Dream Keeper (Dream Team 4)

Not incidentally, Mom was still putting me off. I’d phoned, texted, reached out to both Dad and Saffron, offered to meet her for coffee, lunch, whatever she wanted.

It was Saffron who said they’d be in touch about the prayer circle and asked if I’d heard anything about Birch.

I had prevaricated about Birch and the prayer circle.

This had caused Saffron to woman-pout, which meant she hadn’t picked up a call or returned a text since. And that had happened on Wednesday.

Such was dealing with my family.

Which led me to fortifying myself with a good long journaling session (that included me listing more than three things I was grateful for, but Auggie was in my life, so that came easy) and a cup of my favorite tea.

I sat cross-legged dead center of the couch.

And I called my brother.

I was a nervous wreck.

He answered on the third ring, “Yeah?”

“Birch?”

A hesitation, then, “Who’s this?”

“It’s Pepper.”

Silence.

“Birch, listen—”

“How did you get this number?”

Uh…

That was it?

Twelve years I hadn’t spoken to him and it was How did you get this number?

“Birch—”

“Pepper, how’d you fuckin’ get my cell number?” he demanded.

“Mom’s got cancer.”

Another silence, longer, far more loaded.

“Birch—”

He again cut me off.

“Bet they’re not doin’ dick. Bet they’re dousin’ her with holy water or some shit and watchin’ her waste away.”

He wasn’t far off.

“They tried treatment,” I told him. “It didn’t work.”

“Well, fuckin’ A. There is a God. ’Cause that’s a miracle.”

“Birch—”

Again, he interrupted me.

“So, what? They want you to get in touch with me to ask me to fuck a goat covered in sheep’s blood or some shit and then they’ll use my cum as some sort of miracle ointment?”

Ho…

Lee.

Hell.

I mean, I’d noted the reasons I wasn’t fond of my family’s church.

But they’d never been that weird.

“I moved out when I was eighteen,” I informed him curtly. “I’m not in the church. I haven’t been for ten years. But I still keep in touch with our family. And please remember, you’re talking to your sister so maybe keep your cum out of it.”

“You moved out?”

“The minute I could. But now, I’m twenty-eight, so of course. Still, you know me. Or you did. You think I’d stay?”

He went quiet again.

I didn’t fill the silence that time.

Until he said, “Listen, Pepper—”

But I was through with my big brother.

And I shared that.

“No, see, the thing is, I have a man in my life who’s obviously also a son and he doesn’t get along great with his parents, including his mom, but he told me he’d want to know if she was sick. And I thought, my brother, Birch, was a great brother. He tried to be a good son, but they didn’t make it easy on him. But he was a great brother. And he’d probably want to know. So now you know. And you can do what you want with it. They built a new church. It’s big. It’s probably got a website. If you want to get in touch with them, Dad’s still a deacon. Call the church. And have a good life, Birch.”

“Pepper!” he bit.

But I hung up.

And I didn’t block him.

But I didn’t answer when he called back three times.

Because…

Twelve years since he’d left me with them, and all that happened in between, and it was how did you get this number and some bullshit about his cum?

Fuck that.

* * *

“So, fuck that.”

Yep.

That was what I announced to Auggie, standing by the stairs in my hall after I’d barely let him in my house to pick me up to take me out to dinner that night.

He’d given me a “Hey” and a sexy look.

I had not tackled him.

No.

I’d launched in about my call to Birch.

“Okay, honey, it’s done,” Auggie replied. “Over. You did the right thing and now it’s his to do with whatever he’s gonna do with it.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

And then I burst into tears.

I was in Auggie’s arms and a few seconds later we were sitting on my couch and I was nearly in his lap.

Still bawling.

“God, I can’t have puffy eyes and dance,” I snapped, pulling away (but not too far away, Auggie smelled good and felt better). I did this so I could swipe at my face.

“We’ll get you a cold cloth when you’re done.”

“Is my makeup a mess?”

He didn’t answer.

It was a mess.

“Shit!” I hissed, moving to push away from him so I could hit the powder room and fix my face.

“Babe,” he called, grabbing both my wrists so I couldn’t get away.

I stopped moving and looked at him.

“Cry. Shout. Throw shit. I don’t care,” he invited. “You’re dealing with some serious heavy.”

I totally was.

“I like you,” I blurted.

His head jerked with surprise, then his lips tipped up at the ends.

“I hope so, because I like you too.”

“What I mean is, I’m together. Juno and me, we have it going on. Normally, I’m totally laidback. With it. But you’re not seeing that. I don’t want you to think, you waited so long, now we’re doing this, and I’m a mess. Crying. Ranting. Freaking. My family’s in a cult. My ex is a douchebag. My brother is a felon and a wife beater. I’m not perfect. But I’m also not this.”