Gathered Up. Annabeth Albert

find on this coast. My tip for you today is to look for the local flavors wherever you are, and let your designs reflect what you find. Myself, I think I’ll be knitting something substantial with a hemp blend later. —Evren’s Yarnings

      “Brady! Morgan has more chicken nuggets.” Madison swung her feet back and forth on the battered blue chair she’d long ago claimed as her spot at dinner.

      “And you don’t! Nyah!” Morgan completed her taunt with waggling fingers in her ears and tongue out.

      “Madison. Morgan.” I slapped the bowl with the prepackaged salad down on the table. “You have the same amount. Madison, maybe tomorrow I’ll make you do the counting.”

      “Why does Madison get to count? I want to count!” Morgan’s hair escaped the half-hearted ponytail Renee had done that morning. Where Renee and I had Mom’s blue eyes and brown hair, the twins had Greg’s deep espresso eyes and kinky hair that defied all our attempts to keep it neat. Not that the ketchup mustaches were exactly helping the neatness factor.

      Lord deliver me. “We’ll take turns, okay? Everyone can count at dinner. But we all get the same amount. Please don’t argue about it.”

      “I wish we had like a zillion chicken nuggets.” Jonas’s dark eyes were wide with longing, too. At ten he was a bottomless pit, and my brain cramped just thinking about how expensive he was going to be to feed in the next few years. His feet were already almost the size of mine, and he’d have Greg’s height for sure. I took two chicken pieces from my plate and put them on his.

      “No fair!” Madison screeched, despite not having touched a piece herself.

      I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. In another universe, in another life, I was out with Ev right now, showing him my favorite brew pub, settling in for a nice talk, leaning in closer, laughing, working on this silly prejudice he had about bisexuals.…

      But instead I was in reality, in a cramped 1970s apartment that hadn’t been renovated since it was built and was notable only in the fact that it was off Alberta, walking distance to the kids’ school and walking or skateboarding distance to the People’s Cup. And they’d given us a lease, unlike Mom and Greg’s place, which had refused to let me take over the rental after they passed. I tried not to think too much about the sunny rental house off Killingsworth with the huge herb garden Mom loved and the basketball hoop where Greg and I would play twenty-one.

      Like Ev and Mira’s apartment, this place had a narrow galley kitchen ending in a small eating area, but where Mira’s was all white wood and homey cheer, ours was dark, with inadequate lighting and mismatched cabinetry. I did, however, do my best to put a hot meal on the table every night and get the kids to sit down with me and eat as a family on the nights when I didn’t work late. Mom had always been huge on dinner together; even as Renee and I got older and busier, she’d made sure we sat down with the family, and I wanted to try to give that to the kids.

      “You took my broccoli!” Morgan whined.

      “Guys. Just eat.” Try being the operative word.

      I usually tried to model good behavior for the kids at the table and not check my phone, but they were sorely testing my patience, so I snuck a peek under the table when it vibrated. There was a new message.

      You were right. The bison bacon burger is divine. It would be more delicious with a bit of conversation, though. And how is your dining?—Ev

      I smiled and hit a quick reply.

      Chicken nuggets with bickering siblings. Wouldn’t mind conversation beyond SpongeBob either.

      Later, while I was doing the dishes, another text came in.

      Now I am home with my new beer purchases. Which is your favorite ale?

      We texted back and forth a bit while I cleaned, talking beer and food. We had similar tastes in food—lots of meat with strong flavors, not into cheese-covered anything, and we were both picky about fries being done right. I liked finding out little details about him.

      Hold on. Gotta read the next chapter in Harry Potter three to the kids. Back in bit, I texted.

      Oh, I love that series. Do you do voices?

      Of course. Gotta do it right, I sent back.

      I wish a command performance, then.

      Yup. We were totally flirting. And I loved it. I read the chapter to the girls and Jonas. The girls shared the larger bedroom with Renee, while I shared the smaller one with Jonas. It wasn’t ideal, but the social worker had nixed the idea of anyone sleeping in the living room, even though a lot of nights, I ended up passed out on the couch anyway. If I won the barista contest, however, we could maybe get a three-bedroom apartment, so Renee could get her own room, or maybe even get a rental house so I could have privacy as well. That was the dream.

      “Can we read more?” Madison asked sleepily.

      “Tomorrow. I hope,” I said, kissing her head and guiding Jonas over to our room.

      It was always a toss-up whether we actually got the story time in, but I always felt a bit less like a fuck up when I put them to bed the way Mom had always tried to. After they were in bed and the kitchen was clean, I sorted laundry from the loads Renee had run at the coin-op in the basement of the buildings. I kept looking at my phone. Oh, screw it. I picked it up and hit Call.

      “Brady! I was just thinking about calling. But I didn’t want to wake the little ones.” Ev’s voice sounded sleepy and relaxed.

      A warm buzz shot through me like I’d had two of his beers. “They’re asleep now. And my phone’s always on vibrate. Just, you know, for future reference.”

      “I will indeed file that away.” I could almost hear him smiling over the phone. “And I’m enjoying a nice beer and some Pawn Stars—a pleasant break from Mira’s dramas.”

      “Oh man, I love that show. That and Storage Wars.” I flipped on the TV, lowered the volume. “Hey, it’s the one with the sword.”

      “Yes. I’m waiting for the part where they find out it’s a fake.” Ev chuckled. “I’ve no idea why I like this show, but I do. And yes, I like Storage Wars, too. Anything with auctions or antiques.”

      “Ditto.” I loved that we both liked the same crappy TV. “Mira get home safe?”

      “Yes, thank you. She was a bit tired, but not too bad. I made her go straight to bed. She came back with pretty nails, though, and it was lovely to see her smiling.”

      “You’re a good nephew,” I said as I balled up socks. “Is anyone else helping with her care?”

      Not that I knew a ton, but the few Turkish people I’d met all had large, involved extended families. Ev paused for a long time. “No. It is just us. It’s been that way since I was fourteen.”

      “Oh. I’m sorry.” I knew firsthand what a lousy expression that was, but I couldn’t think of what else to say. “Did your folks die, too?”

      “Not exactly.” There was a scritching sound, like Ev was rubbing his jaw. “We immigrated to the United States when I was twelve. But even in America, the Turkish community can be a bit…conservative. Our family especially, as my parents are devout and very rigid about things like homosexuality.”

      “Ah.” The picture became a lot clearer.

      “I was found kissing a school friend. And when I refused to apologize for my actions and wouldn’t accept…efforts to change my mind, I was sent to Mira.”

      “I’m glad you had her, then. She’s not conservative like the rest of the family?”

      Ev snorted. “Hardly. She was already the black sheep. She immigrated two decades before my parents. Did you know she had a lady friend for many, many years? It would have been before you were working at People’s Cup. She died about eight years ago. Lovely, lovely woman, my Hala Tanya.”

      “So