Everything hurts a little less since last night.
Everything except the thought of what will happen when the holidays are over.
“Hi, Dec.” Hannah is the first to speak. Hannah was always the first to speak. I could always rely on her to keep the wheels spinning, even when I was so busy working that I forgot we had wheels. “Thanks for finally talking to us.”
“I know you both tried to get in touch with me… I was busy.”
“I understand why you didn’t want to hear from me. I won’t speak for Brady.”
“You can speak for me, babe,” Brady says. And he isn’t even being sarcastic. “You’ll probably swear less, so that’s good.” He doesn’t grin or smirk.
Hannah proceeds to say every single thing that she already said half a year ago, in voice mail messages and emails that I didn’t respond to. She tells me what she wants me to hear. I let her talk because it makes her feel better. It’s what I always did, back when we were together. I thought it was enough.
Brady’s four years older than me. When I first found out they’d gotten engaged, I felt betrayed, sure. But I also couldn’t believe Hannah would want to marry a guy who teaches anthropology at a liberal arts college in Ohio instead of a corporate lawyer in Manhattan. It didn’t make sense. Unless I was a total failure of a human being who didn’t deserve love from Hannah or anyone else.
I figured Brady’s everything I’m not. I figured I was the put-upon hero in this story. The guy who was trying to become someone better for the girl. And then I wasn’t given the chance to make things right, and that’s what sucked. But I was in another story all along. He’s everything she needs. Hannah deserves everything she wants. I know now that I was saving my everything for someone else. I just needed to meet that person. And now I need to figure out how to give it to her.
Hannah finally stops talking and waits for my response.
“I understand,” I say. “I’m happy for you guys. Really, I am.”
“I mean, I’m sorry it hurt you,” Brady says, staring down at my feet. “But I’m also not sorry.” He finally takes Hannah’s hand. “Because I always loved her. She belongs with me.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Then why the fuck have you been such a dick all this time?”
Hannah squeezes my brother’s thigh. “I think a better question would be—why is he less of a dick now?” she says with a knowing look.
“Why, indeed,” I muse.
“I’ll let you guys talk some more. Catch up.” Hannah gives my brother a kiss on the cheek and musses my hair as she passes by, leaving us alone together.
It’s been so long since I’ve talked to Brady.
We watch Hannah go and then stare at the twinkling lights on the fake tree and listen to Dean Martin sing “Silver Bells” for the twentieth time tonight, and every single time you hear it you just have to wonder if it’s playing at the right speed… And then he stands up first, and I pop up, and we’re hugging for the first time all year, and fuck you family holidays and long overdue reconciliation, you’re not gonna make me cry.
We let go of each other at the same time, shoving each other away because we aren’t giant pussies. We sit back down, and when I see him touching the corner of his eye with his finger, I do the same. Because I’m so sad for him for being such a fucking cornball.
“I wanted to make you Best Man,” he tells me in a hushed voice. “Asshole.”
“Well, that makes sense,” I say. “I am the best.”
He shakes his head at me.
“And also the worst. I know. I am sorry. I’ll still be in the wedding party though.”
“Yeah. But you were always my best friend. I mean, except for those four years when you weren’t born yet. And for the past half a year that you were being a total dick.” He reaches over to punch my arm.
“Right back at you. Fuckhead.” I squeeze his face with one hand.
He pushes me away. “Whatever. Aiden’s all excited about planning the bachelor party. You better come to that now.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Aiden’s planning it? In Cleveland?”
“It’s gonna suck so hard. You have to come. Come ooooon.” He affects a Boston accent. “The wicked pissah Boston cousins are gonna be there. It’ll be bomb! It’ll be sick!” He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t think the Italians are gonna make it.” His eyes fill with mock terror as he puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “But the Irish, Dec. Save me from the Irish.”
I’m shaking my head because that is a hard no. When we went drinking with the Bostons and the Irish back when Aiden got married, I lost track of two entire days and woke up in Michigan.
“Ach. It’s been donkey’s years since we were on the tear with them morans. But noooooo. Feck off.”
“You have to. Least you could do.”
“Right. Least I could do for providing you with your bride.” God, there’s nothing better than being able to joke about something that once felt like the end of the world.
“Tell you what. You come to my bachelor party—I’ll be your best man when you marry Maddie.” He gives me a wink. “I can tell Nonna approves.”
“Yeah. She’s ignoring her instead of picking on her.”
“Good sign.”
“Great sign.”
“It seems like it’s…still new.”
I’m dying to tell him everything. He’s a fucking anthropologist—if anyone can help me understand why I felt the need to ask my assistant to pretend to be my girlfriend instead of just asking her out, it’s him. He could put some kind of cultural perspective on this.
