But I had to back up. “Wait,” I said. “Wait. I’m thirty-one. I have no boyfriend, no career. I’m nowhere close to owning a home, having a wedding, or having babies. I don’t evenwantbabies. I work in a coffee shop. My car is old. I don’t own any furniture. I’m a complete failure.” I looked at the two people at the table with me. “Doesn’t anyonecare?”
Ellen shrugged, and her answer was pure logic. “I’ve never measured my achievements by what other people think of them. I suggest you do the same.”
I looked at Axel.
He licked some sauce from his fork, giving me a hard-eyed stare. “Listen, I played drums for a living and the only thing I owned was a suitcase before I ended up in rehab. Don’t ever ask for life advice from a rock star.”
I stared at him in shock. And then all three of us were laughing.
ELEVEN
Axel
After dessert, Brit and I cleaned up in the kitchen. We were supposedly helping Ellen do it, but it didn’t take long before Ellen pulled out a kitchen chair and sat, watching us work.
“What about your parents?” she asked me as Brit and I sorted dishes for rinsing. “Where are they? I’m going to take a guess that you were raised by good people.”
Brit had her back to me, and her shoulders flinched, but I didn’t mind the question. “My parents were terrific. Unfortunately, they died in a car accident when I was nine.”
“Oh, that’s terrible,” Ellen said. “You poor boy.”
I smiled, passing a handful of cutlery to Brit. “It was a long time ago. I was born in San Diego. My sister, my brother, and I were sent to live with our grandparents here in Portland after our parents died. We still own a beach house on the California coast, which I go to every once in a while. My grandparents are gone now, too.”
Brit had turned away from the sink and was listening, but it was Ellen who asked the question. “Where are your sister and brother?”
“My sister still lives in San Diego,” I replied. “My brother is a diehard traveler. I think he’s in Portugal.” I pulled out some plastic wrap to cover the leftovers. “I love my siblings, but we don’t see each other often. We’re a little…distant. It’s hard to explain. I think it’s because we all learned early to rely only on ourselves. It’s just the way we are.”
Ellen nodded. “Where are your other grandparents?” When Brit gave her a glare, she reluctantly added, “If I’m being too nosy, just say so.”
“I don’t mind,” I said, which was the truth. “My father’s parents still live in Holland, because they never left. I don’t talk to them often or for very long because my Dutch is rusty.”
Brit’s lips parted. “Wait a minute. You know DutchandPolish?”
I felt myself smiling. “French, too. Does that impress you? Then I won’t admit that I’m complete trash at all three languages, and any native speaker would laugh in my face.”
“Music, languages, and cooking,” Ellen said. “Is there anything youaren’tgood at?”
“Math,” I said. “I don’t know how to fix a car—fix anything, really. I’m bad with directions, and I’m completely lost unless I have a GPS. I suck at schedules and being on time for things. I tried three times to readOne Hundred Years of Solitudeand I finally gave up because I had no idea what was going on. I can’t whistle. I’m the worst guitar player you’ve ever heard. I don’t know anything about country music. Should I go on?”
“I like you anyway,” Ellen said, making me smile. Glancing out the kitchen window, I saw that it was dark, cold, and damp outside. It felt good, being in this kitchen. I’d spent last year’s Christmas Eve at a meeting, because even though I put on a good show, the hole I had crawled out of was a deep, dark one. I didn’t know how I’d gotten to the bottom of it, but I had.
I glanced at Brit and saw that look in her eyes again. She’d had that look earlier, and though I’d never seen it from Brit before, I recognized it. It was a look that was pure heat.
Heat between Brit and me was a bad idea. But I liked that look from her. No, I fucking loved it.
I looked back at her, not dropping my gaze. Brit’s cheeks flushed, the pink glowing gently from her skin, and the sight of it woke up the bad boy side of me, the rock n’ roll side that liked to do very wild things.
I hadn’t let that side out in a long time.
Somehow we finished the cleanup, and Ellen went upstairs to go to bed. This time, she didn’t warn me not to get fresh with her niece.
“You knew about my parents,” I said as Brit wiped the kitchen counter one last time.
She kept her eyes lowered. “I only know what’s on the internet, which is that they died. That’s all.”
“Does it bother you?” I asked. “It bothers some people I meet, makes them feel awkward. They don’t know what to think about it.”
Brit put the sponge down and turned, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. “I don’t know. Does it bother you that my mother thinks I’m fat?”