Three Brothers: A Menage Romance

by Samantha Twinn

  I nod. “I’m fine,” I say. I follow Finn downstairs, slightly stunned.

  Had we been about to kiss? That’s what it felt like.

  What would have happened if Mitchell and Reid hadn’t come home?

  Kissing him would not be a good idea, though I imagine it would have felt every bit as good as his embrace.

  I wasn’t with Doug yet when my mom and Michael got married, and during that wedding weekend, I passed most of the downtime playing a little fantasy game in my head: which Nolan brother would I most want to kiss?

  Actually, I thought about doing much more than kissing them, as I admired their physiques in their well-fitted suits. I knew they were off-limits, but that didn’t stop me from fantasizing about what I wanted to do to them, and what I wanted them to do to me.

  I shake my head to clear my crazy thoughts. The memory seems like it’s from a thousand years ago. Of course, the three brothers are all still ridiculously handsome, but everything’s changed now.

  “How’s it going?” Finn says to Mitchell and Reid as he passes through the kitchen to the mudroom to deposit the bags. The older brothers are in their company t-shirts and jeans, the scent of fresh air and not-unpleasant male sweat wafting off of them.

  Reid has his head in the refrigerator and Mitchell is going through a stack of mail. He returns Finn’s greeting without looking up, but then senses my presence. “Hey, April.” At first he gives me only a quick glance, but his eyes widen and return to my face. “You okay?”

  Is my face still red from crying, or do I somehow look as guilty as I feel?

  “I’m fine,” I say, and suddenly I have a new goal: To make it through a day without someone — or everyone — feeling the need to ask me if I’m okay. “How’s your day going?” I ask.

  “Hot and sticky,” Reid cuts in. He closes the door to the frig, his arms full of sandwich fixings, and his shirt is indeed stuck to every broad angle of his muscled chest. Those inappropriate memories flash through my mind again, and I quickly avert my eyes.

  “Thanks for your help, Finn,” I say, as he returns to the kitchen. “I made a start on my mom’s stuff,” I explain to the others.

  “Looks like a big start,” Mitchell says. He’s still watching me closely, but looks away when I meet his eyes again.

  “Just clothes from the dresser. Maybe I’ll get back at it this afternoon.”

  “It can wait,” Mitchell says. “Lucky’s Café over by the school is looking for a waitress. I could take you there today to meet them, if you’re interested. If you’re ready,” he adds.

  “Wow, that was fast!” I say.

  “It’s no big city marketing job, but it’s somewhere to start while you keep looking,” he says.

  “It sounds great. Thank you.”

  “No big deal,” Mitchell says with a shrug. He and his brothers assemble their lunches, passing meats, cheeses, and condiments between them.

  I glance at the clock on the microwave. “Do we need to be there at a certain time?”

  “No rush. I just need to check back in at our job site later today. You could follow me in the car, or I could drop you off. There are shops in the same plaza, if you have extra time.”

  I didn’t have a vehicle in the city. The car he refers to was my mom’s, and I’m in no rush to drive it. “Shopping sounds good, too. I’d love a ride. I’ll grab a shower while you eat.”

  I wash up quickly, replaying the encounter with Finn in my mind. Was I reading it right? Yes, I decide, he was definitely about to kiss me.

  It's not unusual, I guess, when people are grieving, for them to want to reach out to someone. Physical contact is life-affirming. It was just the sadness, the emotion. We both got caught up in it. I'm sure that’s all it was.

  3

  You Have Her Eyes

  There’s no sign of Finn when I go back downstairs, but Mitchell and Reid are arguing. I overhear something about their truck as I approach, but their conversation cuts off abruptly when I enter the kitchen.

  “Ready to go, April?” Reid asks.

  “I am, if you think this looks okay,” I say, gesturing to the white linen shirt and tan dress pants I’d chosen.

  “You look great,” he says. “Overdressed, actually. Lucky’s is a casual place.”

  “This whole town is casual,” Mitchell adds. “Nothing like what you’re used to.”

  He’s right. Woodford has just three stoplights, and if it weren’t for the college, it probably wouldn’t even need those. There's a lot of open spaces, and rolling hillsides dotted with black and white cows.

  When I visited my mom and Michael here, I experienced a bit of country culture shock. At first I noticed strangers openly make eye contact — something people don’t do on city streets. Then I realized that nobody really was a stranger in the town; aside from some of the college student population, everyone knew everyone else. Something about that seemed intimidating to me at the time, but my mom, who moved here from a crowded city suburb when she married Michael, loved it. She embraced small town life and made friends with everyone she met.

  Mitchell leads us out to their landscaping truck, where he gets behind the wheel. Reid opens the passenger door for me, and I slide across the broad bench seat toward the center, making room for Reid. The truck is large, and riding in it feels like sitting up high on a city bus.

  It takes three tries for Mitchell to get the engine to turn over. Reid doesn’t say anything but clears his throat in a very meaningful way after the second unsuccessful turn of the key. Mitchell’s jaw tightens and stays that way even after the truck starts.

  “I found a supplier for the part we need, but it’s on backorder,” he says, his tone grim.

  “Wouldn’t it be better to just put it in neutral and push it over a cliff?” Reid says.

  If Reid is expecting a laugh from his brother, he gets none. Sitting between them, I think, not for the first time, about how different they are. When I first met them, I got their names mixed up, and couldn’t remember which attractive brother was which.

  But after spending only a short time with them at the wedding, the stark differences in their personalities became clear. Reid joked about almost everything, while Mitchell seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders, even back then.

  I was surprised when I learned that the two of them shared an apartment. I imagined them at each other’s throats, or at the very least, on each other’s nerves with their very different outlooks on life.

  “What's the problem with it?” I ask, nodding my head toward the truck’s dash.

  “Where do I start?” Mitchell says.

  “It's an old truck,” Reid adds.

  Several other questions come to mind about the truck and their business, but I get the feeling I should change the subject. Reid and Mitchell worked with their dad before the accident, but I'm sure taking over the business unexpectedly hasn't been easy.

  “What can you tell me about Lucky’s? Is there anything you think I should know before the interview?” I ask.

  “I don't think you need to worry,” Mitchell says. “It's just your basic café.”

  “Be sure to tell them you'll stay out of the kitchen,” Reid says.

  “Very funny. Wait, I won't have to cook, will I?” I ask, quickly turning to Mitchell.

  Reid’s laugh is so loud that even Mitchell smiles. “It's just waitressing, as far as I know.”

  “Make sure their fire extinguishers are nearby,” Reid says.

  “I can cook,” I say indignantly. “I'm just not sure I'd want to cook in a restaurant.”

  “Sure you can,” Reid says, his voice dripping with playful skepticism. As he says the words, he puts his arm around me and pulls me toward him. He wraps his other arm around me and messes up my hair as he adds, “But it would raise their insurance rates if they let you in the kitchen.”

  He holds me in a teasing embrace, and it feels good, but also so strange. Is this what it's like to have brothers? Before I can
think too much about it, he releases me and I scoot back toward the center of the seat and smooth down my hair.

  “I can cook,” I repeat. To my right, Reid laughs again, a deep rumbling sound, and to my left, Mitchell is still grinning. I smile too, and breathe in the fresh air blowing in through the window.

  It’s a beautiful day, with the sun shining brightly above big, puffy white clouds. Mature trees line the road, with their big canopies of fresh green leaves. It seems like it might be impossible to be unhappy on a day like today.

  It feels like the perfect day to start a new job, the perfect day for a new beginning, even if it is just a temporary stop while I'm finding my footing.

  But I'm getting ahead of myself. I don't have a job yet; I haven't even had the interview. The little burst of joy and optimism is fun while it lasts but it's quickly tempered by the thought of what's been my reality for the past two months. I'm no longer a person who expects good things to happen to me.

  As if Reid has somehow sensed the downward spiral my mood has taken, he puts a hand on my leg. “You'll love Lucky. Everybody does.”

  And he's right. I do.

  Lucky is actually Mr. Luciano Marconi, and the funky café bearing his nickname belongs to him and his wife Rita. I love them both as soon as I meet them.

  Mr. Marconi is bussing a table when Mitchell, Reid, and I enter Lucky’s. My eyes are immediately drawn to the far wall, which is completely covered with a beautiful mural of a field of sunflowers. I almost don’t want to take my eyes off of it, when I hear a gravelly voice greeting my stepbrothers. “Mitchell! Reid! Come in. And this must be April.”

  Mr. Marconi, an older man not much taller than me, shakes my hand enthusiastically with both of his.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Marconi,” I say.

  “Call me Lucky,” he says before turning toward the kitchen. “Rita! Come out here!”

  Mrs. Marconi bustles out, shorter than her husband and with an even friendlier smile. “April! I’ve heard so much about you.” She forgoes a handshake and pulls me into a warm hug. “Your mother used to come in here several times a week.”

  That takes me by surprise. I had no idea.

  Mrs. M. pulls back and studies my face. “You have her eyes,” she says, a twinge of sadness or maybe sympathy coloring her warm expression.

  A lump rises in my throat, but I push it down. “Thank you,” I say. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Marconi.”

  “Rita. Call me Rita, dear. So I hear you’ve come to work for us.”

  “Oh, I… ” I’d been expecting a job interview by an unknown person not nearly as friendly as Rita and Lucky. I’m caught off guard. “I, um, I am looking for a job,” I say finally.

  “Well, that’s perfect,” Lucky says, “because we need help.”

  “I don’t have any restaurant experience,” I say, figuring I may as well just lay it out there. I certainly don’t want to deceive these lovely people.

  “It’s not brain surgery,” Rita says. “And I’m sure you’re a fast learner.” She looks between Mitchell, Reid and me. “Want to have a seat? Can I get you anything?”

  “No, we’re fine,” Mitchell says. “We gave April a ride over. We can wait, or we can stop back by and pick her up later if you want to show her around. We’re working over at Five Points today.”

  “That’ll be fine,” Rita says. To me, she adds, “This is the perfect time of day to show you the ropes.” When I nod my agreement, she says to Mitchell, “Come back in a couple of hours?”

  “Sounds good. See you later, April,” Mitchell says.

  “See you later,” says Reid. He leans in and whispers so only I can hear, “Remember. Stay out of the kitchen.”

  I smile and give him a friendly nudge toward the door.

  It’s mid-afternoon and there’s only one patron sitting at a counter that faces the kitchen. About a dozen tables of various sizes fill the rest of the space. The tables and chairs don’t match, but somehow they all work together in a pleasing way. There are touches of yellow and blue all around, and the sunflower motif is carried through in window coverings, pictures, and in vases.

  Like the beautiful weather outside, it seems as though it may be impossible to be unhappy in this space. Maybe my mom is smiling down on me; a job here at Lucky’s seems like exactly what I need right now.

  “Mitchell says you’re looking for a waitress?” I say.

  “Yes, for breakfast and lunch, Tuesday through Saturday,” Lucky says. “Can you do that shift?”

  “Sure, I’m flexible.”

  He rattles off a pay rate and information about tips, and without much more fuss, it appears that I have a job.

  “When can you start?”

  “Whenever you need me,” I say.

  “Fridays and Saturdays are busy,” Rita says. “How about Tuesday? Might be a better to start on a slower day.”

  “Works for me,” I say.

  While Lucky checks on the customer at the counter, Rita shows me around, giving me a tour of the dining room, the service area behind the counter, and the kitchen. There’s a cook, Mary, and a dishwasher who’s on break.

  It soon becomes clear that Rita likes to talk. She gives me the history of the café, the history of her marriage, details of her children who live around the country, tales of customers, and the origin story on several menu items. Time passes quickly, and before I know it, Mitchell and Reid return, bringing the scent of fresh air and cut grass in with them.

  Rita insists on sending an apple pie home with us, and tells me to come in at five-thirty next week. When I leave, I realize that I’m not sure I’ll know how to waitress come Tuesday, but I’m looking forward to returning.

  I find myself smiling all the way home. Mitchell and Reid ask questions, and it feels good to be able to tell them I’ll be working next week. I have a plan. I’m taking steps to get my life back together, to not be the pitiful mess that needed to be rescued.

  “You were right,” I say. “Lucky’s great.”

  “Yep, good people,” Reid says.

  “Rita, too. And she sure can talk!”

  “Lucky’s the same way, once you get to know him,” Mitchell says. “The food is good there, but I’ll bet at least half of the people come in to talk with those two.”

  “That was a lot easier than I expected. I had to go through two rounds of interviews for my last job, and it was only an assistant position.”

  “Hey, we should celebrate,” Reid says.

  “Definitely,” Mitchell says.

  I look between them, feeling touched by how much they seem to care.

  “I happen to know April has a soft spot for junk food. How about pizza?” Reid says.

  Mitchell smiles and waits for my reaction.

  “I would love some pizza,” I say.

  And so later, when Finn gets home, we all gather in the living room around two extra large pizzas that Reid has spread out on the coffee table. He had to go out and get the food. Apparently the town’s pizza shop only delivers to the campus.

  “April, would you like wine or a beer?” Reid asks.

  “What kind of wine do you have?”

  “White and red. I wasn’t sure what you liked.”

  “Red would be wonderful,” I say. When I notice a few minutes later that all three of the guys are having beer, I’m even more touched by his thoughtfulness. He must have picked up wine just for me.

  “So I hear congratulations are in order,” Finn says as he sits down next to me on the couch. I feel a little spark when his leg brushes against mine.

  “It’s not a big deal,” I say. “I’m pretty sure I was a pity hire.”

  “That’s not true,” Mitchell says. “They just happened to have a job opening when you needed one.”

  “I have you to thank for that,” I say.

  “You probably won’t be thanking him at five-thirty in the morning,” Reid says as he grabs a slice of the veggie pizza.

  “Ha!” I lean forward to
help myself to a slice, and my shoulder collides with Finn, who’s reached for the same piece at the same time. He doesn’t pull back, but rather seems to pause, looking over at me with a serious, thoughtful expression. The spark intensifies, shooting from where his arm meets mine, deep into my belly.

  “No need to fight over it. There’s plenty,” Reid says, smiling at us.

  Mitchell, who’s reaching into the other box, says, “It’s April’s party, Finn. Don’t hog the pizza.”

  Finn gives me a wink that only I can see, and his mouth curls into a grin, as he grabs the piece we’re both touching and puts it on my plate.

  4

  Making Progress

  On Saturday morning, I face the inevitable. I’ll need to use my mom’s car to get to and from my new job, and avoiding it is just making it all the more painful.

  All three of the guys are working today; Finn helps with landscaping jobs when he doesn't have classes. This will be a good opportunity to check out the car and make sure it's running okay. If I get emotional being in my mom’s space, I'd rather deal with that on my own, without an audience there to pity me.

  It's just a hunk of steel and glass and whatever else cars are made of, I remind myself. It's just an object. The problem is that I have a lot of memories of spending time with my mom in cars.

  She drove me to school when I was young, and to soccer and dance practices. The few vacations we managed were always road trips. And in this very same car, this sensible gray sedan, she moved me and my stuff to college a little over four years ago.

  The emotion of that memory — of that sad goodbye — hits me, and tears are welling before I've even opened the door. Shit! I swipe the back of my hand across my eyes and pull the handle. Just a hunk of metal. I’ll get in, get out, and go read a book or something.

  But instead of sticking the key in the starter, I’m drawn to the stacks of music CDs in the console. Adele, John Mayer, Lady Antebellum… Mom’s musical tastes didn’t change much after I moved away. In fact, they didn’t change at all. Against my better judgment, I dig a little deeper and find Madonna and Tracy Chapman.