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“Come sit for a minute,” he says, and I nod, because I can tell he needs to talk.
We head into his kitchen, which has recently been redone in a modern style that seems like an unnecessary touch for a man who doesn’t like to cook and has made a pledge to never get married.
I sit on one side of the butcher block table, and he sits on the other. There’s a glass of whiskey in front of me, and I take a sip. It burns.
Shane pushes back in his chair and sighs. “I didn’t wait for Thanksgiving. I talked to Burke.”
“What’d he say?” I ask, even though it’s obvious the news wouldn’t have inspired him to throw a parade.
His hand clenches around the glass, then releases. “He told me he understands.”
I know without asking that this is the one thing Burke could have told him that was guaranteed to fuck with his mind. Burke wouldn’t have done it on purpose. It’s the big brother in him. He’s like the eldest sibling in our group, there for all of us. A strong shoulder.
And I’ve let him down too.
“I feel really fucked up,” I admit.
He nods but doesn’t ask me why. “So do I. I can’t talk to Burke until the trial’s over. My partners agreed on that.”
“Shit.”
“Shit,” he agrees.
We sit there in mostly silence for the next fifteen minutes or so, slowly drinking our whiskey, before I say. “I’m never going to belong anywhere, Shane, am I?”
He snorts. “You belong with us, you dumbass. And as much as your sister irritates the shit out of me, you belong with her too.” He squeezes that glass again, then looks at me and says, “From what I saw, I think you belongwithher too.”
He doesn’t say her name, and he doesn’t need to. We both know who he’s talking about.
“How’d you know this was about Mira?”
His upper lip pushes down slightly, as if he’s trying to press away a smile. “You’re in a world of shit, but none of that would phase you like being on the outs with someone you care about.”
“There’s something missing from me,” I tell him, my skin feeling itchy all over. “She deserves someone who’s normal.”
This time he laughs. “You’ve got to decide, Danny. Do you want to be basic or not? Daphne only saw what you showed her, and you got upset when she thought you were boring. From what you’ve told me, Mira’s always seen you, and that upsets you too. Who are you going to be, brother?”
If that isn’t the eternal question.
I lay in bed for an hour or maybe two without sleeping. I type out three or four texts to her, deleting each of them.
Finally, I write:
I need to get all of this settled. So many things are up in the air right now, and it wasn’t fair of me to put you in the middle of it.
She doesn’t respond.
* * *
I wakeup with my alarm at six and text Jarrod to say I have the flu. Then I sleep until four p.m.
When I get up, I feel a greater sense of purpose. Shane’s gone, but he texted me.
I’ll be home at 6. Have dinner on the table and waiting, sweetheart.
He’s probably joking, but the rhythm of cooking, of following specific directions and having an expected outcome is soothing. So I look through his cabinets and make a chicken casserole out of the ingredients he has on hand.
My mind is whirling the entire time.
