On His Face: A Brother's Best Friend Romantic Comedy

by Tabatha Kiss

  Jenna cracks up. “I totally forgot about that. Good times, eh?”

  I grunt as I stand. “I’m getting another doughnut.”

  I walk over to the counter, grab another glazed with my sticky fingers, and head back to the table.

  As I sit down, Jenna leans over and lays a small, velvet box in front of me.

  “What’s that?” I ask, my lips twitching.

  “A birthday gift.”

  I wipe the sticky off my fingers with a paper towel before picking it up.

  “From Drew,” she adds.

  I set it back down. “Really?”

  Jenna nods. “He showed up here last night while you were stranded on the floor waiting for your toenails to dry,” she says. “I saw him lurking outside and shooed him off.”

  “He was lurking?”

  “There was definitely some lurking, yes.”

  I hesitate, trying to convince myself I don’t care, but I do. “How was he?” I ask.

  She wrinkles her nose. “It kinda looked like someone beat the shit out of him. His shirt was ripped, and he was covered in dirt. He seemed... pretty upset, actually.”

  My stomach lurches with concern. Maybe he and Seth got into it at the Delta Xi party.

  “What did he say?” I ask.

  “He asked how you were.” She nods at the box. “Then he told me to give that to you.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I told him you’d say, but...” she smiles, “he said that it was yours. He really wanted you to have it. Even if I took credit for it and said it was from me.”

  I look at the box, my curiosity officially piqued. “Did you look?” I ask, though I already know. You can’t hand Jenna Abrams a velvet box and expect her to not check it out at least once.

  “Yes, I did,” she says.

  “And?”

  “And... I think you should open it.”

  I stare at it, letting my mind wander about what it could be. Velvet box typically means jewelry of some sort. It’s rectangular, so maybe not a ring, but maybe a necklace or a bracelet—

  “Oh, my god, just open it!” Jenna snaps at me. “For fuck’s sake, woman. I’ve been waiting all day.”

  I pick it up with a smile and pop it open.

  I gasp.

  I was right. It is a necklace, but I wasn’t expecting something like this. It’s a bright necklace with a golden chain and a quarter-sized teardrop pendant made of solid orange topaz. I tilt the box and it sparkles like wild, golden irises. Like my eyes, as he would probably say.

  “Fuck,” I say, nearly choking on the word.

  “That’s what I thought, too,” Jenna says.

  I set the open box down on the table, too afraid of dropping it. “What are the odds this thing is real?” I ask.

  She chuckles. “What are the odds Mr. I Popped My Girlfriend’s Cherry on a Private Yacht bought her a necklace made of real gold and gemstones? Ten to one, honey.”

  “Wow,” I say as I gaze at it. “That’s a good point.”

  “A hundred to one.”

  I nod. “You’re probably right.”

  “One million to one.”

  “Yeah, I got it, Jenna!”

  She smirks behind her coffee mug.

  I shove my doughnut into my mouth while the pendant glitters at me some more. It’s stunning — absolutely stunning — and exactly the gift I’d expect from a guy like Drew. I’d wear it every day just to remind myself who it came from, and to show others I belong to him.

  But that yacht has sunk.

  “I need to get dressed,” I say, quickly pushing myself out of my chair.

  “You going to take this thing?” Jenna asks.

  “No.”

  “Then, can I have it?”

  I spin around and snatch the box right out of Jenna’s hand.

  “Rude!” she shouts after me.

  Chapter 50

  Heidi

  You know, one of these days, I’ll stop being so surprised when life screws me over, but that day is not today.

  Today, I sit at a table for four at Moira’s Cafe in Chicago with my mother to my left, my father to my right, and my big brother across from me. For most families, this is normal behavior. For mine, it’s a ticking clock. Who knows when that bomb will go off? Nobody. But it will eventually, and we’ll all suffer for it.

  At this point, I say bring it on. Get it over with.

  I avoid eye contact with Seth, but the bruise beneath his eye is difficult to ignore. Is that related to Drew’s apparent disheveled appearance last night? Did they really get into a fight at the Delta Xi party? Is Seth okay? Is Drew okay? He claimed it was from playing football when Mom asked about it earlier, but Seth’s not the ball-playing type unless the game involves chugging beer.

  Don’t know, don’t care, I tell myself again as I nibble on my salmon fillet.

  “So...” Mom clears her throat, cutting the awkward silence like a knife. “What did you do for your birthday last night?” she asks me. “Did you and Jenna go out?”

  “Uh...” I nudge a piece of broccoli with my fork. “Not really. We stayed in with some friends. I didn’t feel much like going out.”

  “Some friends?”

  “Just me and Jenna and...” I scramble to pad the lie. Of course, she latched onto the one part of the story I made up. “Some people from our sketch class.”

  “Any cute boys?” she teases.

  Seth’s eye twitches.

  “No,” I answer. “It was just a girly night.”

  “Well, that’s fun, too!” Mom smiles across the table at Dad. “Right, Harold?”

  Dad blinks his sunken eyes to prove he’s still alive. “Oh. Yes, Judy. Girly nights sound quite fun.”

  She fires him a purposeful glare, urging him to at least make an effort, but if he didn’t bother while they were married then he sure as shit won’t bother now.

  Mom turns to me again. “Did you get anything nice for your birthday?” she asks.

  That damned necklace glimmers in my head. Gorgeous, golden irises.

  “Jenna got us tickets to see Criminal Records in March,” I answer.

  “What’s that? A movie?” Dad asks.

  “It’s a band.”

  He hums softly, and the table goes quiet again.

  “Did I hear it was someone’s birthday?”

  I look over my shoulder to find Roger standing behind me holding a small plate with a slice of vanilla cake.

  I smile at his familiar, handsome face. “It was yesterday, actually,” I say.

  He sets the cake down in front of me. “Happy Belated, Ms. Heidi,” he says. “On the house.”

  I laugh. “Oh, thank you. You shouldn’t have.”

  “You’re so kind!” Mom says. “Thank you!”

  “Is this your family?” he asks me with a wink at my mother. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

  Mom blushes, welcoming the compliment. “You’re too kind, sir," she says with a laugh.

  Dad glares, annoyed.

  I chuckle. “This my mother, Judy, my father, Harold, and my brother, Seth. Everybody, this is Roger, the manager.”

  “What an adorable bunch.” Roger looks us over again. “As she said, I’m Roger. I run this joint, so if you need anything at all, you know who to call.”

  “We will,” my mother says, still grinning. “Thanks again.”

  He offers me another wink before vanishing as quickly as he appeared.

  Mom cants her head. “You’re on a first-name basis with the manager?” she asks.

  “Well, I’ve been here a few times with...”

  Drew.

  “Friends,” I say with a quick look at Seth. “Roger’s a family friend of... a friend.”

  Seth sees right through it, but he stays quiet. Thankfully.

  Dad reaches for his glass. “Well, use that connection to get a job here,” he murmurs. “Get away from that diner,” he says as if the word itself were a slur.

&
nbsp; I nod. “The thought has crossed my mind, but Moira’s requires at least a year of experience, so... next year. Definitely.”

  He twitches his jaw in acknowledgment, and the table descends into another lull.

  Well, at least there’s cake now.

  “Oh, honey!” Mom places her fork down, abandoning the last of her chicken marsala. “Tell me all about the Art Fest!”

  Shit.

  My breath hitches. “Uh...”

  Seth barely contains his eye roll.

  “It was... great,” I say. “Lots of excellent pieces and... I won a prize, actually.”

  Mom gasps with excitement. “You did?”

  “You did?” Seth asks, annoyed.

  “I thought you weren’t going to enter this year,” Mom says.

  “I wasn’t,” I say. “But somebody entered one of my pieces by mistake.”

  “I thought you pulled it,” Seth says.

  “I did,” I say. “But, as it turns out, the Audience Award is a write-in ballot open to all Chicago North students and, because of an inexplicable surge in the piece’s popularity on campus, it won in a historic landslide, according to Professor Wilson. So, yeah. I won a prize.”

  Seth glares at me across the table in disbelief.

  “That’s wonderful, honey!” Mom says. “I’d love to see it.”

  “Well, I destroyed it, so... it’s gone now,” I say with my eyes still locked on Seth.

  He sits back a bit and looks at his plate. I’d think he was ashamed… if I believed he was even capable of it.

  “Oh.” Mom tilts her head, confused. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

  “For the best, I’m sure,” Dad pipes in, bored and lifeless as always. “No use in getting too attached to art, I say.”

  Mom fixes her smile on him. “Harold...”

  “Maybe next semester you can fill your schedule with something more practical,” he says, ignoring her scolding tone. “The world already has enough homeless waitresses. It doesn’t need one more.”

  I exhale quietly. It’s not like I haven’t heard that one before. Art is stupid. I’ll make nothing of myself. I’ll live starving and penniless forever if I don’t grow up and get an actual career. And... you know what? Maybe he’s right. I didn’t even have the confidence to enter the piece into the Art Fest myself. How am I ever going to support myself with my art if I couldn’t even do that?

  “Heidi’s great, actually.”

  I turn my head up in surprise.

  “She’s talented,” Seth continues, his sharp eyes pointed at Dad. “You should support her instead of tearing her down.”

  I blink twice, staying quiet.

  “It’s a hobby,” Dad says. “Not a career.”

  “She won a prize at the Chicago North Art Fest as a first semester freshman. Do you know how impressive that is? No one’s done that since 1993. She kicked some serious ass and I’m really proud of her.”

  What the crap?

  Seth looks at me with the same pride in his eyes as there is in his words. “And she’ll never be homeless,” he adds. “If she ever needs someplace to go, she knows my door is always open.”

  I don’t react. Hell, I’m not even sure how.

  “Oh, Sethy.” Mom smiles. “That’s so sweet! I’m so glad the two of you have been looking out for each other here. Chicago is such a big city…”

  Dad hums, his way of acknowledging he’s outnumbered. “Well, I just think a few courses or a minor in academia will be beneficial in the long run. As a safety net.”

  I nod. “There’s actually a great internship with the Art Institute for art history students. I thought about looking into that for next summer, possibly. I have to knock out a few prerequisites first.”

  Dad perks up, though it’s hardly noticeable to the untrained eye. “That sounds promising,” he muses. “I’d love to hear more about it.”

  “Me, too!” Mom says.

  “You know, a curator for the Smithsonian makes over six-figures a year.”

  She scoffs. “Please, Harold, not everything in this world is about money.”

  “Judy, if you honestly still believe that, then no wonder she’s majoring in art.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I look at my brother and we both sigh as they bicker faster.

  Chapter 51

  Heidi

  I pull my jacket a little tighter around me as I wait for the crosswalk to change. The good news is that I survived lunch with the family (mostly) unscathed. The bad news is that the autumn weather took a hard left turn toward suck in the last hour and I did not dress for a rainstorm. At least the parking garage is only across the street from Moira’s. One more quick jaunt and I’ll be under ten floors of mighty concrete shelter.

  I preemptively tilt my face into my elbow as I feel the tickle rise in the back of my nose. Yup, definitely going to rain.

  I sneeze.

  “Bless you.”

  I look over my shoulder, intent to thank the kind stranger who wished me well, only to sign in annoyance.

  Seth.

  “Thanks,” I say anyway, promptly facing forward.

  “Allergies, huh?” he asks, sniffing softly. “Mine, too.”

  I roll my eyes. “Uh-huh.”

  Nope. Not making small talk with him today.

  The crosswalk signals for us to move and I practically lunge off the curb, shuffling quickly to get as far away from Seth as possible. I reach the parking garage and head toward the stairwell in the corner. I’m parked on the third floor, which should be more than enough distance to abandon Seth.

  Halfway up the second-floor stairs, I hear footsteps about half a floor down from mine. I peek over the rail and there’s Seth and his big, black eye.

  “Can I help you?” I ask.

  He pauses. “What?”

  “You’re following me. What do you want?”

  “Relax.” He continues upward. “I parked on three.”

  I let him pass as annoyance churns in my gut. “Who gave you the shiner?” I call him on his lie.

  Football, my ass.

  He doesn’t slow his stride. “Your ex,” he fires back without even looking at me.

  My ex, meaning Drew. Ex. I hadn’t put that label on him just yet. To hear Seth do it so casually...

  I straighten up and shake it off.

  Seth knows we broke up. Is that what they fought about?

  Don’t know, don’t care, I tell myself again. It’s not my problem anymore.

  I wait for him to exit the stairwell before continuing upward. When I reach the landing, annoyance stabs my gut again. Looks like Seth parked his giant orange truck right next to my car.

  Prick.

  I beeline for my car. I keep my head down, refusing to acknowledge his existence as I search my purse for my keys. All I have to do to make it through this day is get in my car and drive out of here. Crank some music. Hit the gas. Move out of the way, world, because it’s Heidi 2.0, and she’s got herself a brand-new vision board.

  Thunder rolls outside as I lower into the driver’s seat. My nose twitches, another tickle just begging to take hold, but it fades just as quickly. Better get home before this weather gets worse.

  I slide my key into the ignition and turn it.

  Click, click, click.

  “No,” I whisper, my heart plunging toward my toes.

  There’s no way I left the lights on this time. Just no freaking way. The battery itself must be on its last legs. Great. Another fucking thing I have to worry about. Gone goes another paycheck on a stupid, new battery for my stupid, old car.

  I say a prayer. Maybe not. Maybe it’s just a wild fluke. Maybe I’ll turn the key again and the clouds will part and a miracle will fall from the heavens.

  I turn it again.

  Click, click.

  Or maybe the heavens don’t give a shit.

  “Please...”

  Click, click, click.

  “Dammit!” I slam my fists agai
nst the steering wheel. “Dammit! You stupid piece of—”

  Tap, tap, tap.

  I flinch. Ah, fuck.

  Seth lingers outside the car window. He motions for me to roll it down. I reluctantly grab the crank and give it a few quick tugs as I die a little more inside.

  “Need a jump?” he asks.

  I exhale every molecule of air out of my lungs. If I stay like this long enough, it’ll kill me.

  Not quickly enough, though.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  Seth opens the door for me. Before I step out, I reach down to yank the lever near my foot to pop open my hood.

  “Got cables?” he asks.

  “No. You?”

  “Yeah, I got some.”

  He walks back to his truck. As I wait for him to return, I prop my hood up and go over the process in my head again. We attach the red clip to the plus sign and the other end on his battery...

  My bottom lip trembles. I bite it into submission as I swallow the tears building on my lashes. Nope. Not in front of Seth. Never in front of Seth.

  Seth returns with jumper cables, his hood fully open and ready to charge. “Okay,” he says as he looks over my engine. “We take the red one and—”

  “Yeah, I know how to do it,” I say, taking it from him.

  Seth goes quiet and watches as I walk back and forth between the cars, clipping the cables in all the right spots. Pluses and minuses. Smiles and dimples.

  Once I’m finished, he starts his engine and returns to stand by me and my car. Silence fills the cold space, interrupted only by the occasional sounds of traffic outside or the crack of thunder in the distance.

  Despite my best efforts, I glance at Seth. He didn’t have to do this. He didn’t have to stop to help me and yet, here he is. He definitely didn’t have to come to my defense at lunch, either.

  My big brother. My enemy, sometimes. But always my big brother.

  I clear my throat. “You know, freshman win prizes at the Art Fest every year,” I say.

  Seth looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, I know,” he says.

  “There’s, like... whole categories just for freshman artists.”

  “And he was being an ass, so I made that shit up to help you out.”