The Real
I sat at my desk. “I have a crazy coworker.”
“I love my coworkers.”
“That’s because you screw them all. If you are calling me to go in on Mom’s birthday present, it’s too late. She already got it.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, shit. You’ll have to go online and pick something out all on your own.”
Oliver sighed. “Come on, help me out here. What does she need?”
“This woman gave birth to you. She needs a more in tune son. You can’t think of one thing to get her?”
“Help me out,” he begged. Oliver was shit at remembering anything. I was pretty sure electronics had alerted him to his own mother’s birthday.
“You better show up tonight,” I ordered.
“I can’t make it.”
“Richard Oliver Gorman, you aren’t missing her party. This is an important day for her. I’ve planned this thing for months. All of her old field crew is going to be there.”
“Then she won’t miss me.”
“You are a shit. You know that? Whoever she is you think is more important can wait on your beck and call list.”
“It’s not a woman.”
“We’re all busy, asshat. And I haven’t seen you in months. You want to give her a gift? How about your presence at her birthday party?”
“Fine, I’ll be there. You laid it on pretty heavy there, Miss Fix-It.”
“The only reason I have that job is because you’re the most irresponsible man ever born. How you got through med school is beyond me.”
“You really need to get out more instead of hanging out with that creepy old lady you rent your basement to,” Oliver chuckled.
“Don’t you dare insult Mrs. Zingaro. And I’ll have you know my social calendar is full at the moment.”
“Oh yeah?” His tone changed instantly. Oliver had always been protective, but even more so in the last year. In a moment of weakness, I’d confessed about Luke and that confession had kicked in some overprotective man gene. Though we sparred, more often than not, he never swayed on that front. Since Luke, he’d only gotten worse.
“Don’t worry, big brother. I’m being careful.”
“I need to meet him,” Oliver demanded.
“I just met him.”
“Has Bree?”
“Yes.”
“Fine, but if this lasts, I want an introduction.”
“If this lasts? Says the man who has a little black book full of virtue to destroy.”
“Black books are outdated too, sis. Gotta run. I’ll see you at eight.”
“The party starts at seven!” I said as he hung up on me.
Miss Fix-It. I hated that title, but as I sat back and looked at the skyline, I realized how true it was. I’d been that way my whole life. Always quick to try to figure out some solution, whether it be by numbers or something I could drum up to keep the peace. And the point was brought home as I powered through double my daily workload. That night on my walk home, I found myself searching the sea of faces on the streets of Wicker Park for the one I knew I could draw comfort from. It was inevitable that Cameron and I would run into each other eventually as neighbors. We’d be forced to break the rules, and the bounce in my step told me I was looking forward to it.