“So you left her in Vegas and came home when Dad . . .” Even he has trouble saying it.
“Yeah. And we lost contact. She had this piece of shit phone, and I couldn’t get any answer. I went looking for her, but . . .”
“You couldn’t find her.”
I thought she didn’t want to be found, not that she was pregnant, probably scared and cursing the day she ever set eyes on me.
“You didn’t give her your contact details? Your phone number, email? Fucking Facebook?”
“Course I did. It just . . . I don’t know, it all turned to shit.”
“At the risk of you biting my head off, you’re sure the kid is yours?”
I set off laughing when what I really feel like is swearing. But honestly, he’s only asking the same question I’d be asking if I was in his place. I eventually compose myself and begin to massage my temples with the finger and thumb of my left hand. Family. Such a fucking headache. “Tee, honestly, if you could see him, you wouldn’t ask. But yeah, a DNA test is underway.” I went to the clinic earlier this week, though I totally don’t need it. I wouldn’t have gone if it wasn’t for Kennedy’s insistence.
“Man, the old girl is gonna go off when she finds out. You know she loves being Nana, but she’ll totally lose her shit. Like next-level lose it.”
“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t get enough of being the family fuckup?”
“Get down off your cross,” my brother drawls. “We need the fucking wood.”
“You try being the youngest in this family, always the butt of someone’s fucking joke.”
“Listen, when you’ve had some chick superglue your nut sack to your thigh, then you can complain about being the family fuckup.”
And now I’m laughing. “Jesus, I forgot about that. Jackie or Jacinta, wasn’t it, your interior designer?”
“She was fucking certifiable. Mum wasn’t exactly stoked to hear about me and my glued testicles, and what I’m saying is we all have our moments, right?”
“Now that I come to think of it, she was less than impressed with your taste in women for a while.” Because there was a time Rafferty seemed to jump from one unholy horror to the next.
“Yeah, but that’s all behind me.”
“How you bagged Lyssa, I’ll never know. Gorgeous and sane. Well, as sane as any woman who’s into you can be.”
“And Mum loves her,” he adds like a little lick-arse, causing my heart to sink to my shoes. Will she ever get the opportunity to love Kennedy? To know her like I do? She’s going to be so hurt when I tell her, then she’s going to put the timings together, and she’s going to be hurt all over again. It will remind her of Dad’s death and the black months that followed, and somehow, she’ll blame herself. If I hadn’t needed you all around me, you might not have lost each other, and you’d be happy. That’s what she’ll say because mothers like to blame themselves when our fuckups are all of our own.
“But you know what trumps happy sons?” Rafferty says, yanking me back to the moment. “Grandchildren. Doesn’t matter what you’ve done, she won’t stay hurt for long because she’ll be too busy getting to know him and his mum. And that’s when you get supplanted in her affections.”
“You reckon?”
“Seen it happen, mate. Every time I go back home, Mum will happily push me aside to catch up with Lyssa. She phones to talk to her more than she does me.”
“You are pretty boring.”
“So what’s he like, your kid?”
“Wilder. That’s his name.” My throat thickens, pins pricking my eyes. “He’s the double of Matty. Similar personality, too.” I don’t want to tell Tee that I haven’t met him yet, not properly. He wouldn’t understand, and I know he’d blame Kennedy rather than me, and that wouldn’t be fair because she’s just doing her job as his mum. “He’s got our eyes. Well, they’re more like mine, really. Darker, I guess. He’s quiet and kind of serious.”
“Sounds like the new generation of Phillips boys.”
“How’d you mean?”
“Haven’t you noticed how the girls have the full-on personalities?”
“Nah, that’s just Edie,” I argue. “Because Maxi”—Flynn’s angelic-looking son—“was a handful for a while, and little Barney”—or Barnaby, as his mother prefers—“is fuckin’ feral.”
“Yeah, I suppose. Come to think of it, Matty might be quiet, but he’s as stubborn as a mule and has one hell of a temper when he goes.”
“But he would, wouldn’t he? Being Byron’s kid.”
We both fall quiet, our thoughts turning inward, I guess. But it isn’t long before Rafferty breaks that silence.
“I look forward to meeting Wilder when the time comes. But I expect you need some time to sort this out for now.”
“Fifty years or so might do it.”