Three Brothers: A Menage Romance

by Samantha Twinn

  My old self would have joked with him; maybe I'd have made a teasing mock-threatening comment about the knife, but all I do is smile. When he reaches me on the porch he puts his arm around me. “Mitchell’s right. Don’t feel like you have to cook for us,” he says. “We are capable.”

  “I know that,” I say as he turns me back toward the house and opens the door for me. “But you’ve done so much for me, and you’ve been working all day. Cooking dinner is the least I can do.”

  It was two months ago that our parents died in a car accident. One month since I lost my job, and three weeks since I broke up with my boyfriend, sparing him from having to be the one to break up with me. Christine helped all she could, but I quickly ran out of money. I was barely able to get out of bed.

  The Nolan brothers had stayed in touch with me after the funeral. Somehow they found out about the sorry state of my so-called life, and the next thing I knew they were at my door with a moving truck, rescuing me like knights in shining armor.

  “I actually like to cook,” Reid says. “And Mitchell was getting grouchy out there in the sun, so thank you for giving me an excuse to come in.” He smiles at me as he washes his hands at the sink.

  “I’m still learning where everything is,” I say, looking around at all the cupboards in the big farmhouse kitchen.

  “I know what you mean. Your mom was really organized, though.”

  I appreciate the kind comment, but the mere mention of her makes me feel a million pounds heavier, like I need to go lie down, worn down from the exertion of simply being alive.

  I’ve given in to this feeling so many times over the past two months, but now, living with the brothers, feeling so much gratitude toward them, I feel the need to stay awake, to keep moving through the day.

  While Reid heats a pan for the chicken, I get the vegetables from the refrigerator.

  “I’m surprised by how healthy you eat,” I say. “I was looking for an afternoon snack and couldn’t find any junk food around here.”

  “Our dad set a good example,” Reid says. “And Mitchell and I got heavy into bodybuilding in high school. The good food habits lasted, even if the workout discipline didn’t.” He looks down at his body with a disapproving frown.

  I study him when he turns back toward the stove, and don’t see anything for him to be disappointed about. He’s nothing but lean, toned muscle, strong from doing physical labor all day.

  “We can pick up some Twinkies tomorrow, if you’d like,” Reid says, flashing his grin again.

  “Oreos are my downfall, actually,” I say, smiling back.

  The back door bangs and Finn cuts through the kitchen on his way upstairs.

  “Dinner will be ready in fifteen,” Reid calls out.

  Finn is in his final year at the local college, and planning to join Mitchell and Reid in their father’s landscaping company. Though it was only just last year that I graduated myself, it feels like a lifetime ago.

  I’d been so proud to find a job in my field right away. It had been confirmation that hard work pays off, and even though it was only an assistant marketing position, it was a start. My whole life was stretched out ahead of me, the path paved with happiness.

  It hadn’t taken long to be disillusioned by the job. My responsibilities mostly involved running personal errands and getting coffee for my boss. But I figured I’d be patient, gain experience, and be able to advance when I’d done my time.

  My outlook changed when my mom died. Not long after I returned to work following the funeral, a client visiting the office cornered me and made an inappropriate sexual comment. The old me might have used finesse, laughed it off and kept the peace. But I found that I just didn’t care anymore. I called the client a rude name, he complained to my boss, and I was fired. I also didn’t care enough to file a grievance or even bother to explain my side of things. I didn’t have the energy. Everything that I thought had mattered, no longer did.

  “Want me to tell Mitchell when dinner will be ready?” I ask.

  “Sure. He won’t be grouchy with you,” Reid says.

  I finish grating the carrot and then head outside, where Mitchell is back under the company truck.

  “Not done yet?” I call out when I’m close to him.

  “Almost,” is the muffled reply. He slides out. “What’s up?”

  “You’ve got something—” There’s a big smudge of oil across his cheek and I gesture to it, touching my face in the same spot to indicate its position.

  He rubs roughly at his face, which seems to turn redder as I watch.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” I say. “Will you be ready to eat?”

  “Sure.” He stands up and is so tall next to me that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “How are you doing, April? Are you getting settled okay?” His dark brown eyes are so full of concern that I’m afraid I’ll cry.

  “I’m okay,” I say. “I’m really grateful to you for having me here. I really appreciate all that you’ve—”

  “Stop,” Mitchell says, gripping my shoulder with his strong hand. “Oh, crap, sorry.” He pulls his hand away as if he’s been burned, staring at my shoulder with a frown. I look down to see an oily handprint on my white t-shirt.

  “It’s okay,” I say quickly. “Old shirt. No worries.”

  “I’m really sorry. I just wanted to say, please stop thanking us.” He reaches into the truck’s cargo bed, pulls out a rag and starts wiping his hands. “This house was your mom’s as well as our dad’s, and you belong here. You can stay as long as you want or need. We’re all just finding our way right now.”

  Reid’s chicken is delicious and I’m shocked when I look down and see that I’m about to take the last bite. I haven’t had much of an appetite since Mom died and sometimes forget to eat altogether.

  “Want another piece, April?” Finn asks, offering the platter.

  “No, thank you. It was so good, though,” I say, looking toward Reid.

  “Your salad was good, too, and we didn’t even need a rescue squad,” Reid says.

  “It’s probably too soon to rule out food poisoning,” I say.

  Reid and Finn laugh out loud, and Mitchell smiles as he chews.

  We’re all quiet for a few minutes as Finn digs into seconds and the rest of us finish our meals. When I’ve had the last bite of salad, I say, “So, do any of you know anyone who’s hiring?”

  “What type of work? Your degree is in marketing, isn't it?” Mitchell asks.

  “It doesn't matter,” I say. “I just need something.”

  “You don’t have to rush into a job,” he says. “Take some time to get settled.”

  Maybe he’s just being kind, but I can’t help but feel embarrassed. The three of them lost their mother ten years ago, and now they’ve lost their dad too. They seem to be holding up pretty well, but I lost my mom and I completely fell apart.

  Of course, they have each other, and I’ve never had a dad in my life to begin with. Not that it makes any sense to compare grief and how people deal with it, but I don’t want them thinking I’m a basket case.

  “I’m unpacked, and I even did some cleaning today. I’m settled and ready to work.” I put a smile on my face and look around at each of them. “Any suggestions?”

  “I’ll check job listings on the campus,” Finn says. This town where they all grew up is a small one, dominated by its college campus. There are restaurants and small businesses, but it’s a different world than the city where I’d been living for the past several years.

  “And we’ll ask around,” Mitchell says. Reid nods in agreement.

  I insist on cleaning up after dinner, and then I join the guys in the living room where they’re watching TV. The tail end of a superhero movie is playing, and when it’s over, Reid starts clicking through the channel guide.

  “What do you like to watch, April?” he asks.

  “Whatever you want,” I say. “It doesn’t matter.” They’re being so sweet and working so hard to mak
e me feel welcome, but it reminds me that I’m a guest here. My mom lived in this house, but I’m a temporary resident, stopping by for an undetermined amount of time before I head off to who knows where.

  Finn lived here with our parents, while Mitchell and Reid shared an apartment somewhere across town, but they moved back in after the accident. They seem perfectly at home, Mitchell tilted back in a cushy recliner, and Reid with his feet slung over the arm of a chair.

  “I think I’ll just go up to bed, actually,” I say. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

  Their calls of “good night” chorus after me as I climb the stairs. My room is the first one I come to. It’s a guest room, and also appears to have been turned into a sewing and craft room since I visited last Christmas. I slept in here when I was in town for the funeral, but I didn’t pay much attention then.

  Before I step into the room, I look down the hall to the open doors of the guys’ three bedrooms, and beyond that the closed door of the room that had belonged to our parents.

  I spent a few minutes in there earlier today. Michael’s stuff was mostly gone — no clothes in his side of the closet, nothing on his dresser — but my mom’s clothing, jewelry, and pictures are all still here, as if she were still here too.

  I’ll sort through her belongings sometime soon, maybe even tomorrow — but for now, the door is closed again.

  From downstairs I hear explosions coming from the TV. I’ve never lived with men before. It was always my mom and me, then a few different female college roommates. I’d had boyfriends who slept over now and then, but being under the same roof with these three brothers — my stepbrothers — is a new and foreign experience.

  I get ready for bed, combing out my long hair which has been sorely neglected in messy, careless updos. It’s only nine o’clock but just looking at the closed door at the end of the hall is enough to send me crawling under the covers.

  As I start to drift off, my phone vibrates from inside my purse. I reach down and bring it into bed with me.

  How are you? How are things going? It's Christine.

  So far, so good. Did you decide on a new tenant?

  Yeah, Ella is probably going to move in. Are you sure you're okay there?

  I give her question some thought before responding. She's seen me at my worst, curled in a ball, crying until I could barely breathe. I wasn't prepared for the emptiness that overtook me. The feeling that the only person in the world who truly loved me was gone.

  I look out into the darkness of the room around me. The light from my phone illuminates something green on my nightstand, the glimmer of glass catching my eye. I aim the bright screen in that direction and find a little vase filled with pink flowers next to my bed.

  I didn't put it there and it wasn't there this morning.

  Yeah, I'm okay, I write. And I think it might be true.

  2

  Physical Contact

  I sleep a dreamless sleep, and when I wake up, the house is empty. Downstairs I smile when I find two packages of different varieties of Oreo cookies on the kitchen counter, along with a note: “Didn’t know which kind you liked.” So sweet! Was Reid the one who left the flowers in my room too?

  I make myself a cup of coffee and two slices of toast — I’ll save the cookies for later — and have my breakfast on the back porch. The house sits on three acres of property, and a wooded area starts not far from the house.

  Apparently, Mitchell and Reid don’t keep so busy that they neglect their own property, because the yard is beautifully landscaped with a variety of trees and shrubbery. Several well-tended flower gardens are all starting to blossom in the warm spring weather.

  I watch two rabbits in the clearing and listen to birdsong while I eat. How is it possible that just a few days ago I was living in a cramped apartment with car horns and garbage trucks making up the background noise?

  I’m reluctant to go back inside, but I feel the need to keep busy. And I know that the sooner I sort through my mom’s things, the better. After washing my breakfast dishes, I head back upstairs and again face down the long hall.

  Passing my own room, I come to Mitchell’s first. It looks nearly uninhabited; the bed is made, and surfaces are bare except for a laptop and a small tray holding his spare change. The walls are also empty.

  Further down the hall, Reid’s and Finn’s rooms are across from each other. Reid’s looks similar to Mitchell’s, appearing almost unoccupied except for a few items of clothing strewn across the bed and chair. Meanwhile, the walls in Finn’s room are covered with pictures and posters, and there’s a bookshelf so full that it’s overflowing.

  I linger in his doorway for several long minutes, half out of curiosity and half out of reluctance to make my next move. Finally, I pull myself away and approach the door to my mom and Michael’s room.

  I had hurried in yesterday, using the same approach as pulling off a bandage all at once. Today I use the little-by-little method, turning the knob slowly and inching the door open at a snail’s pace.

  Both methods hurt — one more sharp, the other a dull, long-lasting pain.

  Once inside, I cross the room and open the blinds and windows. I decide that I’ll just sort through her dresser today, saving her closet for tomorrow, and then I’ll reward myself with more time in the fresh air on the back porch when I’m done.

  As in the kitchen, my mother’s things are neat and orderly. I make quick work of the drawers filled with her clothing, piling all but a few special items into bags for donations. When I get to her jewelry, my pace slows considerably.

  Nearly every item feels special, even things I don’t remember ever seeing her wear. Knowing that the necklaces had once been close to her heart, the rings around her fingers… I’m not sure how I’ll manage to part with any of it.

  And then there’s the locket. I shouldn’t open it, but I do. I know what’s inside, but I tell myself that maybe she changed the picture once I was grown. Of course, she wouldn’t do that.

  The oval locket contains just one image — me, around one year old, sitting on my mom’s lap, her arms wrapped around me. It’s a small picture, but I stare until I analyze every detail. I stare until my eyesight becomes blurry with tears, then I put it down and surrender to the emotion.

  I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting there, locket curled in my hand, when there’s a knock on the open door. “April?” I jerk my head around to find Finn standing in the doorway. “Are you okay?”

  I’m sure my face is blotchy and my eyes red. “Oh. Hi, Finn,” I say, my voice thick. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?” I laugh then, as I gesture at the wadded-up tissues that surround me.

  He smiles companionably. “Mind if I come in?”

  I shake my head and then blow my nose one last time.

  Finn crosses the room, looks out of the open window, then finally settles on the edge of the bed. “I come in here and sit sometimes,” he says. The room seems smaller with him here.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Even though my dad’s stuff is gone, I still feel him in here.”

  I have to fight hard — so hard I literally bite my tongue — to keep from crying again. I get up and sit next to him. “That’s good, I guess.”

  We’re quiet for several minutes, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

  “Want me to help you with anything?” he asks. “Mitchell and Aunt Maureen cleared out Dad’s stuff. I couldn’t handle it at the time.”

  “I’m done for today,” I say. “I’m out of Kleenex.” I laugh again, but it comes out a strangled, pitiful sound. Finn slides closer to me and throws his arm around my shoulder. I sit stiffly at first, but then I allow myself to sink into him. His body is warm with a clean, soapy smell.

  He starts to rub my arm, shoulder to elbow, in a slow, soothing rhythm. I exhale deeply and relax against him, and all at once realize how much I’d been missing physical contact. It’s amazing how a simple, comforting touch can make you feel so much better. Like you're not alo
ne.

  Even though it’s only been a few weeks since I broke up with Doug, we hadn’t been seeing each other much before that. And I could tell that he wasn’t comfortable with my grief. After my mom died, Doug’s embrace felt stiff, but I can tell that Finn understands what I’m feeling and is right there with me. Even in the way Reid and Mitchell talk to me, it’s clear. We understand each other.

  Happiness is multiplied when you share it with others, and grief is divided. I’d heard something like that, and now it actually feels true, at least a little.

  “I'm glad you're here, April.”

  “Me too,” I say, a soothing sense of calm spreading through my body.

  Finn rubs my back and I tilt my head against him. When he sighs, I lightly touch his leg. I’m only meaning to give him some of the comfort he’s giving me, but he responds instantly. His hand moves to the back of my head, his fingers running through my hair, and then he turns my head toward him.

  Our faces are close — so close. He looks down at me as though searching my eyes for something. My breathing stops.

  The rumble of a diesel engine comes through the window, cuts off, and doors slam.

  “Mitchell and Reid?” I say as I pull back from Finn’s embrace.

  “Yeah,” he says, his voice husky. “Sometimes they come in for lunch.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that.” I stand and then stoop to collect my mess from the floor, feeling awkward and guilty. “I could have prepared food.”

  “That’s okay. We usually just have sandwiches.” Finn is up now too, gesturing to the big plastic bags I filled with clothing. “Want me to carry these down?”

  “That’d be great,” I say quickly. “Is there a donation center nearby?”

  “I think so. I can find out.” He hefts the big bags as if they weigh nothing and starts for the door. He waits there, watching as I put a few items back on the dresser. “You okay?” he asks. I’m not sure if he’s asking about my grief, or about what just happened between us.