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Just like always, The Brooklyn Warehouse was so dark it’d be hard to read a menu. Lincoln had joked about it with Joseph the first time they’d been there. A way to keep the crowd young, said Joseph. The older generation wouldn’t put up with it.
Lincoln sat at the table they’d sat in every time they’d come, in the seat Joseph usually occupied. It faced out, so no one could come upon him unawares. The power position.
A young woman with strawberry blonde hair and a black flower tattoo below her clavicle approached Lincoln and took his order. Ten minutes later and twenty minutes early, Joseph sauntered in, wearing a casual outfit of jeans and a collared shirt that probably cost at least two hundred and fifty dollars. His eyes flickered with annoyance and shock at the sight of Lincoln, then settled into an easy smile, his boardroom smile.
“Hey, there. Someone’s early.”
“Take a seat.” Lincoln gestured to the chair across from him.
Joseph’s chin twitched slightly as he sat. He leaned back. “How’s your friend? Kali, is it? Her vision any better?”
“No.”
“Ahh, too bad.” Joseph cleared his throat. “You know, I didn’t mention it last time, but I kind of like that hair style on you. It’s rugged. Works with your current clothing choices, anyway.”
Lincoln pressed his lips together and murmured something incomprehensible, even to himself.
“Well,” Joseph’s smile broadened then wavered, “seems like you want to get down to business. Should we order a drink?” He turned to signal a server just as the waitress with the flower tattoo laid a plate in front of Lincoln. “You ordered food?”
Lincoln picked up his knife and fork. “We weren’t supposed to meet for twenty minutes. I’m hungry. And a twenty minute meeting doesn’t exactly allow time for a meal.”
“Can I get you anything?” The server asked Joseph.
He stared at Lincoln. “A Stella.”
“Anything to—”
“Just the Stella.” Joseph turned to the waitress. “Thank you.”
Lincoln savoured his first bite. It was incredible. Pork chops with aged cheddar, a combination he never would have thought of. He took several more bites then swallowed. “So, what is this? Something with the shares?”
Joseph’s brows raised. “The shares? No. Nothing like that.”
“What, then?”
“I wanted to talk to my brother.”
Lincoln pierced another piece of meat. “Do you still think that title is appropriate?”
“We’ll always be brothers. Nothing can change that.”
Lincoln added some cornbread to his fork and placed the combo in his mouth.
“You know Lucy’s pregnant.” Again. The word hung between them, unsaid. Pregnant again.
Lincoln nodded and swallowed.
“And you know we’re getting married.”
“Hmm.”
Joseph rested an arm on the table. “The when has been a challenge. Lucy keeps going back and forth between whether she wants the wedding before or after the baby. Before, so we’ll be married before the child’s born. After, so she can look fabulous in a dress and pictures.”
Lincoln took another bite.
“She’s already showing quite a bit, so we’ve come to a decision. She wants the big wedding. Needs the big wedding. And it wouldn’t be a bad idea for the company, either, invite a lot of the big wigs, make them feel special.”
The waitress set Joseph’s drink down in front of him as he nodded his thanks. “So we’re going to have a small ceremony, just family, a handful of friends. Then maybe five or six months after the baby we’ll have the big shindig.”
Lincoln took another bite.
“And we want you to be there.”
“For the big wigs? Don’t most of them know I’ve been cast off?”
“What? No. I mean, yes, sure, we’d love to have you there. But for the real wedding. The small one. I always thought you’d stand with me. It’s what brothers do.”
“Not brothers who sleep with, then marry, their brother’s girlfriend.”
Joseph stared at Lincoln. “Okay. I deserve that.” He took a long draught of his Stella. “And I get that this probably sounds ludicrous to you, but there’ll come a time when this will all be behind us. I think you’d regret not being there.”
“Do you?”
“Lincoln.”
“What?” Lincoln’s leg bounced. He wanted to get up, leave—his fist clenched—but not before punching Joseph in the face. “Why are you even here? Why do you care if I’m in your wedding?”
“You’re my brother.”
“A fact you should have thought of before sleeping with my girlfriend.”
“I know.”
“Then why did it happen? How did it happen? I got a lot of it out of Lucy, but I want your side. That night. That first night, when you offered to drive her home, was it simply because you wanted to take her away from me? Too beautiful for your little brother? You needed a taste?”
“What?”
“And when you were so insistent on me moving to Montreal, how much of that was about her? You couldn’t find your own woman? Though I know you could. You’ve never had any trouble getting whatever woman you wanted. So why her too?”
“Wait, wait.” Joseph put his hands on the table. “Nothing started between Lucy and me until long after you were in Montreal. At least a year.”
“Bullshit. The family dinner. The first family dinner, you knew how excited I was about bringing her home, showing her off, but I was sick and had to leave early, so you offered to drive her home, let her stay and get to know the family better.”
“Yes, but—”
“She told me how you walked her to her door, told her how beautiful she was, joked that maybe she was with the wrong brother.”
“Well, okay, but I was joking. Really. I never thought. I never—”
“Then you took her in your arms. Very romantic how she tells it. Very passionate, the way you kissed her, the way you tried to get her to open the door. But she stopped you.”
“No.”
“Are you saying you stopped it?”
“No.” Joseph leaned forward. “I walked her to the door. I joked ... I can’t remember quite what, maybe something like that. Then I left. We didn’t kiss. I thought she was beautiful, yes. But—”
Lincoln put down his cutlery and leaned forward. “Why lie, now, when it doesn’t even matter?”
Joseph shook his head. “Exactly. Why lie now?” He looked to the wall beside them, silent, then turned back to Lincoln. “She told you that? She told you it started then?”
Lincoln assessed Joseph, sitting there, from all appearances truly perplexed. He knew his brother. Or thought he’d known him, thought he could tell when he was lying or telling those half lies; he used to joke about them when Lincoln would catch him sneaking in late at night or find him in the woods behind the house with a joint. Half lies. Little lies, that Lincoln always saw through. But he’d never suspected Joseph and Lucy. Not once. So maybe he didn’t know his brother as well as he thought.
Lincoln spoke slowly. “That’s what she said.”
“So you thought ...” Joseph shook his head again. “All those years.” He rubbed a hand through his hair. “She said—”
“She said you two started writing after that. At first a text here or there, then an email. She said you suggested she start putting Montreal in my ear.”
“No.” Joseph held his hands up and shook them in front of him. “No. Absolutely not. I had no contact with Lucy between the night of the dinner and when you two moved to Montreal. None.”