Finley
I had anticipated one or likely two little boys keeping me from sleeping in this morning, so I’m not too bothered by music waking me up. I roll over in bed, glancing at the clock: 7:10 a.m. Definitely not too early for Connor and Braden to be up. Especially on the day of their birthday party—something that has become a neighborhood affair around here.
I toss back the covers and venture out to the living room to see the twins seated on either side of Eddie on the piano bench. I lean against the doorframe and watch Eddie’s fingers fly over the keys—he wasn’t kidding when he said he was a piano player. The music book opened in front of him is one of my dad’s favorites—Broadway Belter’s Songbook. He’s helped tons of actors land musical roles with these songs over the years, even some who were less than stellar singers.
Conner and Braden are, in fact, belting out the lyrics to “Maybe This Time” while Eddie plays along. Eddie’s wearing a bewildered look, but he smiles when he glances over his shoulder and spots me. He lightens his touch on the keys and asks, “Is this too loud? Your dad is still sleeping, right?”
“He’ll wake up to his favorite song,” I say with a shrug, not wanting to explain that my dad has probably been up for at least two hours. It takes him that long just to use the bathroom and get showered and dressed in the morning, but I know he wouldn’t want me to explain that to Eddie.
Eddie returns to playing at full volume while my brothers continue to sing. The longer I stand there, the more animated all three of them become—even Connor, who often uses music as his excuse to speak—and the more I’m laughing.
“Why do they know this song?” Eddie shouts to me.
Dad wheels in and answers, “Because it’s in their blood.”
I roll my eyes. “Because they’ve been force-fed show tunes since birth and aren’t allowed to listen to the radio.”
“It pays the bills, right?” Dad flashes me a grin and then moves closer to Eddie. “You sing too?”
“As little as possible,” Eddie says, and my dad laughs.
Dad flips pages in the Broadway Belter’s Songbook and thus begins a testosterone-fueled show tune jam session. I watch for several minutes, surprised by how at ease Eddie now seems in front of a piano compared to around my dad last night. After a way too loud rendition of “Everything’s Coming Up Roses,” I retreat to the kitchen to make breakfast. The songs continue on and off for a couple hours until my grandma comes over from next door to get the party food ready and the boys are too wired to stay inside any longer.
“Don’t go in the pool until I get out there!” I shout at Braden when he nearly plows me over while I’m carrying their Star Wars cake.
Eddie brushes up behind me. “You know, if you give directions using a negative, they only hear ‘go in the pool.’”
I stop my life-saving quest to turn and look at Eddie. “Who are you, Dr. Phil?”
“Everyone knows that rule.” He flashes me one of his cheeky grins and opens the sliding glass door so I can put the cake outside.
I’m about to tell him exactly what I think of his little rule when my foot catches on the step, and the cake slides from my arms.
My heart jumps up to my throat, but a pair of familiar hands reach out and steady both me and the box. My gaze travels up until it lands on my preppy, polo shirt–wearing ex. My stomach knots, and I’m stuck staring at him and working through too many non-Summer-approved lines in my head until I finally settle on, “Hey…”