The Reunion(10)

Absentmindedly, Mom nods. “Yes, he lent it to me the other night so I could get the laundry done. He was uncooperative at first, sitting shirtless in my laundry tub, but once I started putting some elbow grease against his abs, he giggled the whole time in utter glee.”

“Oooh, Mom with the funnies,” Palmer says, laughing.

“Do you realize how disturbing that is?” I ask.

“I told him to put ‘Mom does laundry on my abs’ in his dating profile, but he refused to.”

Mouth wide again in humor, Palmer turns toward me. “Oh em gee, you’re on dating apps? Which one? Let me see your profile. Do you have sexy pictures on it? Oh God, bathroom selfies? Please tell me you do not have bathroom selfies. I hate when guys take bathroom selfies, especially when they don’t remove things from the counter. No one needs to know the intimate details of what toothpaste and deodorant you use when swiping.” She reaches for my pockets, searching for my phone. “Where is it? I want to see. Have you seen it, Mom? Is he charming?”

“I helped him put it together.” Mom picks up her knitting needles and begins to move them around with fluffy yellow yarn. She’s been working on blankets for children at the local children’s hospital. She’s made fifty-two already and loves receiving pictures from families of her blankets with their kids.

“Oh my God, Cooper, Mom helped you with your profile?” Palmer laughs, gripping the counter.

Yup, this night could not get any worse.

Just then, both our phones beep at the same time. Palmer looks at me, confused. I send her the same glance, and together we pull out our phones. I’m half expecting a text from Ford about being late, but when I see a notification from my dating app, my mouth goes slightly dry.

I swipe open my phone, and the app pops up with a heart above a picture of my sister, declaring I have a match nearby. My balls shrivel up inside me.

“Ewww,” Palmer says, looking up at me.

“What?” Mom asks.

“I just matched with Cooper.” She dry heaves and covers her mouth.

“I’m not that repulsive, you ass.” I push her away just as the front door closes. We all turn to see Ford walking down the hallway in a pair of jeans and a polo shirt.

He glances around the kitchen. “What did I miss?”

Still coloring, Dad doesn’t bother to lift his head as he says, “We’ve established that Cooper has abs, your mom uses said abs to clean laundry, Coop thinks it tickles, and your sister and brother just matched on their dating apps, which has repulsed them, but to me, the romantic match only makes this day that much better.”

A smirk spreads across Ford’s lips. “Man, I’ve missed you guys.”



“Mom, you have to tell them,” I whisper as we decorate her pudding cups in the kitchen while Dad shows off his bookshelf to Palmer and Ford in the living room.

When Mom asked where Larkin was, Ford said she’d hung back at the bed-and-breakfast because she didn’t want to step in on any family bonding. Mom and Dad were not too happy about that and immediately forced Ford to call her and tell her that next time she’d better attend any and all family dinners.

When I glanced over at my brother, I relished the embarrassment etched all over his face. The man attempts to maintain professionalism at all times, but it’s next to impossible in our family. Especially since Mom and Dad seem to be so attached to Larkin—they see her as one of their own.

Now that dinner is done and the over-the-line phone call with Ford’s assistant is out of the way, it’s time for Mom and Dad to spill the beans.

Hunched over the black quartz countertops I helped Dad install two years ago—because why hire someone when you can do it yourself, he always says—Mom plops a raspberry in each pudding dish. “We will tell them, we will.”

“Tonight?” I ask.

She glances over her shoulder. “I don’t think tonight is the best night. You all just got here.”

“Which makes it the perfect time. Who knows when we’ll be under the same roof again? And once they see the sign outside the house, they’re going to have questions.”

Mom chops up some fresh mint and hands it to me. I gently set it in the bowls next to the raspberries, the way she likes it. Always the doting son.

“I know, but we’re having such a good time, and I’m not sure how they’ll take the news.”

I lift up the tray of desserts. “Only one way to find out.”

I walk into the family room, followed by Mom, just as Ford, Palmer, and Dad take seats on the sofas.

As I hand out the pudding cups, Palmer says, “Some fine craftsmanship on that shelf, Coop. Did you mean for it to be slanted like that?” She takes a sip from her wineglass, one I’ve seen her refill at least twice already.

I glance over at the dilapidated shelf that’s filled with a color-coordinated gaggle of books, set in rainbow order. “Dad suggested it; said he wanted to add character to his display,” I say, lying through my teeth.

“I actually told him to use a level to make sure everything was even, but he assured me the shelf was meant to lean. After some intensive searching on IKEA, I found my son was lying to my face.” Dad grips his spoon, a slight shake to his hand as he lifts a scoop of pudding to his mouth.

“The audacity,” Palmer says with a grin, the little instigator.