Neal sighed. “I guess that’s a no on Hawaii?”
“You guessed right.”
Neal nodded, stabbing his chicken and popping it into his mouth. George was right, they used too much oil.
“What’s happening with you at the moment?” George asked casually.
Neal knew what he was getting at, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk about it. “Did you read the letter dad left you?” he said, deliberately ignoring George’s question.
“Not this year,” George admitted. “I don’t really have to anymore. I know every word of that letter by heart.”
“Me too,” Neal said, “but it doesn’t stop me from reading mine every year, though.”
“I don’t know why you still read yours,” George said thoughtfully.
Neal wasn’t sure either. He knew that letter backwards and forwards now, and still, every year, without fail, he would spend at least fifteen minutes poring over it as though he could find some new meaning in its words. The truth was, Neal had always felt a distinct sense of unease tied to his father’s letter. It sprang from his little insecurities and the suspicion that his father had been trying to tell him something that he couldn’t yet understand. His ritualistic reading of it was his way of trying to decipher what he knew he was missing.
“Do I ever get to read yours?” Neal asked innocently.
George gave him a knowing smile. “You ask me that every year.”
“And every year you refuse me.”
“Exactly,” George winked at him. “Take the hint, little brother.”
Neal rolled his eyes, but dropped the subject. Somehow, Neal had come up with the reasoning that there was something in George’s letter that would help him make better sense of his own. His father was trying to tell him something, Neal knew that, but he had been so subtle about it, that his meaning was lost.
He could have been annoyed with George about his constant refusal, but he was too good a brother. Always supportive, even in disapproval. Always generous, even when Neal wasn’t deserving of it, and never judgmental, even though judgment was justified.
“How are things with Mallory?” Neal asked, in an attempt to show George that there were no hard feelings.
George gave a heavy sigh. “We broke up.”
Neal raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Since when?”
“Since she tried to get me to buy her an Aston Martin.”
“Seriously?” Neal asked incredulously.
“Yup,” George replied.
“Well,” Neal said teasingly, “can’t say I’m surprised.”
“Meaning what?”
“Well, she was a model,” Neal said with a wicked smile directed at his brother. “I always wondered what she was doing with you.”
George landed a punch on Neal’s arm in retribution, but he laughed lightly.
“A sentiment I share about every single woman who has ever dated you,” George said, returning fire.
Neal winked. “I pay them well.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
The brothers fell into an easy silence, each resigned to his own thoughts. George had had few girlfriends over the years, his schedule didn’t permit much personal time. Neal, on the other hand, had gone through several women in the last few years, many of whom were simply ships in the night, ones he barely remembered when morning came. It didn’t matter to Neal. He wasn’t looking for a woman. He had his brother, and that was all the companionship he needed.
*