Want to catch up?
Reacap: Our psychologist friend, Dr. Brooks, had a meltdown in his office after his estranged brother calls. Luke tells him that their father, who has been missing for decades, is still alive. The guilt, the horror, the faces of the lives taken, they’re all coming back to Dr. Brooks. If he can just surpress his fellings at the edge of his knife long enough to propose to Brenda, everything will be fine, won’t it?
CHAPTER THREE
The first guests arrived at six o’clock sharp. Ron and Margaret Welch. I wasn’t surprised they were the first. They weren’t the fashionably late type. The thick veneer of perfection they exuded clung to your skin long after an encounter. You felt sticky after hearing about how great their kids have done since leaving the nest, how perfect their ugly little dog was, and how their grandchildren will be so special when they grow up. They were nice. Too nice. Their superpower was the ability to flaunt their perfection and good deeds so shamelessly that questioning their authenticity made you feel like a horrible person. I hated hating them.
After a few minutes of playing ‘Guess what brand of golf clubs I just bought’ with old Ron, I heard a knock at the door and seized the opportunity to take leave. When I opened the door, I was greeted by a big pair of bright white teeth, their whiteness accentuated further by surrounding cocoa-dark skin.
“I heard there was a bunch of stuck-up white people here having a dinner party,” he said. “Mind if I join?”
“Sorry, we don’t take kindly to you folk ‘round these parts,” I replied. “Best to move on down the road.”
“That sounded way too natural. Like a genetic predisposition. That’s some scary shit.”
“Get in here, let’s crack a couple White Claws and I can tell you all about the plight of my white guilt.”
“Oh, shit. Are we getting white boy wasted tonight? Let’s go.”
Our right hands clapped together, loud enough to usher the attention of the others in the room. We pulled each other in and wrapped our left arms around each other, giving two thumps on the back. This was how we always greeted one another. I’m not sure how it came about. The first time we did the bro-hug, it was super awkward, but it has evolved into something clean and organic. Something that others see and wish they had. The token of a friendship cared for and cultivated over many years, beautiful and abundant, like a well-maintained garden.
I closed the door behind him, and Brenda ran over, a glass of champagne in hand, shrieking.
“Mo! I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, wrapping her arms around him, cradling her fizzing glass behind his bald head.
“Me too! Thanks for inviting me. I know I haven’t been around for a while, but I’ve been busy at the hospital,” he said.
“I heard you got promoted to ER charge nurse.”
“I did,” he said, unable to help himself from cracking that winning smile again. “It’s been crazy hours, but I’m getting used to it.”
“Oh my gosh, you must be exhausted.”
“I’m alright. Three twelves on and four days off, I can’t complain. I’ve still got time to hit the gym with this chump three days a week, so I must be doing something right,” he said, tapping my gut.
I slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you that drink.”
“We’re not really drinking White Claws, are we?” Mo asked.
“No, sir. I’ve got an unopened bottle of Whistle Pig. I thought you might want to do the honors.”
“That’s more like it.” Mo leaned in closer to my ear. “Fair warning: If this dude Ron calls me his ‘brotha’ again like he did at Brenda’s birthday party, I’m out.”
I laughed. “Fair enough.”
Passing through the dining room, Ron stopped us.
“Mo! How’s it going? It’s been way too long.”
“It has indeed, Ron. Way too long.”
I skated right through the dining room, leaving Mo in the trenches. I got to the liquor cabinet in the kitchen and pulled out the amber bottle of whiskey. I broke the plastic seal with my thumbnail, gripped the wooden top, and popped the cork out with a satisfying Thonk. I bent down and moved my head back and forth above the neck of the bottle; the sweet, ten-year-aged smell of oak and rye burned my nostrils, wetting my eyes. I pulled two hi-balls from the cupboard.
As I poured, there was another knock.
I heard Brenda open the door and greet whoever was entering. As soon as they walked in, I knew who it was. Julio’s obnoxious voice reverberated through the entire house. Julio was a big guy, full of more testosterone than any middle-aged man should be. He owned a successful concrete and masonry business. Brenda and I hired him to pour our back patio, and the experience was less than stellar.
Little did we know, Julio subcontracted all his work, and the crew he brought in to do our patio was amateur at best, leaving the slab with an uneven finish. When I called Julio out on it, he came over the next day with a helper and resurfaced the slab himself. Ultimately, I was impressed with the finished product and his dedication to customer satisfaction, but I probably wouldn’t hire him again because it was a massive headache.
Everyone was congregating around Julio’s wife, Elena, when I entered the living room. She was spinning in a circle with one hand out, fingers spread wide. The bling from the massive diamond caught my eye immediately. I almost dropped the Whiskey glasses on the floor but caught myself instantly as my grip loosened.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
Mo looked up at me wide-eyed, ‘oh shit’ plastered on his face, Elena still in front of him, waving her bony fucking hand around.
Brenda turned to me. “James! Look at this beautiful ring!”
I drifted closer, and the circle of gawkers parted and swallowed me whole.
I tried my best to look excited, happy, not wholly mortified, but I felt it written all over my face.
“Holy crap,” I said. “Look at that thing; it’s massive. Congrats, y’all.”
“Only the best for my angel,” Julio said, winking at his fiancé. He slapped my shoulder with a massive meat paw and sent a slosh of brown liquid flying from my glass onto the carpet.
“Oh, shit!” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, no. All good,” I said. “I’ll grab a towel; just make yourselves comfortable. Apps are on the dining table.”
I handed the other glass to Mo.
“I’ll help you,” he said, seeing what was brewing in my eyes and knowing I needed him.
When we entered the kitchen, I set my glass on the counter and went for the towel drawer.
“Hey, man. You good?” he asked.
I opened the drawer and, before pulling a towel out, put both fists on the edge of the counter and started breathing heavily. “Fuck!” I said under my breath, shaking my head.
“James, it’s all good, man. This doesn’t affect anything you have planned tonight.”
Mo was the only person on earth who knew what I had planned. He’s known for a long time. I hadn’t stopped talking about it for the past few months, ever since I decided to pop the question and got the, ‘Oh hell yeah!’ Approval from him. I joked that he started working crazy hours at the hospital, just so he didn’t have to listen to me talk about it as much.
“Did you see the size of that thing? It’s got to be twice the size of the ring I got Brenda. I can’t do this. Not tonight.”
“This isn’t a competition. Brenda isn’t going to care about that. She’s a good woman. She loves you. She’d be over the moon if you tied a string around that finger.”
“It feels less special now, don’t you think?”
“No. I really don’t. You’ve been planning and agonizing over this night for months. Tonight is the night, my friend.”
“And Julio, that cocksucker, as soon as he sees the ring, he’ll probably laugh under his breath. Every time I see him from now on, he’ll make some comment about something being small and inadequate, and we’ll both know what he’s really talking about.”
“James, look at me. That’s some shallow bullshit. I know with one hundred percent certainty you’re better than that. If you let a guy like Julio take up that much real estate in your head, what’s next? A guy like that doesn’t even deserve to be part of your life. He just happens to be your shitty neighbor. You’re one of the realest dudes I’ve ever known. Well, the realest white dude anyway.”
“What the hell?” I said, throwing my arms up.
“There you are,” Mo laughed. “Seriously, the realest. And on the other hand, Julio is probably the fakest dude I’ve ever had the pleasure of not knowing. He cares way too much about what people think. He’s all about flash with his lifted truck on rims, fake titty wife, and depressed ass prep school kids. That’s not you, my dude. You don’t care about what people like Julio think, remember?”
“You’re right. I don’t. It’s just—sometimes I lose sight, I guess. Living in this neighborhood, with all the well-to-do, sometimes I get caught up in keeping up with the Joneses. And I don’t even like the Joneses.”
“I told you; you should have moved up into that place in the hill country with the land, gotten the goats you always talked about, maybe some llamas. But you opened your practice and went white boy crazy. Had to put you and your lady up in a fancy neighborhood. It doesn’t suit you, buddy. But that’s a conversation for another day. “
“Yeah, I still dream about that place. Maybe after we get married, we can talk about moving. This suburban life is soul-sucking.”
Mo flinched. “I love Brenda. I mean, she is the real deal. Heart of gold, beautiful, and loves the shit out of you. But, the hill country? I don’t think that’s her jam, man. She has needs. City needs. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know; I feel like she might change her mind if she knew how important it was to me?”
“Atta boy. Do what’s right for you. Not what others think is right for you.”
“Yeah. And Fuck Julio. I’m going to make Brenda my fiancé tonight.”
“Yes! That’s the James I know. Absolutely fucking fuck Julio, right up his roided ass.”
We both laughed, picked up our glasses, and clanked them together. The velveteen whiskey warmed my chest and spread micro bolts of lightning through my extremities as it flowed down my throat.
“That dude is unnaturally massive. You think he really is on steroids?” Mo asked.
“I don’t know about roids, but one time, when Elena and Brenda went to brunch, they had one too many mimosas, and Elena spilled the beans; I guess he drives up to the men’s clinic in Round Rock weekly for testosterone and growth hormone treatments.”
“Hah, I knew it. Well,” he said, raising his glass once more. “Here’s to you keeping it real and marrying the woman of your dreams.”
I raised my glass to meet his.
“Oh,” he continued. “And, if the gods smile upon you, and you’re able to escape this suburban hell, a lifetime supply of fresh goat’s milk for your best friend, Mo.”
We both laughed and took another sip.
“I’ll be drinking all the goat’s milk, but I’ll save you some llama’s milk. I got you, buddy.”
Mo made a sour face and nodded, surely wondering if you could milk a llama and how it would taste.
“Let’s get back out there,” I said. “Peter should be here any minute, and then we can start serving up dinner.”
Before we crossed into the dining room, I stopped and put my hand out in front of him.
“Thank you, Mo.”
He looked at me casually, “Don’t mention it. You’re my boy. I’ve got your back no matter what.”
No matter what.
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