Just One of the Guys(70)

“Come in, pal,” I tell him, putting his offerings on the hall table.

He takes off his coat, stopping to let Buttercup sniff his shoes before sitting on the couch. “What are you watching?” he asks, gesturing at the TV.

“Lord of the Rings,” I answer. Turning off the DVD player and TV, I turn to face my difficult brother. “Are you okay?”

He takes a deep breath. “No.”

“Can I do anything?”

“You should be mad at me, Chas. Shit, I really f**ked up, didn’t I?”

“Well, I’m not mad, Mark. Glad I punched you, yes, but not mad. I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”

He gives a bitter laugh. “Why? Isn’t my life going great? Come on, dog. Sit with me.” Buttercup lunges on the couch next to him, settling her head on his lap with a groan.

“Mark,” I begin tentatively, “what do you want to happen next? With Elaina and Dylan and everything?”

“I want everything to go back to where it was,” he answers thickly, petting Buttercup and not looking at me.

“That can’t happen.”

“I know. So I’m stuck. She won’t forgive me.” A tear plops onto Buttercup’s head, but Mark keeps petting.

“She wants to, you know.”

“She says she can’t trust me.” His voice is heavy. Mark doesn’t cry. Me, I blubber an ocean. Mark…he’s a desert.

“Honey,” I say gently, “it takes time. You have to keep trying, show her that you can be trusted.” He shrugs. “And Mark, you’re a mess. You’re so angry and bitter, and the thing is, you should be kissing Elaina’s feet. You should do whatever it takes to get her back. She’s the best thing that ever happened to you, and you’re going to lose her.”

My brother puts his hand over his eyes. “I don’t know what to do, Chas. I want to do the right thing, and I just keep getting further and further away from where I need to be. I’m lost.” He shakes his head, this big, handsome, cat-saving brother of mine, tears dripping out from underneath his hand, and my heart aches.

“Okay. Here’s what to do. Buttercup, down, girl.” I drag my dog off the couch and sit next to Mark, putting my arm around him. “First, you need to get some anger management or something. A psychiatrist, a therapist, something. Would you do that?” He nods. “Then ask Elaina if she’ll go to marriage counseling.”

“That’s a lot of shrinks, Chas.”

“So? You just said you’re lost. This is a way to get found.”

“What else?” he asks.

“You tell Elaina that nothing is more important than her and Dylan, and you want them back. Simple as that, Mark. Don’t tell her that she’s bitter or how she should be feeling, don’t put conditions on it, just tell her. She still loves you, honey.”

“Did she tell you that?” he asks.

“Yes.” His shoulders jerk. “She misses the man you used to be, Mark.”

With that, my brother puts both arms around me and bawls into my shoulder like a one hundred and eighty-five pound baby. After a minute, Buttercup joins in, baying sympathetically, and Mark gives a shaky laugh. I pat his back and tell him he’s going to be just fine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

OVER THE WEEKEND, WE ARE summoned for a family dinner at Mom’s. Dad won’t be coming. Harry will. Mom wants us to meet him. It’s giving me a stomachache.

“So you’re going?” my father demands over the phone. I’ve just returned from a row, need to shower, check the Web site from my home computer, make sure I haven’t received any more creepy e-mails and generally don’t want to talk to my dad about his problems with Mom.

“Yes, Dad. I’m going.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” he mutters.

“Well, look. If you don’t want Mom dating other men, then get off your scrawny Irish butt and do something, okay? You know what she wants. You know her conditions. Make your choice, Dad. I’m hanging up now.”

I shower and dress with care, because not only will we be meeting Harry, Ryan is coming to his first official O’Neill family gathering. He picks me up at the stroke of two, gives Buttercup a tentative pat, and walks me to the car. There’s a bouquet of yellow roses in the backseat.

“For your mom,” Ryan says, smiling, and I feel a rush of affection for him.

“She’ll just love you, Ryan,” I say sincerely.

“I’m sure the feeling will be mutual,” he says, leaning over to kiss me. Then he starts the car and backs out of my driveway.

My mother is buzzing with energy as she yanks open the door when Ryan and I arrive.

“Hello!” she cries. “I’m so happy to see you, Ryan! I loved your class! You’re a wonderful teacher! Hello! Welcome!”

“Down, girl,” I say, leaning down the eight necessary inches to kiss her cheek.

“So nice to see you again, Mrs. O’Neill,” Ryan says, handing her the flowers.

Mom prepares to faint with joy. “Flowers! Oh! How thoughtful! Aren’t you wonderful!”

I roll my eyes. “It smells good in here, Mom,” I say suspiciously. “Did you have it catered?”

“Oh, Chastity! She’s joking, of course, Ryan. I love to cook.” Mom zips to the stove. “No, I’ve been taking a few classes, that’s all.”