“Is she hot?”
That was Jaime’s first question as he settled back down beside me.
I frowned. Lack of social queues and tact was a problem my brother couldn’t fix, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed it.
“What makes you think it’s a woman?”
“Research assistant, that’s like a secretary, right?”
“Sort of, I guess.”
“So…is she hot?”
I grinned and looked away. I didn’t want to have this discussion with Jamie any more than he wanted to talk about his artwork with me. “You’re not supposed to say that.”
“Why not?”
“The workplace is supposed to be professional,” I tried to explain. “Besides, women are more than their looks. How would you feel if someone talked about Mom like that?”
My brother winced. “Ew.”
“Yeah, well, a lot of women would feel the same way if they heard you talking about them like that. It makes them uncomfortable.”
“I guess,” Jamie surrendered before compulsively clicking his pen.
“How are Mom and Dad?” I asked. “Have you called them recently?”
“They’re fine,” he responded. “Mom’s helping with a bake sale.”
“For what?”
I already knew, but it was better to know how my brother was engaging conversationally.
“For her knitting group,” he explained. “They’re raising money for cancer.”
“That’s nice of them.”
“Have you talked to Mom?”
“I talked with Dad on Thursday,” I answered.
“Did he tell you about his colonoscopy?”
I chuckled, “A little more than I wanted to hear, but yes, he did.”
Jamie laughed along. “Same.”
Though he asked a few times, I never did clue him into what was going on with Millie, mostly because there was nothing going on. I didn’t want to bring my brother into that dilemma. He had more important things to worry about. Sometimes he was completely lucid and able to carry on a conversation like any other person. At other times, he was out of control, throwing things and screaming at the top of his lungs. I never knew which Jamie I would see when I came to visit, and it was nice to have a chance to talk like brothers.
It was late in the afternoon when I finally returned home. I bought a pack of Guinness at the corner store, something I hadn’t done in years. I wouldn’t be able to consume more than two of those bottles before I was flat on my ass. The brew reminded me of Ireland and of Millie. Every sip made me think of her and the stories she told of Ireland’s pubs and old libraries.
She was so good at making the publishing work as painless as possible. On weekends like this, I wished I had someone like her, someone I could wrap my arms around and forget. It was too bad I had quizzes to grade.
At my kitchen table, I spread out the stacks of blue paper and got to work. The brass chandelier illuminated my work, and the philodendrons by the large window kept me company. I was halfway through the second stack when the doorbell rang. Checking my smartwatch, I found that it was nearly five o’clock. I hoped it wasn’t a salesperson or one of those poor kids they sent around to drum up business for solar panels.
Opening the door, I was surprised to see Warren instead.
“Hey, man,” I said, standing aside to let him in. “What’s up?”