“What? Condescending?” I asked, trying to suppress a grin. “It’s okay, Caleb. You’re perfect at just about everything else in life, I’m allowed to tease you for the one unhealthy habit you have.”
“So when I finally do quit, you’ll admit that I’m the superior brother and concede to me forever?”
“Of course!” I chirped.
“Great. Could we put a couple thousand dollars on that? And can I have it in writing, please?” Caleb said, a smile spreading over his face.
It was strange to say, but it was refreshing to hear Caleb joking about money. He’d been living with me for two years, and what used to be two of his favorite topics—gambling and the stock market—had been strictly forbidden for almost the entire time. Caleb’s twenties had been a wild ride—he’d made a ton of money day trading in Manhattan after dropping out of finance school, and for a while, it looked like he was on a fast track to lifelong success. Over a few years he collected tattoos, fast cars, money, and girlfriends. He’d even told me about a summer fling he had with a cute boy once back in New York.
And then he found his person. Claire was like Caleb only more intense, a bad-ass woman with a heart of gold who had life in the palm of her hand. Caleb had bought her a royal purple Maserati for her birthday one year, and she’d told him she wanted to marry him.
Three weeks later, a truck driver who hadn’t slept in forty-three hours collided with the purple Maserati on the West Side Highway, and Claire had died, instantly and painlessly.
And then my brother had disintegrated.
He barely slept or ate for weeks. He quit looking at or even thinking about the stock market, pulling all of his money out and racking up hours and hours in dismal casinos. He’d always been the type to bet big and win big—just a lucky guy, with a razor-sharp mind to back it up.
But then he started to lose. And lose. And lose. He wasn’t just off his game, he was self-destructing. Over the course of six weeks he lost more money than he’d made in years.
That’s when I’d gone to Manhattan on a red-eye flight and all but forced him to come back to Kinley with me. He’d barely even put up a fight, greeting me at his door with bloodshot eyes and a hug racked with sobs.
He’d lived with me ever since. The first year was rough, and the second had been a lot better.
He was getting on his feet again. Getting life back in him again. And honestly, there was nobody better to have as a roommate.
“So, you think aliens are invading or something? What’s with the sky-is-falling shit?” Caleb said.
I rubbed my hands together. “Guess who I just had coffee with?”
“Probably an alien, I’d guess, at this point.”
I shrugged one shoulder. “You’re not that far off, honestly.”
“Who?”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Gavin Bell.”
That actually got a reaction out of Caleb. “Gavin Gavin? Your Gavin?”
“What do you mean, my Gavin?” I asked. “He’s not mine. But… yes.”
“Firstly, he is absolutely your Gavin. And holy shit, Hunter. I thought he’d rather be caught dead than step foot in Kinley again.”
“I wasn’t so sure I’d see him again at all,” I said, pulling in a deep breath.
From where we sat on the picnic table I could see down the gently sloping lawn to the street. The lawns in Kinley were all huge—big plots of land with little farmhouses at the center—but I could just make out Mr. Mahan across the street, puttering around his front yard and weeding his garden. He’d owned his house for decades, and I couldn’t imagine Kinley without him.
I had a sudden image of Gavin and his team of workers driving up in gleaming Mercedes cars with tinted windows, ready to buy Mr. Mahan out of the land to build a fucking apartment complex on our quiet street.
It made me insane with worry. But there Mr. Mahan was, happy and unaware, tending to his oleander plants.
Everything was normal. Kinley was continuing on as if it wasn’t on the brink of sheer destruction.
“Honestly, that explains everything,” Caleb said. “If Gavin’s back in Kinley, pigs are going to start flying soon. Hell will become the ice planet Hoth, and then I’m sure you’ll become a straight man.”
I snorted. “Caleb, I haven’t even told you the worst of it yet, but I can guarantee you I don’t have a straight bone in my body.”
“I know your bones are gay, Hunter,” he said, patting my head. “Go on.”
I pulled in a deep breath. “Gavin’s trying to build a fucking bridge,” I said simply.
“Very funny,” Caleb said quickly.
I raised my eyebrows at him.
“Gavin didn’t fit in here, but he’s not dumb,” Caleb said, picking at the wood of the table. “He wouldn’t do that.”
I nodded once. “He is very much doing that. With an entire fleet of developers, investors, and apparently the county council and the DOT on his side.”
Caleb’s face went from disbelief to shock to dismay over the course of a few seconds. He rubbed at his temples, processing everything.
“The county’s never going to pay for this,” Caleb said, shaking his head.
“No,” I said. “The investors are. It’s going to be privately owned.”
“That’s possible?”
“Apparently it’s not only possible, it’s probable. He’s got multiple firms behind him.”
“Um, okay, wow,” Caleb said, reaching in his pocket and pulling out his pack of cigarettes. “Don’t judge me, but, I’m just gonna have one more before I quit.”
I threw my hands up. “By all means. Trust me, I’m looking to start a pack-a-day habit myself if Gavin actually goes through with this.”
As we sat under the tree, I explained everything to Caleb. He was as shocked as I was. It was helpful to know that I wasn’t the crazy one, for once, watching him listen with horror as I described how stubbornly Gavin was approaching the project.
After a while, Caleb’s big brown mutt dog came out from the open front door of the house, lumbering up to us.
“Meatball,” Caleb said, leaning over and wrapping his arms around the dog’s big fuzzy frame. “We didn’t forget about you. We’re just talking about the end times.” Meatball’s long tongue lolled out of his mouth as he sat down in front of us, happily basking in the attention. Caleb had adopted Meatball from the shelter about a year ago, and I was certain it had been a big reason why Caleb’s life had been improving. Meatball was basically an eighty-pound bucket of love, and my brother doted on him constantly.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I gave Meatball one last good belly rub before answering.
“Hi Mom,” I said, standing up and holding the phone to my ear. “You guys still coming for dinner tonight? Caleb said he’s making an eight-course meal of solely vegan, gluten-free fare. For some reason he also is restricting himself to only foods that are the color blue.”
“What?” she said.
Caleb rolled his eyes at me, flipping me off with one hand and scratching Meatball’s neck with the other.
“Yeah, weird, huh?” I said. “I guess we’re going to be eating a lot of blueberries.”
“You’ve always had quite an active imagination, honey,” she said in a loving but dismissive voice. “And yes, of course we’re still coming for dinner. But you’ll never guess who I just ran into at Nelson’s.”
“Aww, is it Tina Fey? Please tell me Tina Fey is your new best friend and also shops at Nelson’s Grocery on Kinley Island, for some weird reason.”
“No. Someone even better,” she said.
“You take that back,” I replied. “Nobody’s better than Tina and you know it.”
“I just ran into Gavin Bell!”
I deflated instantly. “...Oh.”
Sometimes I loved that Kinley was a small town. Now was not one of those times.
“Isn’t it amazing? He’s back on the island. I invited him to dinner, of course.”
“What?” I
said, my voice rising a few octaves and decibels.
“I know! It’ll be so fun. You’ve got to show him that thing you were demonstrating for me the other day.”
“What thing?” I asked as I repeatedly gestured slicing my finger across my neck to Caleb.
“The thing with the glowy light and the salt,” she said.
“I don’t think Gavin is going to care about my Himalayan salt lamp, Mom,” I said.
“Anyway. It’s a special occasion. Dad and I are bringing the good gin and some limes. I already told Gavin you’ve got plenty of spare space to spend the night if we have one too many gin and tonics.”
“I’m going to die,” I whispered to Caleb, who was shaking his head, trying not to laugh at me.
“What’s that, hun?” my mom asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “Mom, do you know why Gavin’s on the island again?”
“I don’t know... probably just visiting?” she said. “Why?”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “No reason,” I said. Clearly Gavin hadn’t told her what he was planning, or else my mom would likely have strangled him by now.
“I’ve gotta go—Cheryl’s calling me—wait, how do I switch it with call waiting? Cheryl? Are you there?”
“Push the green button, Mom,” I said. “We’ll see you tonight.”
I hung up as she repeated Cheryl’s name, and I immediately flung my cell phone down onto the grass.
“Dramatic,” Caleb said. “Risking breaking your phone just because you have to see your best friend again tonight?”
“Shut up. The grass is soft and cushiony,” I said, waving him off. “But yes, correct. Gavin’s coming over for dinner, so I’ll be hiding in the basement until… oh, probably the year 2030. It was nice being your brother, Caleb.”
“Again, dramatic,” he said as he started walking back toward the house, Meatball by his side. “Oh, and Hunter?”
I ran my fingers through my hair, looking up at him. “What?”
“Quit lying to yourself about Gavin,” he said, turning back to me with a mischievous look in his eye.
“Huh?”
He cocked his head to one side, a grin on his face. “You know that guy always had, like, a Mount Everest-sized crush on you, right?”
I furrowed my brow, my cheeks feeling a little hot. “What the fuck? Gavin doesn’t have a crush on me. Didn’t.”
“You’re an idiot,” Caleb called out before slamming the front door shut after him.
I searched for my phone and then collapsed onto the grass next to it, looking up at the cherry-colored bird feeder swinging from one of the branches overhead. A hummingbird whizzed by, stopped to feast on sugar water, then went on its merry way.
Gavin didn’t have a crush on me.
Gavin?
4
Gavin
I’d been in Hunter’s living room for only twenty minutes, but already, I was squirming.
“So what is it like living in Seattle?” Linda asked, sinking back into the brown leather couch across from me. “Do you guys live on Soylent by now? Do you eat money? Do the cars fly?”
“Linny, please. You know they don’t eat cash. Nobody carries cash anymore. They eat credit cards,” Don said, rubbing her thigh.
“Why don’t you let the man himself speak?” Linda asked, raising both hands, the ice in her gin and tonic clinking against the glass. She lowered her dark-rimmed glasses, peering at me over them. “He would know better than any of us.”
“You act as if you haven’t been going into the city once a week for your whole life,” Don said. “It’s okay, Gavin. Linda doesn’t admit it, but she enjoys it there.”
“Like hell!” she shouted. Don put up his hands in mock defeat, raising his bushy gray eyebrows at her. “I have about two hours of tolerance in me each week for Seattle. As soon as that time expires, I’m a pumpkin. If I have to spend any more time there, I quickly start screaming at random passers-by.”
“Honey, you scream at random people every day,” Don said. “Mostly me.”
“Only when you deserve it,” Linda said, shrugging and taking another sip of her gin. “Such as suggesting I like the city.”
“You love it, Mom!” came Hunter’s voice from the kitchen, where he was helping Caleb finish up dinner.
Linda had a look of mock sorrow on her face. “Such cruel words, from my own son.”
Don wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulder and turned to me again, his expression apologetic. “In any case, Gavin… how has life been for you in the city?”
“It’s great, except for once a week when some crazy woman walks the streets screaming at people.”
Linda laughed. “We’ve missed you,” she said.
I answered them, telling them all about the daily responsibilities in my position, the beautiful parks I jogged in, my favorite restaurants. They listened politely, nodding and smiling when appropriate, but I could tell my stories weren’t grabbing them. They didn’t much care about anything related to Seattle.
And at the same time, I was internally losing my mind, being in this house again.
Walking in here had been like walking into a life-sized time capsule. I remembered it so well it was like I’d never left—the particular scent of the wood, the polished banister of the staircase in the entryway, the big bay window that looked out onto the backyard full of trees. I’d probably spent more waking hours here growing up than I had in my own house. It had been Hunter’s childhood home, and his parents had sold it to him after he graduated college and they’d moved closer to the water.
Hunter’s house had always been warm and inviting, a real family home, where there was always loud laughter, activity, something cooking on the stove.
My own home had been colder. I was an only child, and my parents were working most of the time. I wasn’t allowed what the other kids had—no video game consoles, not much TV, certainly no sugary cereals. If I wasn’t working on homework, I still had to be doing something productive—reading, practicing times tables, exercising.
At Hunter’s house, I’d felt free. Everything was relaxed.
And though tonight I felt kind of the opposite of relaxed, the effect of being in his home was still palpable.
“Come and get it!” Caleb called from the kitchen.
I’d never been so relieved to hear that dinner was ready. We moved to the small dining table by the side of the kitchen as Caleb placed a big platter at the center of the table with a flourish. Caleb’s dog, Meatball, sidled up by my legs under the table, lying down on top of my feet, his head perched and ready to vacuum up any scraps.
The food looked crazy good.
“Good lord, Caleb, this is a feast,” I said. “Incredible.”
He pulled off his apron and took a dramatic bow. “Flank steaks with chimichurri, roast fingerling potatoes, bacon-wrapped brussels sprouts, and a cranberry-walnut salad.”
“Does he cook like this every day?” I asked.
“Of course,” Hunter responded. “Usually everything is also finished with edible gold flakes and a dollop of caviar—actually, Caleb’s slacking, tonight.”
I’d spent all afternoon trying to break down where I must have gone wrong with Hunter at lunch. If his family hadn’t been here, I was sure that we’d be fighting about the bridge project still, or worse, giving each other the silent treatment. If his mom had known about the project, she certainly wouldn’t have invited me at all.
But both Hunter and I knew how to act as if everything were normal. And I vowed to keep working on Hunter later on. He could be convinced that the bridge was a good idea—I hadn’t been able to get through to him, but I knew I had to keep trying.
“Hunter, you got the short end of the stick genetically between the two of us,” Caleb said.
“I know I’m not Brad Pitt, but I like to think I’m pretty attractive.”
“Not your looks. I’m talking about your lack of brain cells,” Caleb said, sitting down at the head of the table, grinni
ng at his brother.
“I know for a fact that I have about eighty-six billion brain cells. Don’t mess with me. I’m a biology teacher.”
“Probably more like seventy-six billion,” Linda said. “We dropped you a lot as a baby.”
“Explains everything,” Caleb said.
Don and Linda placed themselves at the other end of the table and of course, there were only two spots left for me and Hunter, right next to one another.
I took a deep breath.
I could do this. I could exist in close proximity to Hunter without losing my mind, without saying something dumb, without ruining both my best friendship and the biggest business opportunity of my life.
Luckily, the food tasted as good as it looked, and for the first half of dinner, everything went well. Linda and Don filled the air with plenty of stories from when they were kids. I’d had dinner at this table probably hundreds of times when I was a kid, and after a while, it almost felt comfortable to be there.
But as always, inevitably, the conversation turned to local island gossip. When Linda mentioned how crowded it had been on Hill Street that afternoon, Caleb cut his eyes at me.
“You can blame it on the new developments,” he said, his gaze fixed on me.
Fuck.
Hunter had clearly told his brother about the bridge project. And Caleb was not happy about it.
“Don’t get me started. At least until I get more gin in me. Time for another round,” Don said, heading to the kitchen counter, pouring heavy with the gin into everyone’s glasses.
“Yeah, like those monstrosities on Hill Street,” Linda said, rolling her eyes. “Do the developers just not get it? Have they ever seen the rest of Kinley? It doesn’t fit. All the metal and glass and concrete… it looks like garbage.”
“And of course, the rent is going to be double what it should be,” Don agreed, placing a fresh lime slice in each of the glasses.
“Always is,” Linda agreed. “Never again. What a mistake.”
I was almost afraid to look at Hunter. I was certain he’d be shooting daggers at me. But when I glanced his way, he was looking down at the table.
Come Home Page 5
