I groan. “Yeah. Don’t remind me.”
Tyler laughs. “You’d better get to it, man. You know our cousin. She’ll rip you a new asshole if you blow it off.”
“You’re not gonna believe what she wants to do.”
“What? Cirque du Soleil? Princess tea party?” He guzzles from his water bottle.
“Worse. Thunder From Down Under.”
Tyler spits out his drink. A half-dozen people in the weight room spin around to gawk at him as he coughs. I thump him on the back and hand him a clean towel. He quickly wipes up the water, then looks at me. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Leave it to our cousin to want male strippers at her baby shower.” I chuckle and shake my head. “She said that’s why she requested I plan it—because she knew I’d do exactly what she wants. She doesn’t want her mom or our mom or any of our aunties or cousins to do it because then it’ll be a standard frilly baby shower with annoying games and finger food—exactly what she doesn’t want. She told me wants to have a blowout party before the baby comes.”
Tyler shakes his head, laughing. “That’s wild, man.”
“She’s practically our second little sister. Of course I’ll plan it for her, no matter how awkward it’s gonna be.”
Tyler moves to load up the barbell.
“Hey, have you heard from Maya lately? Is she coming home anytime soon?” I ask.
Tyler shrugs. “No clue. I texted her this weekend to see how she was doing and radio silence. The only way I know she’s alive is from her daily posts on Instagram.”
“Sounds about right.”
Ever since our little sister Maya has been old enough to drive, she’s been on the move, always wanting to road trip and travel with family and friends. When she turned eighteen, she kicked off her moving spree, never staying in one place for more than a handful of months. She’s since lived in a dozen different cities.
“I’ll try to get her on the phone this week and check up on her,” I say.
“What’s she doing in LA now? Staging homes?”
I shake my head. “That was when she first moved there. Now she’s a personal assistant for some celebrity astrologist.”
Tyler frowns. “What the hell is that?”
“Dude, I don’t even know. I’m just glad she’s somehow managed to find a job and hasn’t hit me up for money.”
“Yeah, good point.”
Tyler pauses, and I think he’s going to set up so he can do his set of deadlifts. But he doesn’t. He looks over at me, the expression on his face hesitant.
“Hey, um, so you know that Dad has that pop-up for his restaurant in a couple of months, right?”
Just the mention of him has me gritting my teeth. I rip the plates from one end of the barbell.
“Nope,” I mutter.
Tyler tugs a hand through his ink-black hair, which is shaggier and wavier than mine. He’s working up the nerve to say all this. I wish he wouldn’t.
“It’s just that, he asked me to let you know—”
The plates clank so loud when I slam them on the floor, everyone around us spins around to look.
I straighten up and glare at Tyler. “I thought I made it clear that I don’t give a fuck about Dad anymore.”
Tyler’s brows crash together. “Dude, why do you have to be so stubborn about this? Can you just set aside your feelings for one day? It’s been over a year.”
Anger simmers in the center of my chest, like someone’s boiling a vat of hot acid in my ribcage. I fucking hate when my older brother does this, trying to play mediator. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I tell him no, I’ll never, ever want to be in the same room as our dad after what he did. He always says he understands, but clearly he doesn’t. I guess you can’t really know how it feels to be betrayed by the one person who’s always supposed to have your back until it happens to you.
