out to be anything but a shit show, he might as well be honest.

  The grip tightened. “I believe in you, boyfriend. We can do this.” A quick peck on the cheek, then Gigi exited the car, bringing in the scent of cold night air and autumn leaves. Numbly, Brock unbuckled his belt and got out.

  Mrs. Rosenberg stood on the porch, waving at them. “Hi, boys! We’re in the middle of eating.” She was round and soft, with dirty-blonde hair that swung around her shoulders and a big smile that shone like a beacon at them. Brock could see Gigi in her face and hair, and the resemblance almost made him smile. She looked really happy to see them.

  Gigi strode up to her and gave her a hug. Brock looked away, uncertain if he should grab bags or go say hi first. When he saw Gigi gesturing, the decision was made for him.

  He joined them on the porch, aware his tread was heavy on the wooden steps. “Hi, Mrs. Rosenberg.”

  She let Gigi go and turned to him. “Brock! So nice to see you again. And it’s Naomi, remember?” Then it was his turn for a hug, and he tried to relax as her arms came around him. She was warm and smelled like savoury, delicious things.

  He gingerly hugged back, then stepped aside. “I’ll get the bags.” He turned away and walked back to the car, a dark worry pushing him to move their stuff into the house before any of the neighbours recognized him.

  Gigi helped him muscle their gear inside to the front hall, where they basked for a moment in the warmth and light. Naomi fussed over Gigi as though he were a teenager again, her hands ruffling his dyed red hair. “Why do you keep changing your hair like this? It was beautiful as it was.”

  Gigi ducked away. “Mom! It’s fine!”

  Brock looked around. They were in a hallway with one open door leading to what sounded like the dining room—judging by the talking and laughing—a staircase, and more doors leading to other parts of the house. Lining the walls were family portraits and funny photos and a few prints of trees in the local park. A bright-green rug on the floor added another burst of colour to the scene. Lights blazed, and garlic and rosemary scented the air.

  Everything he’d expected of the Rosenberg house, yet somehow more.

  “Leave your stuff for now. Come eat,” Naomi was saying.

  “We’re blocking the door, Mom. It’s totally a fire hazard.”

  “Toby’s enough of a fire hazard already!” someone (Sophie, it sounded like) shouted from the dining room, followed by laughter.

  Gigi straightened, eyes ablaze, and stormed into the room. “Ooohhh, someone doesn’t want her wedding present.”

  See? Siblings. Brock suddenly ached for that kind of easy connection. The last time Gigi and Sophie had been together was months ago, but it was like they’d never been apart.

  Naomi smiled at Brock, the edges of her eyes crinkling. “Come on. We won’t bite.”

  He knew that. Logically, he knew that. He pulled a smile from somewhere and followed her in.

  A large table took up the majority of the room, laden with so much food and drink Brock almost threw up again at the sight of it all. Mr. Rosenberg sat next to Sophie and an elderly lady; Sophie’s fiancé, Alan, sat opposite Sophie; and the other chairs were taken up by adults and children Brock didn’t know.

  Gigi stood by the table, finger pointing at Sophie. “You. I literally walk through the door and you’re already giving me shit.”

  “It’s like childhood never ended,” Mr. Rosenberg said to the elderly lady next to him, who snorted agreement.

  “You literally walk through the door in the middle of dinner and expect us to be happy about it?” Sophie countered, standing up. “Rude.”

  Gigi gasped. “You’re rude for making everyone come to the middle of nowhere for your stupid wedding!”

  A round of snorts and exclamations faded as Gigi and Sophie hugged.

  Mr. Rosenberg rose. “Does your old man get a hug too?”

  Gigi let go of Sophie and turned to wrap his arms around his dad.

  A lump rose in Brock’s throat.

  “Nice to see you again, Brock.” Sophie nodded at him as she sat back down.

  Gigi and his dad let go and grinned at each other. Brock relaxed—and when had he tensed up?—then was steered by Naomi to an empty spot next to Alan.

  “This is Brock,” Naomi announced. “Toby’s boyfriend.”

  Suddenly all eyes were on him, and he swallowed nervously. “Hi.”

  “Hi!” Yup, they knew how to chorus. And how to smile at him as though they were completely okay with him joining their family meal, even though he’d made Gigi late and he wasn’t family. Though why wouldn’t they be okay? He was being stupid.

  Brock sat down. Alan smiled at him. “Hey, man.”

  “Hey.”

  Brock had only met Alan Wong a handful of times before now, but he’d always seemed pretty cool. Then again, he was a lawyer, like Sophie, and cut an intimidating figure in a suit. Alan wasn’t in a suit now—he was in a fitted plaid shirt, chinos with the cuffs rolled up, and blocky glasses. Way more relaxed. Still cool. Nothing like Brock, who was pretty sure he’d caught some vomit on his sleeve and was ready to drive right back to Toronto.

  “Good drive up?” Alan asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Glad you’re here.”

  The guy on the other side of Alan leaned over. “Yeah—now he’s not the only non-Rosenberg in the house.”

  Brock wasn’t sure whether to laugh at that, but Alan rolled his eyes. “That wasn’t my point, but yeah, that’s true.” He grinned at Brock. “I’ll give you some tips for surviving here. My family’s coming tomorrow, and I’ll be staying with them until the wedding.”

  Tips? For surviving here? Would he really need those? He’d expected to be the only non-Rosenberg in the house straightaway, so Alan being here already was a nice surprise. Gazing around the table at an array of people with similar face shapes and smiles, Brock was hit by an image of a troop of angry Rosenbergs. Ugh. No. An angry Gigi was hard enough to deal with.

  Alan introduced the guy on his other side as Gigi’s cousin, Ed. Then they went around the table, Brock promptly forgetting everyone’s names except Ed, Sophie, Alan, and Gigi’s
parents, John and Naomi. The elderly lady sitting next to John was Gigi’s grandmother, who told him to call her Grandma.

  Gigi squeezed a chair in between Sophie and some other cousin of his. Ed passed Brock a plate of creamed potatoes, and Brock slowly dumped a spoonful onto his plate. People kept passing him food, and he added to his plate until there was a mound of food in front of him. His stomach roiled just looking at it.

  “How was the drive up?” John asked him.

  Brock was instantly aware of Gigi’s eyes on him. And Naomi’s and Grandma’s and Sophie’s and that cousin whose name he’d already forgotten.

  “Good,” he said.

  “He means boring,” Gigi jumped in. “Nothing but trees between Toronto and Sudbury.”

  “We normally play games in that stretch,” Naomi said.

  Gigi and Sophie rolled their eyes and groaned loudly. Evidently they knew their parents’ car games very well.

  “We went over the wedding schedule on our way up,” Alan said.

  “So much better than playing I Spy for three hours,” Sophie added with a pointed look at her dad, who dug into his casserole without a word.

  The conversation turned into the kids teasing the parents for crappy car journeys of the past, and Brock watched in amazement as no one got snippy or tense. He turned to his food and took a tentative bite of chicken. It tasted amazing, but his stomach clenched around it.

  Seriously, he had to relax. He knew the Rosenbergs were good people. Wasn’t this scene almost exactly what he’d pictured when he thought of their family? Minus the dogs underfoot. Granted he hadn’t realized just how many people would be here, or just how loud it would be, or how hot this number of people made a room . . .

  “Brock.”

  He looked up. John met his gaze evenly, and Brock straightened. “Yes, sir?”

  John smiled warmly. “It’s John. The last time we met, you were about to graduate and were looking for work. You find something?”

  Brock nodded. “Advertising.”

  “Oh nice. Lucrative field.”

  “Depends what we’re advertising, but yeah, it can be.”

  Alan grinned. “It can be? You tell people what they need to buy. Guy, you’ll end up making more than me without the heinous hours.”

  Gigi rolled his eyes. “His hours are heinous already. He spends all his time at the office.”

  John cast a fond smile at his son. “That’s working life.”

  “My working life keeps me plenty busy without trapping me in an office all night.”

  “Yeah, but your pay sucks,” Sophie pointed out.

  “Oh. So it’s all about the money.” Gigi snorted. “Like I could expect anything else from a lawyer.”

  “Are you enjoying it?” John asked Brock as Sophie and Gigi continued snapping at each other.

  “Yeah.” Brock raised his voice over the argument.

  “Glad to hear it. So you’re pretty settled in Toronto?”

  “Yes.”

  “I heard from your mom that your gap years took you through a lot of countries,” Naomi said. “You done with travelling?”

  Brock could feel his face heating up. Naomi had spoken to his mom? When? What had she said? “No, but I like having a home base.”

  “Oh yeah, I hear that,” John said affably.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Sophie rolled her eyes at Gigi. “I didn’t realize wanting to own a house was a stupid idea.”

  “If you save up for it, you’ll never get there,” Gigi declared. “Not in Toronto. My plan is to become so famous that someone gifts me a mansion. Or marry a rich octogenarian right before he kicks the bucket, whatever happens first.”

  “Brock might have something to say about that.” Sophie winked at him, and Brock’s stomach twisted.

  “Or not.” Gigi skewered vegetables with his fork. “Brock wouldn’t mind if I went after a dying rich guy with too much property.”

  Uh, he kind of would.

  And, oh no, everyone at their end of the table was looking at him now. Gigi put a forkful of vegetables in his mouth and began chewing, his eyes stony.

  “You do you,” Brock replied.

  There was a small gap before Sophie sighed loudly. “You’re so full of shit, Toby. Call me in twenty years’ time and tell me just how that works out for you.”

  Alan bumped Brock’s shoulder. “I’ll make sure you get to live in the mansion too.”

  “Thanks.” Brock pushed food around on his plate, aware he’d said the wrong thing. Gigi didn’t look like he’d been joking, but Brock knew it would’ve been better to treat it like he had been. He wasn’t like Gigi though; he couldn’t just come up with something off the cuff. Any minute now about five humorous responses were going to come to him, and he’d kick himself for not giving those.

  The kids at the other end of the table ducked away and ran out of the room, and the adults began collecting plates as if by unspoken signal. Brock realized he’d swirled his food into oddly coloured mush and set his fork aside, ashamed at wasting it.

  “Not hungry?” Naomi asked him.

  He shook his head. “We— Uh, I snacked a lot on the trip.”

  “I can imagine.” She inclined her head at Gigi. “This one used to get through a pack of Hickory Sticks every thirty kilometres.”

  “Mom!”

  “Sophie preferred Cheezies though.”

  “When Toby didn’t steal them from me,” Sophie said.

  Gigi slumped in his chair. “Oh. My. God. I didn’t come here for abuse.”

  Sophie turned and threw her arms around him. “No, you came because you love me.”

  “Do I? Do I actually love you?”

  Naomi reached for Brock’s plate, and he hurriedly picked it up and stood. “I’ll, uh, I’ll help clear.”

  “Me too.” Alan popped up next to him.

  Naomi seriously had the best smile. “That’s sweet. Thank you.”

  “Such handsome boys,” Grandma said suddenly. Her sharp eyes regarded them through thick glasses from across the table, and she jabbed a finger at Brock. “Toby, he reminds me of your grandpa’s best friend. Big arms, big hands, big feet. You know what they say.”

  John ducked his head, and Naomi’s jaw dropped. “Mom!”

  Gigi made a choking noise from within Sophie’s arms. Beside Brock, Alan was trying hard not to laugh.

  “Uh, thanks, Grandma,” Brock said. “Can I take your plate?”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  He reached across and took it, then hustled out with Alan behind him. He stopped short when he realized he didn’t know where he was going.

  Alan took the lead. “Oh my God. That was great. She told me she’d never met a Chinese lawyer before.”

  Brock winced. “Ugh. Sorry. You been here long?”

  Alan pushed open the kitchen door, and they walked in. Alan went straight to the dishwasher. “Three days. Sophie and I have been putting the final pieces together. Assembling the wedding favours, collecting deliveries, organizing people’s travel, checking in with the food, all that stuff. Apart from that Chinese-lawyer crack, Grandma’s been a hoot.” Alan began stacking plates in the dishwasher. “Her scrambled eggs are amazing. Make sure she cooks you breakfast at least once. Soph and I are trying to do the vegan thing, but it’s not going so well here.”

  “Vegan?”

  “Yeah, man. Seriously, you should try it. I’ve never had this much energy in my life. We’ve got a vegetarian spread with vegan options organized for the wedding reception. Homemade booze too. Sophie makes her own gin, and my best man started a microbrewery last year. He’s bringing batches of his IPAs.”

  Brock’s head was spinning now. “Oh. Sounds . . . good.”

  “Totally.” Alan’s eyes gleamed. “It’s gonna be sweet.”

  Brock looked around the kitchen for more to clean up. He didn’t really want to return to that hectic dining room, so he began moving dirty pots into the sink.

  “Hey, uh,” Alan leaned a litt
le too casually against the counter, “you and Toby. Sophie says you’ve been together over a year, eh?”

  “Yeah.” A year and three months, but who was counting?

  “Things serious?”

  Seriously out of touch or seriously messed up. Both of those descriptions had serious in them. He shrugged. “I guess.”

  “You’re both from this town, right? Man, what are the odds? Did you know each other at school?”

  Did we know each other at school? What a question. Brock plugged the sink and ran the tap. “I knew of him, but we weren’t friends or anything.” That was true.

  “Crazy how that happens. I bet you never expected to end up with someone from your hometown. I hear Toby practically choked this place in his dust, he was so happy to leave.”

  Brock snorted. They’d both done that.

  “It’s cool of you guys to come back.” Alan’s voice was low. “Soph might joke a lot, but I know it means a lot to her. And to me.”

  Brock pulled a smile. “No problem. Happy to be here.” He hoped he sounded sincere.

  Alan nodded, then started scraping leftovers into Tupperware dishes. A few moments later, Naomi, John, and a few cousins drifted in with more plates and a lot more conversation.

  John joined Brock at the sink. “Appreciate it, Brock, but you’ve had a long trip. Go take a load off.” He pulled on rubber gloves, and Brock backed away.

  Naomi immediately ushered him and Alan out, telling them they didn’t need to tidy up the kitchen. Brock glanced behind him at the sight of John and several elderly relatives cleaning together. That would never happen in his family’s place. His dad wouldn’t be caught dead near dirty dishes.

  In the hallway, Brock paused at the sight of other family members dispersing around the house and Gigi with a large glass of wine heading for the couch in the rec room with Sophie. Alan followed them, leaving Brock by himself next to his and Gigi’s luggage.

  No one was watching him. No one was waiting for him. He could just leave if he really wanted.

  He mentally winced. That wasn’t a good idea or a good sign, if he was having ideas like that.

  Be logical, Brock. You’re in the Rosenberg house. Your parents don’t know you’re here. You’re safe.