Chapter 1: Wednesday-5
850 Words
Matt
“Chicken’s fine, Jakey. Real good.” Brian smacked his lips appreciatively.
Jake shrugged and added salt to his food. This was one of Matt’s favorite parts of his day. Ever since he could remember his uncle had insisted they have dinner at the table and reconnect at the end of the day. Up until they’d stumbled head first into adolescence. Then all bets had come off during weekends. But for the most part their weekday dinner tradition had withstood the test of time, and they all enjoyed it. Most of the time.
“I need the car this Friday,” Matt said.
“What for?” Brian asked.
“I want to see an art flick in West Hollywood.”
“Forget it.”
“I’m the only one of my friends who has a car.”
Brian eyed him over the chicken. “It’s the first senior year party.” Brian smirked. “Not that you’d know. I’m taking the Camaro,” he said.
“Why do you just get to decide, though?” Matt asked.
“Because I’m the oldest. Tell him Jakey.”
“I’m not telling him anything.”
Matt tried hard not to get annoyed at times like these. Brian was older by a mere seventeen minutes, but it might as well have been three years according to his brother. He looked at his uncle.
“I already see where this is going,” Jake said. “And the answer is no. I actually need my car this Friday.”
Matt deflated. But this was still a curious turn of events. “Why?” Matt asked.
“I’m meeting someone.”
Both he and Brian leveled their uncle with a stare.
“What? I’m allowed.” Jake challenged them with a stare in return. He lowered his eyes, poked a piece of chicken, and lifted it to his plate.
His uncle had hardly ever gone on a date during the time they were old enough to remember. It wasn’t on purpose, Matt was sure, but it just turned out that way. There had been other things on his mind these past twelve years, he supposed. Jake was surgically removing the chicken from his fork.
“Is he a top at least?” Brian asked eventually.
His uncle ignored the question and swallowed his chicken.
“Why do you always have to slap a label on everything?” Matt asked. “Why can’t he just be?”
“Hey I’m just looking out for Jakey…”
“Enough,” Jake said.
“Do we know him?” Matt asked.
“He’s handsome,” Jake deflected. “A bit dominating I guess.”
“Maybe you need to be dominated a bit?” Matt raised an eyebrow. Lord knew his uncle deserved a bit of his own happiness. He was only thirty-four, not dead yet by any measure.
Anyone else might have cringed about talking so openly at the dinner table about s*x, but they’d always grown up in a very candid and open household, so there was no beating around the bush.
“Maybe,” Jake conceded. “It’s irrelevant at this stage, though. It’s just a date, if that. Besides, Henry and I are just drinking buddies.”
“Is that what you kids are calling it these days?” Brian said.
“It’s kind of fitting,” Matt added.
“When did this conversation denigrate into gutter talk?”
“It’s not my fault I grew up in a house filled to the brim with bottoms,” Brian said helplessly. “Speaking of which. You might think about picking your tongue up off the floor when that James kid walks by,” his brother continued. He had that annoying glint in his eye that reared its ugly head whenever he wanted to grate Matt’s soul, or until he lost interest again. “You never could rock the drooling puppy look.”
Jake raised an eyebrow at Brian, thankful at the shift of the spotlight.
Traitor.
“What?” Matt said to his brother.
“I could see your woody sticking out above the heads of the seniors this morning, soon as he stumbled on stage.”
“Who’s this now?” Jake asked with interest.
“No one,” Matt said.
“Although,” Brian continued, eyeing Matt. “I’m not sure how the hookup would work, seeing as you’re both obviously screaming bottoms.”
“Goddammit, Brian. Quit it already.” Matt’s eyes contracted into a scowl contract his eyebrows, and his brother seemed even more amused.
“What did I tell you, Brian?” Jake said.
“I’m just saying,” Brian continued, “put two bottoms in a room together and what you have is a slumber party. You going to braid each other’s hair?”
Matt tried to control his breathing, although he was getting pissed off. Brian was only after a reaction from him, and damned if he wasn’t going to get one. “I know I shouldn’t, Jakey,” he looked at Brian, “but I can’t resist.”
“Whatever it is you’re thinking of saying, don’t.” His uncle sounded weary.
“But it was so good I nearly went into a sugar coma.”
“What are you talking about?” Brian asked.
“I heard from my sports reporter you took a tumble on the field this afternoon.”
Brian’s fork stopped midair. He placed his chicken back on the plate and picked up his water instead, trying to seem unfazed, but failing.
“What’s this?” Jake said.
“Then,” Matt continued, “you tried, rather unsuccessfully, to beat a guy up about it to save face.”
“You were in a fight?”
“No.” Brian kept his eyes on Matt, never wavering.
Matt knew when to rein it in, he recognized the signs. Damned if he could pass up an opportunity to get under his brother’s skin.
“And then got sent off the field by Coach.”
Brian’s palms slapped the tabletop, knocking over his and Jake’s glasses as his chair scraped against wood. “That’s it, you little fucker. You better run b***h!”
Matt was already making his way up the stairs. “Stay away from me, shitbag!” he shouted, followed by a slamming door in the distance and a loud kick against paneling.
“Boys!” Jake exclaimed but it fell on two sets of deaf ears.
And that marked the end of another meal in the Walker house.
- Writer
