Egomaniac(85)

I spotted Drew coming down the hall. “Put it away. Here he comes.”

Roman slipped the envelope back into his pocket and pulled out a flask instead. Twisting off the cap, he offered it to me. “Swig?”

“No, thanks.”

Drew walked in as Roman put the beat-up, old metal flask to his lips. “You still carry that thing around with you?”

“Never know when you’ll need a shot of Hennessy, my friend.”

I was surprised Drew hadn’t started doing shots after the last few days. I’d pretty much driven him crazy getting ready for tonight. My parents would be arriving in the next few minutes, and a half dozen of Beck’s friends were coming, too. Even though we’d lived in Atlanta for nearly a year now, it was really the first time we’d be having company. Well, except for Roman—who didn’t count as a guest. He was always family to Drew, and over the last year, he’d become my family, too. He was the annoying brother I’d always wanted.

Sometimes when he’d visit, I’d find him on the couch playing video games with Drew at two in the morning. Other times, he’d make Drew miss his flight when he had business in New York because he’d dragged him out on a stakeout. But all the time, he was there for us. Most people got scars from the chicken pox. Drew got a treasured friend for life. Somehow that made sense with those two.

Beck came barreling in from the yard. His clothes were drenched, and brown water dripped from his little head. “I watered the garden!”

“Ummm…did you water the garden, or did the garden water you?” I pointed to the bathroom. “Go take a bath before everyone gets here.”

“Can I just go in the pool naked?” He jumped up and down, holding his hands in the praying position.

“No, you can’t go in the pool naked. The neighbors will see you.”

Beck pouted and slumped his shoulders before turning to drag his feet en route to the bathroom.

“Roman and I are going to pick up beer,” Drew announced. “Need anything while I’m out? Pick up the cake you ordered?”

“My parents are swinging by the bakery on their way here. It’s a tradition that they pay for the cake. Don’t ask,” I lied.

Drew kissed me on the cheek. “Whatever you want.” Then he whispered. “By the way, you didn’t seem to mind if the neighbors saw you when you were naked in the pool the other night.”

I suppose he had a point. Although in my defense, we’d just had Beck for three weeks while his mother was on her honeymoon in Bali, I’d had a glass of wine, and Drew had just come back from the gym so his muscles were particularly bulgy. Plus, it was dark out, and hell—have I mentioned that his muscles were particularly bulgy?

Ten minutes later, I’d just finished prepping the melon ball salad when the doorbell rang.

My smiling parents greeted me with arms in the air. “Happy Gotcha Day!”

***

After coming inside to go to the bathroom, I stood watching the party in the yard from the kitchen window for a few minutes. Everything was going great. My parents were talking to Drew’s new law partner and his wife, Roman was flirting with the single mom of one of Beck’s best friends—I might have mentioned the other’s single status to each of them ahead of time—and Beck was climbing in the treehouse he and his father had spent four months building after we moved here.

And today was Gotcha Day. My parents were here, and this year was going to be even more special than ever.

From the yard, Drew caught me watching and excused himself from conversation with one of his new friends. He slipped into the house and came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and joining me to gaze out the window.

“What are we looking at?”

“My life.”

“Yeah?” He turned me around and gave me a sweet kiss. “Now I’m looking at mine, too.”

My heart sighed. “I love it when you sweet-talk me.”

“Last night you loved it when I dirty-talked you.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Maybe I just love you.”

“I am pretty awesome.”

Rolling my eyes, I laughed. “Egomaniac.”

Drew kissed me on the forehead. “Your parents are anxious to have cake. I think your mom has a sweet tooth.”

My parents had started bugging me about the cake the minute they walked in. Only not for the reason Drew thought. The sun had started to set, and it was probably an hour past the time I should have been serving cake—but I was stalling. A sudden case of nerves had hit me, after more than six months of anxiously waiting for this time to get here.

“I promised Beck he could help carry the cake. Why don’t you make a pot of coffee, and I’ll go grab him?”

I found Beck, and he raced to the house when I told him it was time. He smiled from ear to ear, and it brought back so many memories of the excitement of my first Gotcha Day.

Seeing his son’s excited face, Drew said, “That must be some cake.”

“It’s in my room. Uncle Roman said he put it under my pillow because he’s better than a fairy,” Beck yelled over his shoulder, already halfway down the hall.

Drew’s brow furrowed; I extended my hand to him without explanation. “Come on.”

Beck’s room was bright yellow. We’d let him pick the color when I moved down to Atlanta permanently after the semester ended. True to his word, Drew didn’t complain about all the color I added to the house. Each room was brighter than the next—except our room, which I’d painted a muted gray. I’d picked it because when I’d asked Drew what color he might like in our bedroom, he’d told me I was all the color he needed. So I figured I’d give him what he liked in the bedroom—since that was the place he always gave me what I liked.