by B. Cranford
Except he didn’t bother with a traditional greeting. “What does Duncan give you when he wants to make you feel special?”
“Oh, that’s easy. The d—“
“No. Stop.” He ran a hand down his face, shaking his head all the while. “Answer me like Simon, not like Aaron. I beg you.”
“I don’t know, they’re just as bad as each other these days.” Ashton laughed in his ear, and he had to admit, she had a point.
“Touché, though I don’t think Simon is quite as bad as A.”
Ash made a noise that said she agreed, then asked, “Why do you want to know?”
He’d hoped she wouldn’t ask—didn’t want to admit that he was stumped when it came to gift-giving, but if it got him an answer, he’d humble himself in the eyes of his big sister. “I’m trying to think of something to send Odie. Not flowers, not chocolate, not jewelry.”
“Why not? I love flowers and chocolate and jewelry. I imagine she does, too.”
“Yeah, but any guy can send that shit. I want to send her something that says ‘I’m sorry I nearly sent your dad into anaphylactic shock last night.’ But subtler.”
“You what? God, Austin, tell me you didn’t.” Her voice was pitched higher than normal, her shock and worry evident.
“I didn’t mean to, if that helps?” He smiled awkwardly, not that she could see him over the phone, and resigned himself to explaining what had happened. “I forgot, okay? I knew Mark was allergic to citrus, and I wanted to make a good impression, but—”
“Giving someone hives definitely makes some kind of impression,” she interrupted, choking back what he could only assume was a laugh.
He continued on as if she hadn’t interrupted, telling her the story—including the fact that Odie’s parents wanted to “meet” him as her boyfriend and not just the kid she’d been leading or following around for two decades, but leaving off the part about why he’d maybe been distracted when buying the dessert in the first place.
He’d get to that later.
Her laughter was still ringing in his ears when he confessed the last part. “Anyway, I forgot to ask if there was any citrusy stuff in the raspberry cheesecake, and now I want to send her a gift.”
“Sounds to me like Mark should be the one getting a present from you, Tiny.”
“Helpful.” He wanted to be angry, but she wasn’t actually wrong. Maybe he should be sending something to the Peterson household . . .
But then again, maybe not. Knowing his luck, he’d accidentally send a lemon tree thinking it was a peach tree or some shit.
He sighed, contemplating the mess of the last two days. “Back to the reason I called, Little. Ideas?”
“Oh, Aus. I can’t help you with this. Nobody knows her like you do—surely you can think of something?”
That was the thing though, he couldn’t quite think of anything. Ideas came and went, and none felt like the right one. Still, he was sure he’d come up with something on his own.
He’d just been using needing Ashton’s help as a cover, when he really thought about it. Because he still needed to tell her and Aaron about their mother.
Didn’t he? Maybe they’d be better off not knowing.
No, as much as he was tempted to just move on and forget about it—to keep it to himself so as not to bring up old memories and hurts for Ash and Aaron—he couldn’t do that. There was no telling what the end result could be.
Best case scenario: Patricia Andrews never showed her face around her cast-aside children again.
Worst case scenario: The next time she tried to wheedle her way into Austin’s life—or Ashton’s or Aaron’s, though he doubted that she’d tried that—his brother and sister would be caught unaware. Which would leave him feeling like a heel.
“Hey, do you think we could meet up soon? I have something to tell you and Aaron, and it’s kind of important.” He tried to sound casual, unsure of whether he’d succeeded or not.
But, given that Ashton’s next comment was a joke, it was safe enough to assume that, yes, he’d pulled of nonchalant.
“Oh, Aussie, are you pregnant? It’s a miracle, a scientific miracle!” She sounded giddy, hyper and it made Austin wonder . . . was she okay?
Pregnancy and new motherhood was known to have some strange side-effects.
“Um, Ash?” he questioned, only to be stopped before he could add anymore.
“I’m joking, you idiot. What’s it about?”
“I’d rather tell you in person. With Aaron there.”
“Why? Are you going to tell me something that’ll make me mad enough to throw down?” She paused, and Austin’s TMI-slash-about-to-be-teased Spidey sense kicked in. “My boobs are humongous these days. Andrew said they nearly killed him, so I have built-in weapons if we need them.”
“Are you . . . are you implying we, what, swing you around like a”—he reached a hand up to scratch his head—actually scratch it in wonderment—trying to figure out where she was going with it—“like a nunchuck? Or some kind of hammer? Mjölnir, now with built-in tits?”
She laughed. “That would probably make bank at the box office.”
“It’s probably already in the porn version. Hate to burst your bubble.”
“Damn you, Austin Everest. Crushing all my hopes and dreams.”
Austin Everest. It was the second time in the past couple of days he’d been full-named, yet he didn’t mind it coming from his sister.
The one who’d come back when he’d been seventeen and lost, after he’d seen his father fall with his hand clenched to his chest, and who had warred between wanting to hate his parents and wanting them to turn around and make it right.
To bring their family back together.
“Sorry, Little. My bad,” he replied, before trying to get the conversation back on track. “So, you, me, Aaron?”
“Is this partner-free? Like, no Simon, no Andrew?”
“No, we can all get together, if that’s easier.” He shrugged though his sister wouldn’t be able to see him through the phone. “Tonight?”
He knew it was last minute, the way everything became last minute when you were dealing with people who had kids.
Before, they could meet at a moment’s notice or make plans in advance and not have to worry about sickness or babysitters or a million other things that came with parenting. Only mundane responsibilities had stood in their way—work, usually.
Well, work and sex for Aaron. The man seemed to give it and get it more than was possibly healthy.
Austin winced at his own thought-train and zeroed back in on the conversation with Ash. “Sorry, I missed that last part.”
“Nothing, I was just wondering if Aaron would bring Finn. And if whatever you need to see us about is kid-friendly.”
“It’s kid-friendly enough, and yeah, I guess he would bring the little guy.” Despite the debacle of dinner and the lemon-zest-infested cheesecake, and the surprise appearance of his mother, Austin smiled at the thought of seeing Finn.
“Okay, I’ll talk to Andrew and Aaron and make plans. Our place okay? It’s easier with Kennedy.”
“Sure, ’course. Text me the time later, and I’ll be there. I’ll have to get coverage for the bar, but it won’t be a problem.”
They talked a little longer, and when they finally hung up, Austin felt better about one thing—he was going to tell his siblings about his awkward—to say the least—encounter on Saturday night.
But he still had no idea how to apologize for giving Mark Peterson the hives.
“Hi Mom, how’s Dad this morning?” Odie shouldered her phone, digging in her bag for the keys to her small office at the gym where she held her PT sessions.
“Odie, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you this morning.” Her mom sounded chipper, bright. Safe then to assume that her dad was just fine, even though she hadn’t gotten an answer to her question.
“I have an early client, then a short break, followed by back-to-back sessions until this afternoon.
”
“You’re busy, I should let you go,” her mother replied, making Odie frown.
“Um, Mom? I called you. To see how Dad was. Is there something I should know?” Finding the key and slipping it into the lock, she waited as the silence became near deafening. “Mom?”
“There’s something I have to tell you, and I don’t want you to be mad.”
“Okay, that bodes well. What is it?”
“I meant to tell you and Austin last night, but then, with your father . . .” Her mom trailed off, and a light bulb went off over Odie’s head.
Literally, she’d flicked the switch on the wall and instead of illuminating the room, it flickered then made that distinctive popping noise of a blown-out bulb. “Ah, fuck.”
“Odette,” her mom reprimanded, like she wasn’t in her early thirties and allowed to swear whenever there was an inconvenience. Or a cute puppy. Or even a fucking delicious looking cupcake on her desk.
Yum.
“Sorry, Mom. How is Dad, though?”
“Oh, he’s fine, he’s fine.” The exasperated note in her mother’s voice told Odie that her dad was milking his encounter with the tainted cheesecake—which was actually yummy, something she’d discovered after they’d given her father some Benadryl and settled him in bed to sleep it off. With supervision.
He tended to act a little crazed if he woke up and the drug was still in his system.
Meanwhile, poor Austin looked horrified. If she hadn’t been slightly worried about her dad, she’d have been even more amused than she already was.
Not that she wasn’t also a little pissed that he’d forgotten to ask about the lemon thing, given that she’d reminded him several times. Except he’d had a rough night, what with the encounter with his mom, and had left his phone—the keeper of his memory most of the time—at the bar, so she was just going to let it go.
Like Elsa. But with shorter hair.
“Anyway, pumpkin,” her mother said, getting the conversation back on the track she wanted by using her father’s nickname for Odie. “I saw Austin’s mother the other day.”
Odie made a face her mother couldn’t see. “Yeah, I know.”
“And that woman, ugh. She’s a piece of work.” Her mom made a disapproving noise, but Odie knew she would have been polite and even chatty when confronted with Patricia Andrews. After all, Karen Peterson was a good person—mostly. “She asked after you and Austin, so I told her a little. Just enough, you know, to get her to move along.”
Odie couldn’t help a laugh at that, the idea of her mom feeding Patricia information and then sending her on her way. “Thanks, Mom.”
“She knew a lot more than I was expecting.” A drop in volume, like they were sharing a secret in public, not talking on the phone. “I think she’d been keeping tabs on them.”
“Probably. She came into The Avenue on Saturday night to talk to Aussie.”
“Oh? And what did she say?”
“Nothing of note. But Aus was rattled, and I think that’s why he messed up with dessert.” Odie really didn’t need to add that—she knew her parents weren’t too worried about what had happened at dinner, but she wanted to defend Austin, even as she wanted to pop him on the back of the head in the hopes of righting his sometimes-iffy memory.
“Poor boy. All of them, actually.”
“Not Ashton. She’s not a boy.”
“Well, no, but you know what I mean. Really, Odette.” Her mother sounded exasperated, but Odie had amused herself, so she shrugged it off, and let her mom continue talking. “I just wanted to make sure you knew. It’s the first time in years she’s stopped to speak to me.”
Interesting. “Hey, Mom? I have to go, but thanks for letting me know.”
“Give that boy a hug from me.”
“I will,” she replied, signing off with a “talk soon,” and dropping her phone back into her bag and settling down in front of her desk.
She flicked on the rarely used lamp that sat at the edge of her desk so she could get a better look at the delicious-looking cupcake she’d briefly spotted earlier. It sat in the center of her workspace and, she noted, had a small set of fondant boxing gloves on the top. It was also accompanied by a short note.
Sorry about your dad. And Lisette at the bakery said to tell you she could make better boxing gloves if I gave her notice next time.
I love you,
CrocMan
She laughed over the note—imagining Aussie at the Main Street Bakery as soon as the doors opened, begging for a custom cupcake and getting a frown from the owner. Plus, CrocMan. She hadn’t thought much more about the stupid dating app he’d signed them up for when he was wooing her, but it was a cute reminder.
Grabbing her phone out again, she swiped it open and went to the App Store, re-downloading the app that had been deleted after someone else had matched with her. Once it was ready, she opened it to find she was still registered—and had several matches waiting.
Deleting them—because she already had her forever guy—she found the thread with Austin, and tapped out a message.
Lasagna Lover: I need to update my profile to include “loves cupcakes and men who try to kill my dad.”
Then waited for the reply.
Lasagna Lover: I need to update my profile to include “loves cupcakes and men who try to kill my dad.”
Fuck. Austin still couldn’t quite believe he’d done it, but he was happy to see the message pop up on his screen. He’d meant to delete the TrueMates app right after he’d gotten rid of Odie’s, but had forgotten, which meant it was just sitting on his phone, occasionally getting notifications, which he ignored.
Until Odie’s username was the one to pop up on his screen.
Then, he couldn’t open the app fast enough.
CrocMan: Yeah? That gets you hot, huh?
LasagnaLover: So hot, you have no idea.
LasangaLover: The slightly-off boxing gloves were a nice touch.
CrocMan: I wanted to get you a card too, but apparently Hallmark doesn’t make a line of “Sorry for giving your father hives” greeting cards.
LasagnaLover Stupid. They’d corner the market.
CrocMan: I know, right? Maybe that’ll be my next business.
CrocMan: Awkward Apology Cards.
LasagnaLover: “Sorry. I gave you my heart, but also my herpes.”
CrocMan: “I didn’t see your puppy there, my bad.”
LasagnaLover: “I thought any hole was a goal, but now I see I was wrong, when I slipped beneath your thong.”
CrocMan: Okay, that’s the winner. Want to go into business with me?
LasagnaLover: I’ll think about it.
CrocMan: Okay. Here’s another proposal . . .
LasagnaLover: Umm?
CrocMan: Garfield, when I propose THAT, it won’t be on a dating app message service.
CrocMan: It’ll be with a greeting card. “Sorry I’m your only option, but whaddya say we get hitched?”
LasagnaLover: LOL. So, if not that, then what?
CrocMan: Dinner tonight at Ashton’s? Aaron will be there, too.
LasagnaLover: I’ll be there.
Austin sat back in his chair, relieved that she’d gotten her cupcake, and that she seemed to not be too mad at him.
When they’d arrived back at her apartment after their ill-fated dinner with her parents, he’d walked her to her door and given her several gentle, apologetic kisses.
But she hadn’t asked him in.
It was later than it should have been—she’d wanted to stay and make sure her dad was okay—and they both knew she had an early morning. And that he’d had a restless night the night before.
But . . . she hadn’t asked him in. And it worried him.
So much that, for the second night in a row, he’d experienced broken, restless sleep. And when he’d finally given up, before the sun began to rise, he was already trying to fight the cloudiness of his over-tired brain to come up with something to apologize.
> Because he’d forgotten, plain and simple.
And, despite his excuse, he knew that bothered her.
It was one of those things that had always been an issue, but that she’d overlooked as just part of who he was. But in the few weeks they’d been together, he’d sensed her irritation with his forgetful tendencies.
He’d just have to be better, is all. He could do that, be better.
For her, he thought he could do anything.
Little: Dinner, my place, tonight.
A: Is this an invitation or a summons?
Little: There’s a difference?
A: Of course there’s a difference. I’m going to dress nicer for an invitation.
Little: It’s both.
A: Is it just for me, is that why Austin isn’t responding to your sinvitation?
Little: Sinvitation?
A: Like invitation plus summons?
Little: Inummons?
A: Sinvitation is better.
A: Although, I don’t know about inviting my brother and sister to sin . . .
Tiny: I’m working, you idiots. And I’ll be there. I need to talk to you about something.
A: Baby brother, it’s a little late for the birds and the bees talk, don’t you think?
Tiny: Perhaps, but I just want to make sure you and Simon are okay and understand.
A: Haha. I’m literally lol’ing.
Little: I’m literally sitting here wondering how I got stuck with you two.
A: I was being sarcastic, BTW.
Little: I wasn’t.
A: Ouch. That’s cold.
Little: Whatever. Can you come?
A: I can. I do.
A: Often.
A: My husband is gifted.
Little: *vomiting emoji*
A: Aw, little sister. Are you jealous?
Little: *eyeroll emoji*
A: Is Dunk not giving it to you like he should?
A: Do I need to have a talk with him, too?
A: I’ll do it.
Little: I know you will. That’s what worries me.