Page 4 of Seal the Deal
“I would, but I think Amanda can explain this better than I ever could. Besides, your brothers are likely to bust in here any minute, and I’m not sure this is something they should overhear.”
Andrew’s expression must reflect his growing sense of dread because Denise walks over and squeezes his hand. “It’s not bad.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better, Denise.”
“I know. I wish I could tell you more but?—”
“Denise, where are you holding my brother hostage?” Charlie bellows from somewhere close enough he’s going to make an appearance any second. “I can’t figure out how to tie this fucking tie.”
“Just come tonight. We’ll explain everything.”
“Sure,” Andrew says, plastering a smile on his face so she doesn’t worry. “Tonight.”
2ANDREW
“You sure youdon’t wanna stay and hang out with us tonight?” Charlie asks. “There’s plenty of room.”
Plenty of room is debatable. Despite the generous size, Charlie’s currently sprawled across three-quarters of his hideous lime green couch, with his head in Eden’s lap while his elderly cat Agnes sleeps on his chest. Birdie, his senior rescue dog, is curled up between his legs, taking up the rest of the couch. On the other side, one of Charlie’s cats who rarely tolerates people is crouched on the arm of the sofa near Eden, eying them all like she’s waiting for one wrong move to bolt. She seems to like Eden, but barely tolerates Andrew or Charlie.
“I can shove Charlie to the floor,” Eden offers, as if the lack of space on the couch might be the only reason he’s leaving.
He could tell them he’s going to dinner at Denise and Amanda’s, he does it sometimes for no reason other than they’re his friends. This is different though. This isn’t one of their catch up dinners where Andrew knows he’s going to enjoy a relaxing evening with two of his favorite women. Tonight is different, and that has Andrew on edge. Enough that he isn’t comfortable sharing the truth of where he’s heading with Charlie, despite them never keeping things from each other. Well, except forAndrew’s increasing meltdowns or his loneliness. Aside from that, he and Charlie tell each other everything.
Keeping this from Charlie feels like lying, and Andrew hates lying. But what he hates more than dishonesty is feeling exposed, and his need for self-preservation overrules any misgivings he has about directly hiding things from his twin.
“I’m just gonna go home and rest,” Andrew lies.
“Are you sure?” Eden asks, tapping his fingers on Charlie’s head. “I really wanted to push him off the couch.”
“You can shove me on the floor any time you want, baby.”
“Right,” Andrew says. “That’s my cue to leave.”
Charlie and Eden devolve into bickering—Andrew knows from experience will turn into something else soon—so he hurries to leave, wanting them to be free to enjoy their relationship bliss without dulling it for his benefit. It’s not their fault he doesn’t want to hear, or see, them being intimate.
Ignoring the tightness in his chest, Andrew makes his way to his car and starts the engine, sitting in the driveway for a solid fifteen minutes with the air conditioner blasting in his face and classical music playing on low through the stereo before he has the fortitude to start driving.
The drive across town isn’t long, but it’s long enough for Andrew to pull himself together by the time he’s parking along the curb of Denise and Amanda’s small bungalow. It’s been awhile since he made it to their house, and though the front with its well-maintained yard looks much the same, Andrew immediately notices a new hideous garden gnome sitting by the door. What had started as a gag gift from Amanda when Denise turned fifty has become more of a personality trait at this point. The entire front yard is dotted with an array of the creepy little men. The newest one—a lumberjack pride gnome—sits near the front door as if taunting Andrew with its odd muscled stomach and aggressive little flag.
“Hey, doll,” Denise says when the front door swings open. Her gaze follows Andrew’s, and she cackles. “Isn’t he great?”
“He’s interesting,” Andrew replies automatically.
“Interesting,” Denise snorts. “Tactful way of saying you hate it.”
“It just feels like it’s looking at me,” Andrew answers, eying the gnome warily as he steps into the house.
Though he’s still anxious, some of that fades as the door shuts behind him, and he’s met with the familiar, welcoming vibes of Denise and Amanda’s home. The house is small but tidy, a pink couch with floral pillows and a pastel green coffee table take up much of the living room. The rest of the house Andrew knows from past experience is equally feminine and cozy, the perfect mix of both Denise and Amanda. They have classical music playing softly in the background—Andrew’s preferred music not theirs. Denise likes jazz and Amanda likes female-driven folk, which means they’re playing it to relax him, but he doesn’t know why yet.
“Denise,” Andrew starts but she taps his back.
“Let’s head into the dining room. Amanda made lasagna. Are you hungry?”
“No,” Andrew answers, his nerves shot to shit as he steps into the dining room and sees the table set for four not three.
“What’s going on?” Andrew questions, digging his nails into the palm of his hand.
“Nothing bad,” Amanda says, waltzing into the room with bare feet, a messy bun and a loose floral sundress. She kisses Denise on her way past her, stopping in front of Andrew to offer him a glass of red wine.
