The Shape Of My Heart. Ann Aguirre
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I don’t see an intro anytime in our future. I’m Michael.”
Ah. So he’s grown out of the nickname. Truthfully, he didn’t look much like a Mickey, though I was definitely Disney-biased. I figured he’d been closer as a kid.
“I’ve heard a lot about you.” Only a slight exaggeration. But from his expression, he was glad to hear it, so I smiled and pretended I knew some cute childhood stories instead of only having learned of his existence the day before.
Thanks, Max.
“All good, right?” Michael had dimples, too, plus a faint cleft in his chin. I had the urge to ruffle his hair, but he’d probably take it the wrong way.
“Stop flirting,” Max said, folding his arms with a mock-stern look.
“Him or me?” I teased.
“Both of you. It’s disturbing, Kaufman. I told you it’s never happening between us, and I won’t let you seduce my brother for revenge.”
“So much for my nefarious plans.”
Michael glanced between us, a strange expression dawning. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I remember you as...angrier.”
That sparked a tentative smile from Max, like he was expecting a gong to clang and for his brother to melt into a dog-headed demon or something. “You want to see the bike?”
“No way, you still have it?”
“Yeah, I’ve nearly got it done.”
“You promised me a ride, asshole.” Michael didn’t seem to notice the way Max flinched, but I did. His fingers tightened on mine. “Can we check it out now?” He was already wheeling toward the exit, leading the way.
I didn’t know much about motorcycles, but the brothers seemed to be bonding. So I let go of Max. When he followed Michael without looking back, I decided it was the right move. That left me standing awkwardly with his father and Aunt Carol. Offering a tentative smile, I tried to come up with an innocuous topic for small talk.
But Mr. Cooper beat me to the punch. “Whatever promises the kid made to get you here, I guarantee they’re bullshit. You’re better off getting on a bus. Want a ride?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m just offering to help you out, girlie.”
Oh, no, you did not.
My fingers balled up into a fist, but before I could make good on my urge to introduce it to his nose, Carol caught my arm. “Let me get you some coffee. I think there are some cookies, too. Cavanaugh and Sons don’t offer much of a spread.”
“Like I’d pay top dollar to put that old bastard in the ground.”
Since that was pretty much exactly what Max thought about the asshole in front of me—the live one—I stared over my shoulder as the older woman led me away. “Sorry. You must think we’re awful.”
A polite response to that failed me, so I took the Styrofoam cup full of bitter-smelling coffee and added powdery packets of fake creamer and yellow envelopes of sweetener until I could pretend it was a milkshake. Most people were surprised that I didn’t just shoot up triple espressos because I exuded that vibe, but in fact, I didn’t like hot drinks—with the exception of Angus’s mulled wine. But normally, even on a cold day I’d rather have a chilled beverage.
Carol wasn’t kidding when she said the pickings were slim. This looked like the employee break room with a few sad round tables, covered in napkins and newspapers, along with scattered cookie crumbs. This reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since noon, and it was nosing toward seven. Silently I nibbled a stale snickerdoodle and pondered the life choices that ended with me in this current situation.
“So how do you know Max?” she asked.
Since I’d almost forgotten she was there, I came back with the absurd and defensive, “How do you know Max?”
Mentally I banged my head on the nearest wall when her pleasant face clouded over in confusion. “Um. Well, we’ve never actually met before, to be honest. I married his dad’s younger brother two years ago. I didn’t realize there was such...drama in the family, so I emailed him an announcement about the wedding.”
Oh, she’s an aunt by marriage.
“And he wrote back?”
“Yeah. I’ve been updating him about Michael, mostly.”
“That was nice of you.”
“It’s the least I can do. I’ll never understand the dynamics here. Sometimes it’s like stepping through a minefield.”
“Yeah, I can already tell Mr. Cooper’s a character.”
“Who, Charlie? It’s okay, honey. You can say it. He’s a jackass. Don’t get him started on his addiction, by the way. He’ll talk your ear off about his stupid chips.” I must’ve looked blank because she added, “He joined AA a few months back, after his dad got really sick. So he’s got sobriety tokens now, three months’ worth. Luckily Jim doesn’t have the same problems as his brother or his dad, may he rest in peace.”
“Jim would be your husband?” I guessed.
“Right, you don’t know anyone. Let me help.” She took my arm and hauled me back to the chapel, where she kept me pinned to her side naming strangers.
Yeah, there’s no way in hell I’m remember any of that.
It was nearly eight when Max and Michael came back in, so they must’ve had a good talk. I’d rarely seen Max smiling so wide, and pleasure washed over me at playing any role in this reunion. There weren’t many people left, just close family, by this point.
Mr. Cooper scowled when he saw his sons together. “Okay, closing time. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”
That sounded more like last call at a bar than a suitable farewell at a viewing, a wake or whatever Christians called this deal. I much preferred Jewish services. But the stragglers cleared out in response to Mr. Cooper’s impatient gestures, leaving a middle-aged man who looked a bit like Max with an arm around Carol—that had to be Jim—me, Max, Michael and their dad.
There was a lot of awkward staring until I said, “Can we get some dinner?”
Mr. Cooper snorted. “Better feed her. Asses like that don’t grow themselves.”
Max had been spoiling to punch his father all night, and while I shared the impulse, I wasn’t ruining this service or going to jail. “Wow. Well, thanks for noticing...but it’s slightly inappropriate. Try to stare at butts closer to your own age. Max, you hungry?”
“I could eat,” he said, seeming surprised.
“Where are you headed?” Michael glanced between us, obviously angling for an invite. I could read the subtext, if Max was too pissed at his dad to catch on.
“I’m not sure. What’s good around here?”
“The diner over on North Broadway isn’t bad. It’s cheap and tasty. I don’t eat there often when I’m in training, though.”
“You look like an athlete,” I admitted.
“Is it the chair that gave me away?” He had a sporty, streamlined model.
“Frankly, it’s your whole upper body.” Which, from Max’s death glare, might’ve been a weird thing to say, but his little brother was fit.
“What did I say about the flirting? He’s still in high school, for shit’s sake. You’re gonna end up in a mugshot.”
Michael laughed. “Stand down, bro. I’ll let you know if I feel sexually threatened.”
“You want to