Harry. “I bite,” she says ominously.
“Mom!”
“A sleepy tiger.” Mom strokes Patsy’s back. “All cozy. With her jungle friends. Harry, you’re the elephant. The hose is your trunk. You missed a spot on the back window.”
Brad chuckles. “Your mom’s awesome.”
And then he says things like that, which make this harder. Tim’s car eases in behind Jase’s Mustang, hanging half out in the street so as not to cover George’s drawings. Sam waves him over, but he calls distractedly, “Late for a meeting! Been running. Gotta shower and book it.”
He heads past the Taurus, pauses. “Hey Alice.”
“What did you have on your feet this time?” I ask.
“Toes,” he replies easily, and grins at me, lifting one long foot to put it on the sill of the car, wiggling his toes for emphasis. There’s a jagged open cut near his big toenail. “Well, toes and blood. Cut it on a shell. But I made it all the way to the pier this time. Very Navy Seal, huh? Ran right through the pain, because I am just that full of testosterone.”
I try hard not to laugh, looking away, straight at Samantha, who’s descended from her handstand position, watching us with a very slight smile. Jase, who has a smudge of dirt on his nose, is frowning over something to do with the windshield wipers. Or something.
“Clean that up,” I say to Tim. “And put something on it to keep it clean. Toes are seriously prone to infection because the bacteria can get trapped in your shoes.”
“I love it when you talk dirty,” Tim says, then, seeming to notice him for the first time, “Hey, Brad.”
“Yo bro, do you mind?” Brad asks. “We’re talking here.”
Tim backs away, raising his hands in exactly the same gesture he used in the rain the other night. This flicker of – something – licks up my spine.
As he’s climbing the steps, Andy comes over and calls, “Tim! You’re a guy, right?”
“Last time I checked.”
“Can I ask you a question I can’t ask my brothers?”
“No,” Jase calls.
“Uh – Andy – sorry, I really have to get to a meeting,” Tim says, glancing at Jase before the garage apartment door slams behind him.
“What were you saying, Ally-baba?”
Bite the bullet.
“Look, Brad.”
Obediently, Brad looks me in the eye. He’s taken a bite of one of the zillion protein bars overflowing his glove compartment, and he’s chewing, cheeks bulging. Harry and George have started playing Limbo with the water from the hose, Mom’s pulling out the back of Patsy’s swim diaper to check its contents, Jase has jerked his head up quickly and banged it on the hood, so Samantha, who’s come up beside him, is rubbing the spot, saying something under her breath. Andy’s doing a back walkover – without having stretched out enough first.
With the usual chaos and color, my chilly tone is suddenly so off.
Cold, really.
“Your family is a riot,” Brad says. “Crazy as anything, but ya know . . .” He trails off.
More than one boyfriend has said to me that breaking up meant breaking up with my family too, and that was the hardest.
But I have to push on here. No point dragging things out. Maybe I’m hard, the hardest.
Brad swallows, gnaws off another chunk, and says, mouth full, “What is it, Ally?”
“Brad. Here’s the thing.”
Jase winces. “Hey, Sam, can you hold the hood open for me? The prop rod keeps giving out.”
“Let’s all go inside, guys,” Mom says. “Duff, Harry, George – time to wash up and get something to eat. Andy, you too.” Everyone but George, who’s now jumping into the puddles left by the hose, follows. Jase keeps working on his car.
“We’ve come to the end of the road,” I say quickly. “We’ve gone as far as we can go.”
Brad looks puzzled. “It’s a driveway.”
“I mean us. As a couple . . . It’s not working out.”
“What?” Brad says frowning. “That . . . that’s not possible.”
“Can you hand me that Sharpie while still holding the hood?” Jase calls to Sam.
“We always knew it was temporary.” I’ve said these lines so many times. It’s possible that I am a complete bitch.
“We did? Why?” Brad, forehead squinched, says in a faint voice. “What was missing, Ally-baby? We hung out, we made out, we worked out. All the good stuff. I don’t get it.”
His brown eyes are pleading. Jase frowns over something on the inside of the hood. Samantha is also apparently very absorbed in the whole process.
“Brad, we never talked. We didn’t –” laugh. Tears are starting to run down his cheeks. Oh God.
“Talked?” he repeats, sounding confused. “About what?”
This is going nowhere. Wrap it up. I set my hand on his knee, squeeze. “You’re a good guy.”
“Oh, no,” he says, suddenly loud. “Don’t do that. Don’t ‘good guy’ me. I’m better than that. I’m a great guy. I’ve stuck by you. I’ve been there for you.”
He has. He’s put up with my crazy hours, all the homework and housework and babysitting I’ve had to do. On the other hand, I’ve put up with his roommate – the missing link – his CrossFit obsession, the wicked Grandmother of the West, and all those nicknames.
“You have, Brad. Which is what makes this so hard.” My voice is gentle, but it doesn’t make any difference. Now he’s actually sobbing, giant shoulders heaving, tears streaming down his face, his nose running. I flick my gaze to the garage apartment. “Brad . . .” I say helplessly. How can he have felt this deeply without me realizing it?
Now he’s buried his face in his hands. I try to rub his shoulder but he shakes me off. “Just go. Go away, Alice.”
More tears.
“Brad –” I say helplessly. “I feel –”
“You feel nothing,” he says. “You don’t even know how to feel. Get out of my car.”
My feet have barely hit the driveway when he yanks the door shut, then peels out with a screech of tires, zooms down the road, totally unlike himself. He usually drives like a little old lady.
I’m staring after him, biting my thumbnail, which I haven’t done in years. Jase slams the hood
