by Tracy Ewens
“But having to play against those traits must be difficult for so many films. That’s a long time and the public perceives you that way too, so you can’t exactly escape it during your off time. That has to be frustrating.”
Yeah, he was a whiner.
“It’s not. It is a job. Do you think every barista at Starbucks or garbage man or guy in a tie in some cubicle somewhere wants to do that? That shuffling papers or dealing with some asshole’s latte order plays to the essence of who they are?” He shook his head. “It’s a job, Meg. People have bills, they need to make a living. I may not have wanted to take my shirt off for every other scene in a movie, but it pays my bills and has afforded a cushion for a lot of people in my life.” He stood, blinking his tired eyes, and decided he needed to figure out how much damage he’d caused. He plugged in his phone.
“Who’d they cast?” Meg asked with the calm, careful tone of a hostage negotiator. He loved her, but he felt stupid.
“You don’t know him.”
“I suppose that’s the point? Aren’t indie films all about unknown and unpolished?”
He grinned at the reference. It was clear that no matter how empty he felt, she could make him whole, as least for a little while.
“Let’s not talk about this anymore. Can I take you home?” His phone turned on and West glanced down at the screen. “After I answer Hannah’s twenty-five texts and take my punishment like a man, will you drive home with me?”
“We are home. Well, here in my dinky apartment. We could call your place home. Sure, it’s an incredibly overpriced hotel that serves mass-produced truck food in their restaurant and has beauty products in their bathrooms that are tested on animals, but it’s your home.”
His eyes grew wide. “Have you been holding all of that in?”
“I have given up working on my restraint. I’m a hopeless truth talker.”
“I meant my family home. I want you to see where I come from.”
“How much trouble are you in? Don’t you need to go back?”
“A fair amount.” His thumb glided over the messages. “But, it’s too late to do anything right this minute. We might as well take the weekend. Can you get away until Sunday?” She glanced around her apartment, and he could see her trying to find order for the both of them.
“How are you so calm about this?” she asked.
“Lots of experience being in trouble growing up. I’m sure my brothers will tell you all about it. Is that a yes? I need to breathe and the air is better up there.”
His phone rang.
Meg nodded and took the coffee cups into the kitchen, leaving him to clean up his own mess. West tapped the screen of his phone and held it to his ear. There was no need for a greeting, Hannah was already at her full volume.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
They drove in silence, nothing but intermittent thuds when West changed lanes. she was worried about him. Crossing over the Golden Gate Bridge, she noticed the clear blue sky in stark contrast to the red steel of the bridge. There were no soft edges, no blending or dreamy fog like the morning West woke her before the sun. It was a completely different bridge in the bright sunlight.
Meg pulled out her camera from the bag at her feet. She flipped through the pictures she’d taken on the back patio at Blue Plate. It was a neighborhood restaurant West took her to on their first official “date” after he’d given her the poncho.
Iron lanterns with yellow glass, mossy-green walls and uneven brick paths. The owners were more than happy to tuck them into a back corner at a small round table with an iron frog in rain boots. It had been charming, everything she knew West to be, and nothing pretend or hidden.
To her objective eye, the pictures were interesting, a couple of them worth some editing, but the memories were a vivid tableau she didn’t bother capturing. They’d talked about everything from bad auditions to the upcoming election. Effortless, that’s the word that came to Meg’s mind as they wound up the freeway, the landscape whipping past the window going from brick to green. The last image of the bunch was the one the owner took of the two of them. Arms around one another, candlelight against a dark and tucked-away sky. They were smiling and could have been mistaken for any other couple out for a night. Except they weren’t.
West usually signed things on his way out the door. Occasionally they were interrupted, but not always. Despite the attention, there were times they were left alone in public and there were times Meg forgot she had to share him. It certainly wasn’t normal, but it was working. At least she thought it was until this morning.
Almost an hour later, they reached historic downtown Petaluma. Meg remembered driving to Petaluma for a music festival when she was in college, but apart from that, she’d never been to the town where West grew up. She supposed Petaluma was bigger than a town, but it seemed small especially compared to San Francisco.
His parents lived in a single-level home on a large piece of land. There were cobblestone walkways leading off to a separate garage and what appeared to be storage areas. Large bay windows from the outside framed rooms with dark wood floors, and cream-colored walls displayed pictures and paintings. Curved flower beds lined the walk that led to a sizable front door with two panels of stained glass. There were little garden characters, a snail, some birds, and a small duck family scattered among the flowers. The sound of wind chimes and trickling water from a fountain or water fixture somewhere nearby reminded Meg of the fixture at the Fairmont. Again, a contrast stood looming as West knocked and a dog barked from inside the house. He took her hand and kissed her wrist.
“Nervous?”
“Should I be?” she asked.
He kissed her. “Probably.” His warm breath sent a shiver down her arms. In the time it took her to slap his shoulder, the front door swung open and a large golden dog ran past them. Three men crowded the doorway, each of them a slightly different version of the other. The tallest grabbed West and pulled him into the house in a headlock. Once he was released with a toss of his hair, the other two hugged him, grabbed at his shirt, and teased him about everything from his workout schedule to his shoes.
“And I’m the girl? What the hell, were you guys sitting by the door?” West asked still laughing.
All three men looked at one another, breathing heavily, and nodded. Meg imagined they looked about the same when they were younger and in trouble.
“You going to introduce us to your woman?” one of them asked.
“I was hoping we would be greeted by sane people.”
“Yeah, you came to the wrong house for that,” the tallest said, extending his hand. “Patrick. Sorry about that. Welcome to the McNaughton Nut House, Meg. West calls one of us practically every night and talks about how much he loves you and wants to kiss you all the time. Sometimes he even cries. Boyd, didn’t you say he was crying the last time?”
The brother with the full beard nodded. “He was, bawling if I remember. Titanic playing in the background.”
“Wow,” Meg said, looking at West, who was shaking his head and warding off the other brother with a tattoo on his arm that from a distance reminded her of Jack and the Beanstalk.
“We’re kidding. Not about the crying. He does cry, but he wasn’t watching Titanic.”
Meg was laughing by the time the brother she assumed was the oldest extended his hand and confirmed she was right.
“Boyd. It’s good to meet you, Meg.”
“You too.” She was still laughing.
West finally managed his way back to her side. “You are all assholes.”
“True, but we’re your assholes. Cade, introduce yourself to the love of West’s life,” Boyd said.
Meg’s brow rose in surprise. She wanted to play along.
“He said that, love of his life,” Patrick mouthed with fluttering eyelashes as West began to laugh too.
The man in the T-shirt that read “Foghorn Brewery—We’re Proud of Our Cocks” stepped forward and brought Meg’s hand to his lips. “It
is a pleasure, Meg.” His eyes were bright green, almost glass. Before he could say another word, West took off his cap and smacked the brother she knew was closest to him in age over the head. Hard.
“Mine.”
Cade threw his hands up and stepped back, but not before he winked at Meg and flipped off West.
Her face ached from laughing. “It is great to meet all of you. I’d like to say West prepared me for his brothers, but he didn’t.”
“You would have never agreed to come,” West said.
“Oh, I don’t know. I like rowdy boys.”
“Is that so?” Patrick offered her his arm and Meg was more than happy to accommodate. “Well, you have come to the right place. We’re having dinner on the patio, but first, you must meet the parents. After dinner, we’ll be sure to whip out the family albums. You’re a photographer?”
Meg nodded.
“There are some potty-training shots of West that you need to see.” Patrick smirked over his shoulder at West, who was close behind.
“Oh, yeah, don’t forget to show her the year you sported the mullet and Boyd tried to grow a mustache,” West said.
Meg turned to the oldest brother, who was running his hand along his impressive facial hair. “It came in eventually though, didn’t it? All that matters. That’s all you brought? Trick’s bad hair and my peach fuzz? Weak, Hollywood. You’re out of practice. Hey, are you still waxing your ass?”
They finally reached the kitchen in the back of the house. West pushed Patrick and took his place next to Meg. As his parents approached, West took her in his arms and kissed her. Right there in front of everyone.
“Back up,” he said in mock command. They all laughed and Meg’s face flushed. She’d already lost her balance and she hadn’t even met his parents yet.
“Meg Jeffries, these are the only civilized people in my family. My mom, Sara and my dad, Rich.”
“Meg! It’s so nice to meet you,” his mom said, kissing West on the cheek and hugging “the love of his life,” as Boyd had accurately put it.
His father shook Meg’s hand and then wrapped an arm around him. West had seen his parents about a month ago, but every time he came home it felt as if he’d been gone for a while. Too long, sometimes.
“Did you do something different with your hair?” he asked his mom.
She touched the sides of her dark, chin-length hair. “I did. Thank you for noticing, Westin.” She looked around at all the other McNaughton men and West wondered who was going to jump in first.
“Ass kiss,” Cade said, not so cleverly disguised by a cough.
Their mother shook her head. “He is no such thing. He is an observant and attentive young man. Ask Meg.”
“Yes, Meg. Tell my entire family how attentive I am.”
Meg was crying with laughter again. “I honestly did not know what I was getting into. You guys make my family look—”
“Normal,” Boyd said.
“Boring. I was going to say boring. Thank you for having me.”
His mother guided them down the hall toward one of the guest rooms. After her tour, all the towel and extra blanket locations, they set their bags on the bed and his mom returned to the others.
“Okay?” he asked.
Meg stood up on her toes and kissed him. “More than okay. They’re fantastic.”
West felt the smile spread across his face. Even though there was no doubt his family was nuts, he loved them, and for reasons that made his heart race, it was important that she loved them too.
“Let’s eat,” his father called from the grill on the patio.
Grabbing drinks and chips from the kitchen, they were all finally seated around the long wooden table that seemed so much larger when West was a kid.
“So, West told me your name is Megara. That’s beautiful,” his mom said as the food was passed around the table.
“Thank you. My parents were… creative.” Meg sipped the glass of water near her plate.
“She was conceived in Greece,” West said.
Meg shook her head. “Couldn’t leave that one alone, could you?”
“It’s an excellent story.”
“Sounds like a perfect way to commemorate a special time,” his dad said with a glint in his eye. West handed him the potato salad.
“Yeah?” Patrick said. “Why aren’t any of us named after places where we were conceived?”
Their mother blushed and looked as if she might say something, but his dad spoke first.
“Honestly, there was so much lovemaking going on, it was hard to know which one stuck.”
“Okay. Wow. Thanks for that, Dad,” West said.
“Christ, we’re eating.” Cade dramatically dropped his fork.
The whole table cracked up. It was so good to be home. With her and surrounded by his normal, West almost forgot about the shit storm waiting for him on Monday.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Meg woke the next morning to an empty bed. How was it possible she already loved his family too? They were worn in and genuine like a favorite sweater or the rich smell of coffee first thing in the morning. She looked around the bedroom she and West had shared last night. They’d lain in bed talking for hours while he freely shared stories of his childhood and she did the same. There was something about being in the home he grew up in that provided a certain freedom she had not experienced since meeting him.
It was also incredible to see him within the context of his brothers. Meg walked to the dresser and picked up a framed image of all four men. They were teenagers in the picture, but they didn’t look all that different. The pecking order had already been established.
They were all good-looking men, versions of the same features and yet completely unique. Boyd was husky, with dark wavy hair and the beard West had teased him about. He seemed to be the most mellow with a dry sense of humor. His eyes were dark green. Meg had taken pictures of a lot of bears, and West’s brother Boyd had the same soulful eyes of a grizzly. Buried behind deep lashes and a furrowed brow. Boyd had a son, Mason, who was dropped off by a friend right as they were finishing up dinner. Mase, as they all called him, was almost thirteen and seemed to be well on his way to rivaling his uncles.
Patrick was the most cleaned up of all the brothers, although Meg doubted he waxed his nose, so maybe West won the most groomed. “Trick,” as they all called him, was the tallest and he smelled good. And then there was Cade. He and West were separated by two years and from what Meg gathered last night, Cade was being put in charge of the Tap House that would be completed in a few months. She was promised a tour of the brewery, but since she woke up alone, she wondered if the tour had started without her.
They’d asked about her job, her photographs. Patrick pulled out his iPad and there was Phelps, still magnificent even on the small screen.
“It is a close-up. How do you get right to the edge like that? That can’t be a boat.”
Meg shook her head. “It’s not. I’m in the water. I do everything I can to ensure I don’t mess with their environment. I think of myself as a polite guest.”
“That water has to be freezing.”
“It is. The miracle of wetsuits, but it’s still cold.”
“Incredible,” Patrick said as all four men looked at her. Meg liked to let her work speak for itself. Except for her recent lectures, she didn’t discuss the details of her job with many people, but they were genuinely interested and she was comfortable. Having grown up in a sea of women, she enjoyed the testosterone of the McNaughton house.
West threw the last bag of whatever the hell it was into the storage room and walked back out into the brewing area. The brewery would be nearly twice the size once the Tap House was finished.
“She’s great,” Patrick said, handing him a beer.
“I know.” West took his first cold pull and looked at the label.
“This year’s amber.”
“It’s on point. Warmer than last year’s.”
“I agree. I
’m not convinced our dear brother did that on purpose, but you know he swears there’s a method to his madness.”
“Can’t argue. He knows how to make beer. I like the label too. That’s all you, right?”
“I never get enough love around here, so I’ll take credit for it. Speaking of love.”
West sipped his beer and looked straight out over the brewery floor. Copper vats and tubes went in every direction. Seemed as if there was more of everything in only a month. It was a workingman’s laboratory. Recycled wood on the walls and old barrels, no longer used, were there for Boyd, who loved the history and the tradition of his trade. A large loading door, leftover and refurbished from the poultry plant days was rolled up, which opened the whole space up to the outside.
“What about it?” West finally said.
“You’re in it.”
He nodded and couldn’t control the corners of his mouth from creeping up.
“Are you going to marry her?”
He looked at his brother and was somehow thrown by the actual word—marriage. West had thought about spending his life with Meg. Mostly how the hell he was going to make that happen without destroying them both, but the idea of suits and dresses seemed like something for other people.
“Inquiring minds must want to know?” he said.
“Well, it would make it a little easier on the rest of us. If you want to add Brother of the Year to your titles, throw in a bouncing baby a year after the wedding.”
West laughed. “She has a grandson.”
“Yeah, but he’s almost thirteen now and she’s already looking around for her next victim. The woman is tiny, but damn she can deliver the guilt.”
“I’m the youngest. You guys should show by example, pave the way, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, I haven’t been on a date in almost a year. Cade is mentally approaching kindergarten, and Boyd…”
They glanced at one another and Patrick rolled his eyes.
“Still Boyd?” West asked.
Patrick finished his beer and turned the bottle in his hand. “Still Boyd.”