Smitten

Dax looks away from Colin, his featuring broadcasting the tug of war that’s surely going on inside his head. “Wow, man. That’s a lot of money . . .”

“Yeah, it is,” Clive agrees.

“Especially for one day of work,” Colin interjects.

Dax runs his hand through his long, blonde hair and sighs. “We’d be fools to turn down that kind of money, wouldn’t we?”

“I think so,” Colin says.

I look at our drummer, as if to say, Really? And Colin shrugs.

I shake my head. How many sports cars does Colin Beretta need? I admit I was a greedy bastard in the beginning, too. But now, I’ve got everything a man could possibly want. A nice car. A bungalow on the beach, right on the sand, that I own debt free. Every musical instrument I could ever desire in my home studio. Plus, last year, I was able to gift my mom a house in Seattle—a cool two-story with a view of Puget Sound. And Colin’s got everything he could possibly want, too! So, at this point, there’s no amount of money that’s worth making any of us feel like we’re selling our souls—especially to a goddamned soda company. Colin knows how Daxy’s soul is wired! Also, that Dax’s mom, Louise, is a health nut who banned soda in her house for her five kids, and all their friends, growing up.

I look at Dax again, and it’s clear he’s feeling absolutely tortured about his decision. So, fuck it. I decide, this time, I’ll be the one who’s got Dax’s back. Leaning back in my chair, I say, “Sorry, guys. I know it’s a lot of money, but I’m just not feeling it. My vote is no.”

Now it’s Colin who flashes me a look that says, Really? But I don’t care what Colin thinks this time, to be honest, because the grateful smile Dax is flashing me in this moment is everything.

“Fish,” Colin says, looking annoyed. “Come on.”

I look at Dax pointedly. “Do you want to do this commercial, brother?”

Dax subtly shakes his head. But he says, “I will, though, if that’s what you both want to do.” His face brightens with an idea. He looks at Clive. “Hey, would Pepsi do the deal without me—with just Colin and Fish?”

It’s a ridiculous question with an obvious answer. But somehow Clive manages to keep a straight face while saying “No. Sorry. It has to be all three of you.” In truth, I’d bet anything Pepsi would do the deal with Dax alone. So, technically, it doesn’t have to be “all three of us.” But for purposes of this conversation, I don’t blame Clive for tweaking the truth a bit to spare Colin and me a bit of humiliation.

I shrug. “Then our answer will have to be no. I personally can’t stand the idea of shilling for Pepsi.” I look at Colin to find him glaring at me. “Aw, come on, man.” I swat his shoulder. “You know I’ve always been a Mountain Dew man.”

Colin rolls his eyes. “Mountain Dew is Pepsi, ya dumbass.”

“No. Mountain Dew is Coke.”

“Nope,” Colin says. “Pepsi owns Mountain Dew.”

I look at Dax. He nods and says, “Pepsi.”

“Oh. Well, whatever. Either way, no amount of money is worth getting my ass kicked by Momma Lou again. No, thanks.”

Colin can’t help himself. Despite his irritation with me, he chuckles at my inside joke. And that’s how I know my brother from another mother is going to be able to let this one go, without too big a fuss.

The inside joke I’ve just now invoked was a reference to the time Dax’s mom, Louise—Momma Lou—got pissed at me for smuggling Mountain Dew into her soda-free home. We three Goats were thirteen at the time. It was a few months after we’d first formed our band—known back then as “Dax Attack.” One night, we’d just finished rehearsing our first ever original banger in Dax’s garage. And at the end of our song, I was so pumped about how amazing we’d sounded on it, and how bright our musical futures surely were—we were going to become rock stars, yo!—I pulled out three cans of the bubbly green stuff from my backpack to celebrate. You know, like how an actual rock star might pull out a bag of blow or a bottle of Jack. Well, Dax turned down my illicit offering, since his momma’s soda ban had been clearly stated by then, given that Dax was the fifth child in his family. But Colin took my contraband offering, clinked my can with his, and proceeded to chugalug, right along with me . . . just as Momma Lou popped her head through the garage door to tell her darling son it was time for bed.

Well, shit.

When Louise Morgan’s sapphire eyes fixated on the can in Colin’s hand, he immediately pointed at me and shouted, “It was Fish!” Which, sidenote, birthed yet another lifelong joke. To this day, whenever anything goes wrong, Dax or Colin will point at me and shout that same refrain, even when I’m obviously an innocent bystander. But anyway, in that moment, Colin shouted, “It was Fish!”, causing Mrs. Morgan to beeline to me. “Matthew Fishberger,” she said on a fierce whisper. “That’s like putting carbonated battery acid into your growing body. Drink what you want at your own house, honey. But at mine, you need to respect my rules.”