Page 94 of Filthy Twisted Devil

We call the game earlier than usual, out of respect for Nate and James, who practically fall asleep at the table by 10:30.

“No reason we have to end the night early, though,” Ryan says. “Pippa and Brinley are down at Velvet & Vice, and I think Beau and I are going to go meet them. Luke? You down?”

I wave a hand. “Nah. I'm good. I didn't sleep great, either, so I think I'm just going to crash.”

“Aw, come on!” Ryan says. “It's too early to turn in.”

“Let him go,” Beau says. “If he comes, you're going to spend all night listening to Pippa gush about how Waffle loves him and he’s the world’s best petsitter.”

Ryan nods. “Good point. Let’s go.”

I mouth “thank you” at Beau, because the last thing I want to do tonight is get dragged into being the fifth wheel. Watching my best friends act all couply with the women they love will only make me feel worse. I don't need to torture myself with more reminders of the thing I want for myself and can't have.

All the lights are off in my apartment upstairs. Of course they are—who would turn them on but me?

I flop on the couch and pull out my phone. No new texts. I open a new text, but I don’t type Eden’s name at the top. I want to, but I don’t. I stare at the blank screen for a long time, missing something I never had.

39

EDEN

Ilean back in my chair, sipping tea and feeling victorious.

The dining table is finally mine.

After two weeks of warfare, Wade finally got tired of helping me move all my piles of binders and papers before every meal. We all have to crowd around a small folding table in the kitchen to eat, but since Reed hardly shows up for dinner anymore, it’s mostly fine.

I thought being home for this long might drive me crazy. After enjoying my independence in Toronto, I assumed my brothers’ constant supervision would have me seriously contemplating an early return trip.

To my surprise, my days have settled into a pleasant rhythm. I spend most mornings on the phone with vendors, and in the afternoon, I’m overhauling the barn and turning it into a real venue. Mom often joins me at the dining table at night to give her opinions on flowers and dishware, which has turned out to be a great brother repellant. Wade and Jasper don’t want to get nagged about when they’re going to settle down, and Reed is usually out, anyway.

The more I work, the more the wedding comes together. I love that I’m creating something beautiful for my best friend, a wedding that speaks to the deep love she built with Beau.

If I keep my head down, I can almost forget that my best friend can barely look at me.

At least the seating chart is almost done. It’s been a struggle to figure out where to put all of Beau’s Italian cousins, who easily take up a third of the guest list. I’ve spent all day positioning everyone based on the long list of family feuds Beau gave me, but I finally found an arrangement that kept Catterina, Enzo, and Allessio far enough from each other that no arguments would break out over dinner.

I reach for my tea and realize that my cup is empty. If I’m going to keep working, I’ll want another cup. Heading to the kitchen, I heat up water on the stove while I dig through Mom’s tin of teabags. I find a caffeinated vanilla black tea for myself and a lavender mint for Mom.

While I wait for the water to boil, I listen to the quiet settling sounds of the house. It’s rare that I get to be completely alone here. The boys are out at the bar watching some basketball game, and Mom’s out on the porch. It’s a good day for her if she’s up this late; she’s usually tired enough to turn in around nine, and we’re pushing 10:00.

Once the tea’s ready, I take the cups out to the porch. I find Mom sitting on her swing, reading a book. Because I’m a meddling daughter, I can’t help but ask. “Where’s your wheelchair?”

She points to the opposite side of the door. “I took it out here, but I didn’t feel like staring at it all night. I can manage a few steps over to it.”

My chest feels a little less tight. Mom has done this dance between stubborn independence and adherence to her many limitations for years. Sometimes, it feels like she makes things harder just to prove to herself what she can handle. Knowing she’s using her wheelchair on her terms lets me breathe easier.

“The boys are out?” I ask.

“It’s Friday. I’m sure they went down to the bar,” Mom says. “Well, Wade and Jasper, anyway. I couldn’t begin to guess what Reed gets up to. Are you going to join them?”

I shake my head. “Too much to do tomorrow. I’m going to bed early.”

“Sit with me a few minutes, then,” Mom says, patting the empty space on the swing next to her. Wordlessly, I accept the invitation and let her arrange the blanket to cover both our legs.

“How’s the planning going?”

“I’m deep in the thick of it. I’m in the middle of figuring out contingency plans in case the weather turns on us.”