Someday Maybe by Ophelia London

laughed and gazed past me into the restaurant. “You’re the one who’s worried, Rach. I’ve been looking forward to this for months.” He was grinning when he looked down at me, but it dissolved, maybe sensing that I was stress-sweating under my clothes and that my stomach was tied in a very complicated sailor’s knot. “Hey, hey, it’ll be fine, seriously.” He pressed his lips to my temple. “Don’t worry, sweet pea.”
    It shouldn’t have surprised me that the guys got along, had typical guy things in common. They were only three years apart, though Roger always seemed like a “grown-up” rather than a peer. I wanted them to get along—I did. Two of the most important men in my life. But the stress-sweating kept up all through dinner.
    Right as we agreed to order dessert, Roger scooted his plate and glass away, folded his arms on the table, and leaned forward. “So, tell me, Oliver.” There was a slight clench to his jaw, the first hint of aggression all night. “What are your plans for the future?”
    “Rog,” I said, squirming in my seat. “What happened to your promise of no pressure?” Though, secretly, I’d been wondering this same question for months.
    My brother didn’t move his eyes from Oliver. “Can’t he answer for himself?”
    “ Roger .”
    “Rach.” Oliver touched my knee under the table. “It’s cool. He’s in big brother mode now.” He moved his eyes from me to Roger. “I respect that.” Then he cleared his throat and spoke of his plan to lifeguard back home over the summer, and of a job his uncle had waiting for him with his construction company.
    Evidently, Roger had been holding back during dinner, because he went on to question Oliver about everything, from his still-undeclared major to his student loans. I couldn’t pretend those issues didn’t irk me, too, but I wouldn’t voice that in front of Roger. I’d never really voiced it to Oliver, either.
    My brother wasn’t letting it go, though, and the tension of not being able to help was unbearable. I had to do something to get him off Oliver’s back.
    “You should probably know, Roger,” I interrupted when I couldn’t take it anymore. “We’re moving in together next year.”
    Oliver did a double take at me. “We are?”
    “Yes.” I nodded, glancing at him first, then glaring at my brother. There was no way he would call my bluff.
    Roger actually chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “Did you tell Dad?”
    I huffed. “It’s no one else’s business.”
    “So, that’s a no.”
    I was ready to bare my teeth and go for his throat, protection instinct kicking in, and more than a little sibling annoyance.
    “Rach,” Oliver said, slipping a tiny bottle of lavender oil into my hand. “Why don’t you take a walk?”
    “I’m not leaving you with him.”
    He laughed under his breath and glanced across the table. “I swear not to throw the first punch if he promises the same.”
    The first smile in a half hour crossed my brother’s face. “Deal.” He nodded toward the courtyard. “Give us a minute, Rach.”
    I glanced back and forth at them; both of their expressions were eerily blank, so I gave up. “Okay.” After coating my pressure points in lavender, I made exactly one loop around the parking lot then returned to the dining room. Neither guy was smiling anymore, but I didn’t notice any blood, either. I took that as a good sign. Oliver was on his feet by the time I got back to the table.
    “If I don’t hear from you this week,” Roger said to me, “I’ll see you next Sunday at breakfast.” He nodded at Oliver. “Wentworth.”
    “See ya,” Oliver said. “Thanks for dinner.”
    “You’re welcome.” Rog leaned back in his chair and had his phone out, paying no further attention to us.
    “Um, bye,” I said.
    Oliver clasped my hand and had to pull me away from the table. “I only wish we could do that every night,” he said the second we were outside the restaurant.
    “What