The call ends as abruptly as it began. I set the phone down, shoulders stiff under an invisible weight.
I grabmy takeout avocado toast and juice from Citrine. As I walk back to my truck, my phone beeps. I put my food and cup down and pull it out to see a text from Blake.
Burgers on the grill tonight. Dad's asking for you. You around?
I stare at the screen. Blake. My best friend. The brother I never had. The man whose sister I...
I push the thought away and respond.
Wouldn't miss it. What time?
6:30. Dad's bringing his famous potato salad. Bring beer.
On it.
I drop the phone in the console, appetite gone. Two weeks since the going-away party, and the knot in my guthasn’t loosened. Every time Blake texts, the guilt crawls higher. I want to believe it’ll fade, but the hope itself makes me sick.
The rest of the day crawls. I stare at contracts I don’t read, return calls I don’t remember. By the time I shut down my computer, the sun’s already sinking behind the high-rises, washing the office in gold.
I tell myself a cookout will help. Something normal, familiar. Brotherly. But the closer I get, the worse it feels.
The Harrelson backyard smells like summer, even though it's almost Labor Day.
Charcoal smoke, fresh-cut grass, and the citronella candles Cile always puts out to ward off mosquitoes fill the air. Tyler and Emma tear across the lawn, sparklers leaving golden trails in the twilight. Their squeals punctuate the drone of cicadas.
"You're burning the edges, son," Hank says, peering over Blake's shoulder at the grill.
Blake waves his spatula dramatically. "It's caramelization, Dad. There's a difference."
"There sure is. One's called cooking, the other's called ruining." Hank winks at me.
I laugh, the sound easier than anything I've heard all day. "Some things never change."
"Uncle Warren!" Emma skids to a stop in front of me. "Can I braid your hair? Please?"
"Have at it, kiddo." I bend down so she can reach, her small fingers combing through the hair at my temple.
Tyler appears, breathless. "Uncle Warren, guess what? Joey Thompson tried to take my juice box, but I said no way, José!"
"And then what happened?" I ask seriously.
"Then we played aliens versus zombies, and I was the alien king!"
I nod gravely. "A diplomatic resolution. You've got a future in negotiations."
Blake sets a platter of burgers on the table. "Food's up! And Dad, not a single one is burned."
"I'll be the judge of that." Hank loads his plate.
Cile passes me a beer from one of the two six-packs I brought, condensation cool against my palm. "Janie called earlier. She said the hospital orientation was brutal, but she found a friend already. Sent me a picture of the two of them at lunch."
My throat closes up. "Chicago won’t know what hit it."
"Did she text you that coffee cup?" Blake asks, dropping into the chair beside me. "The one with the grumpy face on it? She sent it to the family group chat."
I freeze, the bottle slick in my hand. "Yeah, she, uh—That was funny."
"She sounds happy," Blake says, pride brightening his face. "My little sister, already running with the big dogs."