Out of Focus (Love in LA #3)

Maeve cocks her head to the side, squinting at me.

“Yep,” Charlie answers. “See ya.”

When I look back at Arthur, he’s got his arms crossed and a shit-eating grin on his face. “Damn, brother. So that’s the one, huh?”

“The one? What? What are you going on about?” I wave my arms around, and my brother laughs. Asshole.

“Charlie. Your Charlie. The Charlie. She’s the one,” he states blankly.

“Pfft. You don’t know what you’re saying.” For some weird reason, my limbs feel tingly.

“All right. You deny it all you want.” He raises his hands, palms up in surrender, but I know the motion is meaningless.

“Did you breathe in too much ammonia cleaning up horse shit?” I feel my brows tighten, and blood rushes to my face at his accusation.

“The hearts in your eyes are giving you away, little brother.” He pats me on the shoulder and turns to walk into a stall.

“Art,” I call out to him, “you’re coming for lunch, right?” I shoot for nonchalance in my tone, but there’s a hint of desperation there. He hasn’t talked to our dad in months. No one knows what the hell happened.

“Nice try, bro.” He waves at me without even looking back. It was worth a shot, I guess.

22/

have you finally boned yet?

rafael

I walk through the front door quietly, my presence not yet known because everyone is so loud they couldn’t possibly hear anything outside of the kitchen, where I’m sure they’re all gathered. I stand at the threshold, taking it in. My little sister, the youngest of us six, is in what looks to be a heated argument, but it’s likely just a discussion about a soccer game with my dad.

My mom and Vó are at the island, prepping something. Marcelo, Gustavo, and Gabriel are just outside the door at the grill, munching on whatever they’re cooking and laughing with beers in their hands.

Arthur should be here. I hate that he isn’t, and I hate that he insinuated there’s anything between me and Charlie. I don’t know what the fuck he thinks he saw, but I’m not about to ask him, either.

The three idiots who were just at the grill walk into the kitchen, forcing the attention onto me. A chorus of cheers erupts in the room as they see me, arms thrown in the air in our family’s typical dramatic fashion.

Shaking my head, I walk toward the two oldest women to greet them first, because I know what’s good for me. Then, I pull Daniela into a hug, lifting her off the floor as my dad laughs at her screeches.

My dad greets me with open arms. “Oi, filho.” I kiss his cheek and take a few seconds to hug him before the three stooges are on me, throwing punches and handing me a beer.

“Fora!” Vó shoos us, telling us to take it outside. I blow her a kiss as she shakes her head, smiling down at the limes she’s cutting.

“Kiss ass,” Gustavo says under a fake cough, and the other two snicker like children. Gus ruffles up my hair as if I’m the younger brother. “Just messin’ with ya, bro. You’re everybody’s favorite because you’re so perfect. And rich.” He laughs.

“Oh, shut up, Gus. You’re the favorite because you’re the baby.” Marcelo smacks him in the back of the head then runs away.

“Shut up, asshole. Daniela is the baby!” Our two brothers chase one another into the backyard, eventually ending up tangled up on the ground just like they always have since we were children.

“Yeah, but you act like the baby,” Marcelo yells as Gus gets him in a headlock. I love these dumbasses.

Gabriel, the quietest of all of us, chuckles into his beer bottle before taking a swig. “Idiots,” he mumbles. “I’m the favorite, obviously.” We both laugh, and I tap his beer bottle with mine. Cecilia is nowhere to be found, so she must be with her mom today. It’s one of Gabriel’s ex-wife’s power moves, making sure their daughter is with her when we have family meals. Like she gets some weird joy out of keeping her away from us. She’s the worst. My brother deserves so much better, and so does my sweet little niece. Our whole family does.

None of my siblings are adopted. Just me. And yet, you’d never know it. I’ve never been treated differently. It wasn’t until Gus, at age nine, asked our parents why their skin was a bit darker than mine that they sat us down and finally talked about everything. I was fifteen the day my whole world changed. Nothing was different on the outside. Not the way my siblings wrestled with me, not the way my mom nagged me about leaving clothes on the floor, not the way my dad showed up to every soccer game. Nothing but the knowledge in my mind and in my heart that I wasn’t theirs, and yet, they chose me and continue to choose me.

A lot fell into place for me, then, too. Why I was the only one with dyslexia and ADHD, why my siblings have some form of my mom’s birthmark on their bodies, why the brown in their eyes were more hazel or green than my simply brown ones.

“Do you think he’s ever going to come back?” Gabe asks. He misses Art the most. They’re only a year apart, then there’s another year between Gabe and me. People used to think that our parents didn’t understand the concept of birth control because they had two kids under two when they “had” me. They always wanted a lot of kids, though, and somehow, they didn’t hesitate when the opportunity to adopt me came up.

Gabe’s eyes stay glued on the three different types of meat he’s got on the grill, but I don’t have to see them to know they’re probably watery right now. We’re a family of huggers, criers, and talkers. We were raised by strong women who taught us to be the adults we are now, and a soft dad who showed us that tears are not a weakness. They’re not perfect people, but they know how to apologize, how to talk things out, and how to change for the ones they love. I couldn’t have chosen better parents.