HUGE HOUSE HATES: Chapter 22

“She said what?” Danny asks, chewing the mouthful of salad he just shoved into his mouth. He’s not working today, so he dropped by to meet me for lunch. After this morning’s events, I want to get his opinion on the fragments of conversation I managed to overhear between Cora and her mom.

“She told Cora that she has to break up with us.”

I lean back in the chair, put my hands behind my head, and glance around the restaurant. At a table by the window, a couple is sitting next to each other, sharing food and giving each other loving looks, and it’s making me feel antsy.

“Like she has a say,” Danny says flippantly.

“Well, maybe she does.” Dropping my arms, I lean forward to take a crispy fry and pop it into my mouth. Unlike my brother’s, my body isn’t a temple today. After a late-night and more sex than should be humanly possible, I desperately need some carbs.

“We’re not in high school,” Danny says. “Dad hasn’t had an opinion on who we date, like, ever!”

“That’s because, for one, there’s been no one serious for us to bother him with, and two, we’ve always dated one on one. And for three, this is his fiancée’s daughter. We’re shitting where he eats. That makes it his issue.”

He screws up his nose. “Can we keep the shit talk to a minimum while I’m eating?”

“All I’m saying is that there’s a big chance that Dad is going to be furious about this when he finds out.”

“So we make sure he doesn’t.” Danny shrugs, dropping his fork so he can take a sip of the super juice concoction he ordered. I think it contains ginger and turmeric. All he needs is to add some garlic, and he’d have something resembling the basis for a curry sauce.

“We hide it, you mean?”

“For now. He’s far away in Antigua, living his best life. He wasn’t that bothered about leaving us to do our own thing in favor of spending time with the woman he loves. Why should we feel the need to be any different?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” I say.

“Only if we make it. I really like Cora.”

“Like for five minutes,” I remind him. “Now that you’ve suddenly stopped hating her.”

Grinning widely, he forks more salad. “I liked her even when she was pushing my angry buttons.”

“You really are like a kid in the playground, pulling pigtails.”

“And you’re carrying around enough boring maturity for all of us.”

I sigh, grabbing the waitress’ attention so that I can order myself a beer. I wouldn’t usually drink at lunchtime, but this thing with Cora’s mom has me unsettled. “It’s not boring maturity to worry about something affecting our girl. You should have seen her face when her mom was yelling. She’s in denial about what was said, which worries me too. If Cora had been open with me and shared the burden, I’d feel like we were on the same page. But the fact she’s holding all this in and dealing with it herself isn’t a good sign.”

“You think she’s going to break things off?”

“I hope not. I really hope not.”

“She can’t,” Danny says, sounding like a child who’s been told he can’t go to Disneyland anymore.

“I don’t think your arguing will cut it here, bro.”

“She’s a grown woman who doesn’t need to take orders from her mom anymore.”

I sigh, knowing that Danny isn’t going to get this without me really explaining. “What if Dad told you he was going to disown you for having a relationship with Cora? You’d be out on the street and cut off from your inheritance. What if the consequences of continuing this relationship were more far-reaching than you’d anticipated?”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Danny says.

“But if he did.”

“Then I’d tell him I’m a grown man, and I can do what I want.”

“You’d leave your family behind for a woman?”

Danny studies me, his sky-blue eyes scanning my face, trying to assess where I’m coming from.

“Love is worth it,” he says softly. “That thing that Mom and Dad had. It’s worth it.”

“Mom and Dad didn’t have the perfect relationship,” I say. “They argued. Mom used to get mad that Dad was working too much. She’d get tired looking after us and would be desperate for Dad to come home and help, and he’d work late and be mad when she wasn’t grateful.”

“That’s not about love,” Danny says dismissively. “That’s just life getting in the way.”

“Love takes more than just feelings, though. If you don’t have the support of your friends and family, it can be really hard. And Cora knows that. She doesn’t have much family. Her dad flaked out on her. She only has her mom, and she might not want to lose her over this.”

“Then we have to tell her how we feel. We have to show her that we’re worth it.”

“Worth losing her mom.”

“It won’t come to that.” Danny drops his fork as though he’s suddenly lost his appetite. He sounds so decisive and convinced, but I know my brother. He’s as worried as me that pressure from Cora’s mom will be too much for her.

“I know this is new, but I have this feeling about Cora and this situation that I’ve never had about another woman,” I admit.

“A feeling of home?” Danny asks.

It’s such a shock that he’s articulated exactly what has been just an unexplained sensation in my chest and couldn’t put a label to. “Yes. Exactly.”

“Well, she is living in our place. None of us has done that before.”

“It’s not just about the roof over our head…it’s more than that.”

“It is,” Danny says. “It really is.”

That night, when I return home from work, I find everyone in the den eating something that looks home-cooked.

“Your dinner is in the kitchen,” Cora says. “I made pasta.”

“It’s delicious,” Tobias says, stuffing in another forkful.

“Thanks.”

I make my way into the kitchen and serve myself from a pot on the stove. It smells of garlic with basil and sweet tomatoes. There’s even some grated parmesan in a bowl. This kicks the ass of takeout food.

When I find my way back to the den, I make a point of sitting next to Cora on the couch. “Good day?” I ask, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye, wanting to check her response for anything that might be worrisome.

“She’s been busy,” Alden says. “There’s a lot to do. Dustin handed over another seventeen orders that came in after the show.

“Really? That’s so awesome.”

“I’m flapping,” Cora says, using her fork to stab the pasta in front of her but not lifting it to her mouth.

“No need to flap. Just write a list of everything you need to do and check it off as you go. If you need help, just ask. You have five huge dudes here at your disposal.”

“Exactly,” Alden says, as though they’ve already had this conversation before I arrived. “Whatever you need.”

“You can’t help me with the orders,” Cora grimaces. “I’ve seen all your pottery skills.”

River clutches his chest. “You wound me.”

With a roll of her eyes, Cora finally eats a mouthful of her dinner. And so do I.

It’s as delicious as I thought it would be.

“By the way, I brought your pots home, and I’ve put them in your rooms upstairs.”

“Ugh,” Danny groans. “I don’t want that monstrosity disrupting my aesthetic.”

“It doesn’t look bad,” Cora smiles, but I think she’s just being kind.

“Don’t pander to him,” Tobias says. “And Danny, you sound like a douche.”

“Coming from a man who still showers with his buddies,” Danny says.

My brothers continue their back-and-forth comments, which mostly remains good-natured, and I eat, remaining hyperaware that Cora is lost in her thoughts. Every so often, someone will drag her into the conversation, but her replies are short, and she returns to quiet contemplation.

I want to tell her that I know what she’s worried about. I wish I had something to reassure her that everything would work out alright in the end. I want to tell her we’re worth whatever it’ll take to keep us all together. She needs to look at this moment the way I am, as a perfect end to an ordinary day, something that we’ll all be happy to replicate over and over.

But there isn’t anything I can do to make her feel better.

When she rests her fork in her dish, having only eaten half the portion she served herself, I shake my head. This inability to know how to help Cora is driving me mad. I like to be in control. I thrive on logic, but relationships aren’t logical. Love can’t be calculated by a series of equations, and what makes it work can’t be predicted using a formula.

“It’ll be okay,” I say, reaching out to squeeze her knee the way I tried this morning. This time she doesn’t flinch, but her shoulders sag.

“I hope so,” she whispers softly. “I really hope so.”

I really do, too.