Walking through the foyer, we head into the wide-open kitchen where my sister is mixing up a salad, a red apron wrapped around her. Her head pops up as we walk in, a smile splitting on her face.

“Hey, little bro. How you holding up?”

My sister is four years older than me, but tiny. Just like our mom was. She’s barely five foot three, whereas her brute of a husband is easily six foot five. They look hilarious side by side. She has the same brown eyes as me, and her black hair is long and straight, tied up in a ponytail currently.

“It got even better. I ran into him midday at the vending machines and tried to mend the tense air and managed to make it so much worse. He hates me.”

Her piercing eyes swim with concern as she wipes her hand on her apron, walking over to me, and taking my hands. “Stone, can you really blame him? As far as he knows, you left without a second thought after telling him how you felt and telling him you were leaving your wife.”

My mouth drops open to protest, but she talks over me. “Of course, that’s not what happened, but he doesn’t know that. He isn’t a mind reader, honey.”

“I know. It’s just the thought of him hating me was much easier when I didn’t have to face him. Seeing the hurt in his eyes, the anger, it fucking gutted me, Mol.”

Julian walks up, handing me a glass with three fingers of whiskey. “You look like you could use this.”

“Thanks,” I reply, tossing back a swig. The burn feels good sliding down my throat.

“Have you told Corrine about him yet?” Molly asks, heading back toward the food.

“No, I haven’t had a chance. I meet with her tomorrow, though, and plan to.”

“That’s smart. She’ll probably have solid advice for you. An outsider’s opinion. Unbiased.”

Julian and I shoot the shit for the next thirty minutes before dinner is done. We all sit at their dining room table, dishing up, and digging in. Monday nights are always dinner nights here with them. When I moved here five years ago, I stayed with them while I got back on my feet. Then, when I moved into my own place, we designated Mondays as a family dinner night.

“So, what’s new with you two?” I ask, shoveling a huge bite of lasagna into my mouth. My sister makes the best homemade lasagna.

“Not much in my corner,” my sister says. “We have a new doctor at work, but that’s about it. She seems nice.” Molly is a neonatal nurse at a private practice here in Lubbock.

“That’s awesome, Mol. What about you, Julian?”