During my drive to the motel, I take in the sleepy town. The brick buildings along Main Street are the same ones from my childhood, although they have had their paint, awnings, and decor updated over the years. From the general store that opened during the height of prohibition to the pharmacy that hasn’t been renovated since the fifties, everything about Lake Wisteria is familiar. Quaint. Happy.
I didn’t think I would see the town again. When I swore not to return, I made my peace with never coming back to the one place that always felt like home.
It wasn’t the place itself, but a special person who made it feel that way.
While Lake Wisteria and its three hundred residents were warm and welcoming, Lana Castillo was the one reason I returned to the lakeside town every single summer.
At least until she had me promise to never come back.
For a good reason.
My chest tightens. I speed past the stores at the end of the road and take a hard left toward the motel inspired by those along Route 66, with a lit-up sign advertising telephones, colored TV, and air-conditioning. It’s as if I were transported to a time when women didn’t have the right to vote.
Fabulous.
The buzz from the vintage neon light fills the silence as I step out of my car and walk toward the office at the bottom corner of the motel.
A woman I don’t think I’ve met before gives me the worst stink-eye and a metal key to the grimiest room in the place, both of which I’m pretty sure were on purpose. If it weren’t for the stocked mini fridge filled with a decent selection of alcohol, I would have passed on this traumatic experience altogether. I drain the last bit of vodka from my flask before plucking the best mini bottle of vodka from the fridge.
I tend to make poor decisions when under duress. Choices that usually lead to me getting so drunk, I forget the reason for why I started drinking in the first place. It’s a shitty coping mechanism, but I usually only have two modes: taking small sips from my flask throughout the day to take the edge off my anxiety or getting hammered because I can’t stop drinking. The latter usually happens only once or twice a week depending on the stressors, but when it does, I’m out of commission.
I can feel it in my bones that this evening will be one of those kinds of nights. In a last-ditch effort to stop a panic attack, I call Iris.
“Hey. What’s up?” Iris’s yawn makes the speaker crackle. I can always count on my sister-in-law to answer the phone at any time of the day or night. It might drive my older brother crazy, but Iris was my best friend long before she ever became Declan’s wife less than a year ago, so I get exclusive privileges.
“I’m currently staying at a motel straight out of a true crime episode. Literally.” I shut my eyes as if that could erase the memory of the stains on the carpet.
“What happened to sleeping at the lake house tonight?”
“Turns out Grandpa forgot to mention that Lana still lives there.”
“Are you talking about the Lana?”
“The one and only. Plot twist: She has a child I had no idea about.” I chug the remaining bit of vodka from the mini bottle.
Since when has drinking solved any of your problems?
I’m not looking to solve them. I’m trying to numb them.
Iris sucks in a breath. “When was the last time you had sex with her?”
“Around when she got pregnant—give or take a month, I guess. I didn’t pull out a calendar and ask for the kid’s birthday before Lana kicked me out.”
“Wait. You don’t know if the kid is yours or not?”
I rub the sleep from my eyes. “When I tried to clarify, she wasn’t exactly open to speaking about it.”
Iris curses under her breath. “Does the kid look like you?”
“Her hair is a bit darker, but her eyes are a near perfect match to mine.”
She gasps. “It’s a girl?”
“Surprise.” I toss the bottle in the direction of the trash can, but thanks to my sucky aim, it lands a whole foot away. There’s a reason I played hockey over basketball, and that right there proves it.
“No need to freak out just yet. You don’t even know if the kid is yours.”
“Lana didn’t take too kindly to me when I insinuated she might be.” Suggesting such a thing wasn’t my finest moment. Neither was my comment about her sleeping with someone so soon after we broke up, but I let my emotions get the best of me.
You have no right to be angry at her for what she did after you ended things.
Easier said than done. I’m not the kind of person who usually gets jealous, but I sense it festering inside of me, searching for an outlet.
“Please tell me you didn’t ask her like that.”
“Okay. I won’t.” I search the mini fridge for another bottle. Since I already cleared the fridge of all the vodka, I’m stuck choosing between tequila and Fireball.
And here you thought your night couldn’t get any worse.
I grab the plastic bottle of Fireball and shut the door with my foot.
Iris groans. “Sometimes I question whether or not you truly are a genius.”
“You and I both.” If it weren’t for my parents forcing me into gifted classes all throughout my life, I’d think they lied to me solely so I was challenged enough in school to avoid getting in trouble.
“There has to be an explanation for this. Based on the stories you shared about Lana, I doubt she would keep a child from you—no matter how much she dislikes you.”
“Well, I plan on getting an answer from her tomorrow morning if it’s the last thing I do.”
“What are you going to do if the kid is yours?”
“Besides drink myself into an alcohol-induced coma?” I twist off the red cap and take a whiff of the cinnamon-scented liquor. Unlike Lana’s warm scent, this one makes my stomach churn. I ignore the nausea as I chug, craving the relief only alcohol can provide.
Iris huffs. “That’s not even remotely funny.”
I stop drinking to answer her. “If she’s mine, then I’ll bring it up with Grandpa’s lawyer when I call him tomorrow.”
“Why do you need to speak with Leo?”
“There’s a…complication.”
“What kind of complication?” Worry seeps into her voice, making me feel shitty for calling her in the first place, only to stress her out.
“Don’t worry about it.” I slur toward the end of my sentence.
“Are you drunk?”
“Nope.” Okay, I’m a little drunk, but I don’t want to worry Iris with my issues.
Her deep sigh echoes through the speaker. “I thought you were doing better.”
If by doing better, she means doing better at hiding my issues from everyone, then yes, I am.
“Turns out I’m in a celebrating mood.”
“Cal.” It’s amazing how a single word can hold so much disappointment.
I pick at the label on the bottle. “What do you expect? I’m in the middle of a crisis right now.”
“Is it really considered a crisis if it’s a constant state of being for you?” Declan grumbles on the other side of the line.
“Dammit, Iris. Was he listening to us this whole time?”
“It’s not like I have much of a choice when you’re the one calling at two a.m.,” Declan replies for her.
“I need the moral support.”
“Or a congratulations based on the news.”
“Did you just crack a joke about me possibly being a father?” Horror creeps into my voice.
“It’s either that or yell at you about having unprotected sex.”
“I’d really rather that.” I’m honestly up for anything but my brother making jokes about me becoming a dad. I don’t know what called for such a change in his character, but I can only imagine it has to do with Iris.
Declan whispers something I don’t quite catch. Iris giggles before the line goes dead.
“Iris?” I check the screen for a dropped call. It still looks like she is connected, but no sounds come from her end of the line.
She put you on mute. “Don’t mind me. I’m just on the verge of having a mental breakdown.”
“Sorry! Declan needed to ask me something.” Her breathy voice sends a full-body shudder through me.
“I’ll just call you tomorrow morning when my brother isn’t busy doing whatever makes you sound like that.”
“Wait!” She must mute the call again before coming back thirty seconds later. “I told Declan to give me ten minutes.”
I drop face-first onto the bed, wishing the fall would knock me out. “I’m not sure why I thought calling you was a good idea, but I regret it immensely.”
“Because I’m your best friend and you needed me.” She actually coos.
“Debatable after the last few minutes of this conversation.”
She huffs. “I don’t like it when you’re all grumpy. It reminds me of your brothers.”
“Sorry, I’m all out of rainbows and unicorns today. Check back in tomorrow to see if I’m in a stop and smell the roses kind of mood again.”
“How can I help you out?”
“I’m not sure there is much you can do. This is all turning out to be a big pain in my ass.” After watching my brothers struggle with their tasks, I knew mine wouldn’t be easy, but I didn’t think my grandfather would force Lana and me to live together again after the last time he and I spoke.
I’m pissed I didn’t connect the dots sooner. Instead, I prolonged the inevitable and made the process harder given my limited timeframe.
And this is why you shouldn’t procrastinate.
“If selling the house was really that simple, then you would’ve cleared out the place and sold it a long time ago. We both know you put off completing your grandfather’s request because something was holding you back.”
Not something, but someone.
A phone alarm I forgot to shut off has me groaning into my pillow. The taste of poor decisions and cheap alcohol lingers on my tongue, making my already queasy stomach churn.
You shouldn’t have drunk so much last night.
It’s the same thing I say almost every morning when I wake up, although the selection from the mini fridge doesn’t help matters.
Rather than obsess over my bad choices, I ditch the motel room and escape into town. Since I don’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to myself this morning by stopping at the busy diner, I pull into the small coffee shop near Town Hall. The Angry Rooster has a single barista hustling behind the counter, taking orders and making drinks without breaking a sweat.
All it takes is one sip from my cup of coffee to have me dropping a twenty in the jar labeled, On a scale of $1 to $10, how big is your…? Whoever wrote the sign covered up the bad word with an emoji of a rooster. It makes me laugh, which in turn makes my head throb.
The barista chokes on her sudden inhale, so I drop another twenty in the jar solely to entertain myself with how red her face turns.
“Gotta own it.” I wink.
“Thank you!” she huffs.
I salute her before taking off out the door. My phone vibrates in my pocket from a new message in my family group chat. With a groan, I unlock my phone and read a new message from my youngest brother.
Rowan
So did you find out if the kid is yours?
Iris would never tell Rowan about my issue, so that only leaves one person.
Declan is officially dead to me. The asshole.
Who said anything about a kid?
Rowan
Declan spilled the news when he called me this morning and gave a speech about condoms and safe sex.
Does anything remain a secret in this family anymore? Ever since my brothers met the loves of their lives, it’s like everyone knows everything about my business.
Dick-lan
I didn’t give you a speech.
Iris
It sounded like one to me.
Rowan
I agree. Rowan was so moved, he ran out to Costco to panic-buy a pack of 1,000 condoms. —Zahra
1,000? You’ll be dead by the time you finish the box.
Rowan sends a middle finger emoji.
Iris
AH! Why isn’t Zahra in this chat yet?
Dick-lan
Because it’s for Kanes only.
Rowan
…
A notification pops up letting us all know Zahra, Rowan’s girlfriend and Dreamland-obsessed adult, has been added to the conversation by Iris. If I didn’t feel chronically single before, fifth wheeling in a goddamn group chat would have pushed me over the edge.
Zahra
Hi everyone!!!
She sends another message with a variation of hearts and smiling faces.
Zahra
Cal, when are you bringing your kid to Dreamland?
Zahra
We would love to have her!!!
No wonder Declan didn’t want her in the chat. If there is one thing he hates more than texting, it’s people who text multiple messages at a time.
I shut my eyes and take a deep breath before replying.
I gotta go.
I put my phone on silent and ignore the rest of their messages. I’ve gotten better at avoiding the two couples over the last few months, especially since Rowan and Zahra have been busy working at Dreamland while Declan and Iris are overwhelmed with their house renovation and focused on getting pregnant.
If someone asked me years ago if I would be the last one out of my brothers to be single, I would have laughed in their face. My brothers have the emotional intelligence of toddlers and personalities equivalent to beige paint, yet they both achieved something I never could.
They found happiness and love with someone else.
For a time, I thought I had that too. Or at least I did until I screwed it all up, ruining any chance at having the same thing.
You sound jealous.
Probably because I am.
