“How could I miss our brunch?” Emmett’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He parks himself next to Huxley, who’s doing his best to pretend he isn’t worried because he knows Emmett would hate that, especially coming from him. Emmett gets annoyed when he thinks Huxley’s trying to manage him.
“Here.” Nicholas pours him a glass of champagne.
Instead of taking it, Emmett just looks at it morosely. Is he reliving some memory where he and his girl celebrated something together?
The moment stretches awkwardly. We all wait to see what he does. He lets out a sigh and takes the flute. “Thanks.” He forces more wattage into his smile, which only serves to turn it into a grimace.
“I have something stronger,” Seb offers.
“Thanks, but this is fine,” Emmett says in a tone that says he’s not fine.
“Do you know that there are seven-point-eight billion people in the world, and about half are women?” Noah says. “Three-point-four billion chances is a lot.”
If Noah’s trying to be positive, he’s doing a terrible job. And his math is off—half of seven-point-eight is three-point-nine.
Emmett’s narrowed eyes agree with my assessment. He doesn’t correct Noah’s math, though, which means he’s in worse condition than I expected. Emmett loves to correct math.
Grant clears his throat, then subtly shakes his head.
Noah is undeterred. “Your odds of winning the Mega Million is, like, one in one hundred and seventy-six million. Getting a new hot chick can’t be harder than winning the lottery.”
If Emmett didn’t look so miserable, I’d do a slow clap. To Emmett, women aren’t fungible. The girl he lost is “special.” To him, she’s undoubtedly The One out of the three-point-nine billion, and there isn’t going to be another like her.
It’s an effort not to roll my eyes. Because when you love something, everything goes sideways. Inevitably, it gets taken away and your entire world falls apart until you can get your head screwed on right again.
Ifyou can get your head screwed on right again.
It’s stunning that Emmett hasn’t learned this lesson, but then, his mother is one of the nicer ones. I learned it when I was seven. For that—and that alone—I suppose I can be grateful to Mom.
Instead of responding to Noah, Emmett says, “What are you getting for your grandmother’s birthday, Seb?”
Noah looks a little annoyed, but Sebastian smiles, like there’s nothing wrong with the abrupt change in topic. “I don’t know yet. She wants a great-grandbaby, but…” He shrugs.
“Her too?” Huxley sighs. “What’s up with this baby fetish all of a sudden? She’s in Virginia, so we can’t blame the water.”
“She’s getting old. Probably wants to hold a great-grandbaby before it’s too late,” Nicholas says.
“That woman’s going to outlive all of us.” Sebastian shudders. “She has more energy than anybody I know. More than a teenager.” He sighs. “And I can’t think of anything to give her. She has everything.”
This is a shock. Seb’s never met a person he couldn’t come up with a present for.
“If her having everything is the problem, make it personal. Make a video of you singing ‘Happy Birthday’ for her and be done with it,” Huxley suggests.
I cringe internally. That is such a showy thing to do. On the other hand, some people would like it. My mother, for example, would show it to everyone and make an embarrassing scene out of it to garner as much attention as possible. This is the biggest reason I don’t sing. I’d rather eat glass. Or lick the lavatory after a meal service.
Seb snorts. “No. I don’t need Warner Chappell Music coming after me for illegal use.” He’s still pissed that the campaign his company wanted to launch had to be redone because of the music.
Huxley grins smugly. “Nope. The song’s in public domain now. The court ruled in 2015, in case you weren’t following.”
“Why were you following?” Grant asks. Hux is in advertising, not music.
“One of our clients wanted to use it for their TV ads around that time.”
Sebastian shakes his head. “Regardless of the song’s copyright status, I’m not going to traumatize my grandmother. I actually like the woman.” He pauses. “Most of the time.”
“True. You sing like a dying wildebeest,” Noah says.
As my brothers laugh—except for Emmett, who’s doing a terrible job of faking it—I’m reminded of how Linda couldn’t remember Sierra’s birthday. I presume this means Sierra’s dad doesn’t do anything either. If he’d made it clear it was important, somebody like Linda would remember, too.
Although Sierra acted like she didn’t care, she must have some resentment or disappointment about it. It’s just that those feelings are likely old and resigned, very much like my feelings toward my mother’s drama and needs.
I make a mental note to find out when Sierra’s birthday is. If it’s during the time we’re pretending to be dating, I’ll do something for her. I’m not going to be a fake boyfriend who forgets her birthday, even though my experience celebrating birthdays probably isn’t typical: wild parties like my dad’s, drama-filled scenes like my mom’s or just a huge dinner together with my brothers, since all of us were born four months apart.