Page 2 of Learning at 40

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[Zack]

August

“Hello?” I call out as I enter Lakeside Cottage, nearly trampled by my own two children who race around me to find Ben’s teenage sons.

“In here!” Anna hollers back, her voice strained. Crossing the large entryway, I enter the open concept sitting area and kitchen combination filled with bright sunlight. It’s been a few weeks since Ben’s passing, and we’re here for happier times. One final promise we made to Ben was to return every summer for the first two weeks of August. On the cusp of Ben’s death, I worry the annual tradition is a little too new. I don’t want Anna to be stressed about our return.

Standing beside the kitchen island is our friend who lived here during Ben’s last year—Mason Becker. The two of them appear as if they’ve been fighting. Watching Mason swipe a hand aggressively through his perfect hair, I approach Anna first.

“Hey.” I greet one of my oldest friends with wide-open arms, and she collapses against my chest. Anna’s mother and mine were best friends. Anna’s father was considered a sausage king in Chicago, and when this house came on the market, her parents purchased it as a second home. My childhood home was next door. Our mothers were thrilled to be neighbors for at least part of the year. We spent entire summers together. Anna and I grew up with the maternal hope we would one day marry and join our families. As I consider Anna like a sister, a romantic interest never arose between us, but she’s been one of my best friends our entire lives. Our older brothers were friends when they were younger as well. The only hope of joining the Weller-McCaryn families would be her youngest sister, Amelia, and my older brother, Noah. But the chances of that happening are slim to never in a million years.

“How are you?” I ask, and her body stiffens.

“I’m getting a little tired of that question.” There’s a defensive edge in her voice I haven’t ever heard from her. My dark brunette friend has circles under her equally dark eyes and looks exhausted. She also looks thin. Dismissing the warning in her tone, I glance up at Mason. He appears exasperated.

“Mason,” I greet, releasing Anna and stepping over to him.

To me, Mason Becker is an anomaly in our circle of friends. I don’t know how Ben allowed a man who loved his wife to remain close all these years. It wasn’t as though Ben didn’t see how Mason felt about Anna. He just chose to ignore it. The rest of us? We weren’t so blind.

I trust my wife one-thousand percent, he once said to me when I questioned him. He didn’t need to trust Mason because he knew Anna would never stray. He also believed in Mason in a way I’m not certain I would if it were my wife he lusted after. However, Mason hated Jeanine, my ex-wife. The feeling was mutual.

Mason is a manwhore. He’s what I’ve heard women call model-worthy gorgeous. He has this artful hair, slicked back in wavy perfection, curling up on his neck. I swear he probably blow-dries his hair, the pussy.

He’s lived the glory of bachelorhood his entire forty-one years, never taking a woman seriously, other than a blip on the map named Samantha, the mother of his now five-year-old daughter, Lynlee. Mason never considered marrying her. It’s probably one of the few smart decisions he’s made in his life. They would have killed each other.

To Mason’s credit, he’s been living here since Ben announced he was sick. He stepped up to be the physical strength eventually needed to assist Ben with his condition. He was also an extra support to Ben’s family of two teenage boys and a middle-school-aged daughter. If only my friend was as great to his own child.

Mason and I clap backs before pulling away from one another.

“Where’s Logan?”

Our original foursome includes me, Mason, Ben, and Logan Anders, newly married to Ben’s younger sister. They live up the street about half a mile. There was discussion about Logan physically staying at the house in order to celebrate Ben’s life, as we are calling this reunion of sorts; however, we don’t want to overwhelm Anna, and with Logan’s new baby, it’s best he stays in his own home. Anna’s been warned we aren’t here to be catered to. For lack of a better explanation, we’re here to use the place, recall good times with Ben, and get drunk. Anna is not responsible for us.

“He’ll be here tonight with Autumn and baby Ben.” Autumn had a baby shortly before her older brother’s passing, and she and Logan decided to name their son after Ben. At forty, Logan became a father again, and it suits him. He already has a daughter from his previous marriage, and I need some serious dad advice from him as a new divorcé with out-of-control children. Not that Logan’s daughter is out of control. Lorna is an angel compared to my monsters.

On that note, the two hellions race past me, and I’m suddenly wondering where they’ve been and what kind of trouble they’ve already caused. I don’t remember being so . . . inventive at seven years old as these two seem to be. Oliver is the follower, while Trevor is the alpha of the two.

“Halt,” I call out, sounding militant. “Where have you two been?”

They stop with their backs to me, both ramrod stiff but not turning around. Guilty.

“What did you do?”

Trevor slowly turns, giving me the eyes of his mother, wicked and deceptive despite his innocent age. “He didn’t do anything,” Thing One admits, pointing a finger at his brother, which means Oliver did do something. I direct my gaze to the smaller twin.

“Oliver.” My voice threatens that I want the truth, but the truth is, my children hardly tell it. In so many ways, I’m puzzled by my own boys. They should listen. They should obey. It’s not that difficult. They are my children. I love them, but I’m lost.

“He didn’t do anything,” Oliver claims of his brother, leading me to wonder which one did do something and what exactly did they do.

“Speak,” I snap.

“I had to go to the bathroom,” Oliver finally states, and I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. The bathroom leaves all sorts of open possibilities and deep concerns. Dueling swords as they piss. Items down the toilet. Clogging the sink until water cascades over the rim. Taking hearty shits despite being such little people and leaving it for the next person to witness.

“It’s not like she saw us,” Trevor states.

“Who?” I bark, flipping open my eyes and glaring at my boys.