28. Juliana

TWENTY-EIGHT

JULIANA

Nothing tops a thin-crust Margherita pizza, especially not one from Vinny's Corner.

Nestled in the heart of downtown Brooklyn, Vinny's just screams homey vibes, right down to its warm cherry-oak walls, traditional ceiling fans, overhead Tiffany lamps, red-and-white checkered tablecloths, and dozens of family photos hanging from the walls.

Family owned since 1935, the business shows no signs of slowing down. Luckily, we beat the lunch rush and snagged a booth.

"Good Lord, Jeremy, slow down. You're going to choke." Mom shakes her head, watching him scarf down a huge slice of an extra-large meat lovers' pizza, which he ordered all for himself. I swear, we haven't had our food for longer than five minutes, and his pizza's almost gone.

"Sorry," he mumbles through a mouthful of food, prompting more head shakes as he finishes the crust and immediately swipes another slice. "I'm starving. I just got done working out."

I snicker, glancing at his sweaty gym clothes. "Yeah, no need to explain. We can smell you just fine."

A grin marks his lips, but they have no time for a retort—only chewing. And that's precisely what they do for the next two minutes straight, until not a single slice remains. Not that I'm surprised. It's a known fact Jeremy was born with an extra stomach. He's like a vacuum, or a human garbage disposal.

I gesture toward his tray. "Don't let those crumbs go to waste."

His gaze drifts to Mom and I's pizza.

"Oh, nonono. Not a chance." I nudge our tray away from him. "You're the one with the big Silicon Avenue tech job. I think you can manage buying yourself another round."

Sinking into the booth, he groans, "No way. I'm tapped out," and pats his stomach, as if bloated, when I know there's nothing but rock-hard abs underneath that would remain intact, whether he ate an entire second pizza or not. Just another Jeremy Brooks fun fact—he's an athletic freak. Guess those genes skipped a sibling.

Mom laughs at our typical banter, then looks at Jeremy. "So, besides your day-to-day with work and such, how's my son? Have you been hanging out with your friends—Kyle, Jonah, and all them?"

He nods. "Yep. The same crowd, as always. Although Hayden's been a bit dodgy these past few weeks."

Oh, no.

I squirm in my chair, praying to the heavens my face isn't redder than our marinara sauce. I thought for one day, just one lunch, I could expel Hayden from my mind. It's one thing, secretly fake dating your brother's best friend, but it's a whole other ball game to be staring him right in the face, after semi-doing the dirty deed on a penthouse terrace not even two weeks ago.

No wonder Hayden's been ghosting him.

Mom swipes a napkin across her lips, swallowing down her food. "Huh, weird. That's so unlike him. Maybe he's—"

"He's sick," I spit out, but regret it the instant both their gazes lock onto me

Jeremy arches a brow. "How do you know that?"

Dammit, dammit—what the hell was I thinking?!

"Oh, uhh..." I clear my throat, trailing my eyes across the wall of photos, as if the Vinny family might lend me a hand. "I mean, he's probably sick, would be my best guess. You know, there's a terrible flu going around."

Flu season, in the summer? those little devils cackle in my ear. Are you trying to blow your cover?

"You're probably right. I think one of my co-workers just had that." I let loose a breath when Jeremy shrugs, only to suck it right back in when I catch Mom giving me a smirk, her eyes glistening with secrets.

"Anyhoo." I laugh, cringing when it sounds forced, then quickly change the subject before Mom asks any questions. "How was that Vegas tech conference? I haven't gotten to hear about it yet."

His eyes light up. Bingo.

"It was awesome. Even better than last year's conference. I met tons of people in the industry, from all over the world, some who also work on Silicon Avenue, so that was cool. Listened to all the panels and guest speakers. They saved Innovex's new microchip unveiling for last—that was huge. I didn't think they could top their Nano-x's processing speeds, but they did. That company's releasing chips like hot cakes. Oh, and there was this new..."

I smile, listening to his rambles. His passion emanates every new story, and I wonder if this is how I sound to other people while explaining my own job. Not the coffee shop barista position, but the one I've poured my heart and soul into since freshman year of college.

It's... refreshing, hearing it from the other end. Although I'm a programmer in the tech industry, that's as far as I'm able to relate to Jeremy's job, aside from the very basic sense of physics I had to learn for my game. He may be a programmer, too, but he's skilled in much lower-level, more archaic languages that look like alien script even to my own eyes.

So, as much as I'm able, I ask him technical questions, genuinely curious of his insights, all while Mom's smile grows bigger and bigger in my peripheral, bursting with pride.

When our conversation dies out, she turns her attention onto me. "What about you, sweetheart? How's work been?"

Grimacing, I gulp down my Orange Fanta, for once wishing it was spiked with alcohol. "Oh, you know, the usual. Some lady dumped her latte on the floor yesterday—intentionally. Made a whole scene, saying I got her order wrong, which I didn't."

Mom's nose wrinkles in disgust. "What did your manager do about that?"

"Meghan?" I don't hold back my sour laugh. "Nothing, of course, besides making me apologize, give her a free latte, and mop up the floors."

"She's just useless, isn't she?"

"Uh, huh... Mei, on the other hand, she would've put that woman on a gurney, had I not held her back. She's like a Pitbull."

Mom snickers. "I had a friend like that once, growing up. They're good to keep close. Much better than being stuck with a lazy, grade A-hole boss, because boy, have I sure had those, too... Anyways"—she leans forward, curiosity shining beneath her stare—"tell me about your real work. How've sales been? Have you noticed an increase since the new feature?"

I'll never get over hearing my Mom talk about video games—well, just about mine. She sure as hell hasn't ever spoken about any others, let alone played another in her life. She's as far from techie as a person can be, which always has me wondering how she ended up with the likes of an electrical engineer and an indie game dev for children.

Go figure.

I'm about to answer honestly, that sales have improved since the feature launched, not by a ton, but a steady increase. In essence, I'm chuggin' along. That is, until Elias's little remark weasels its way into my head and torches all my hopes to ash.

I'm having a hard time believing this game will appeal to a wide audience...

His words stab right through my heart, just as they did after my presentation. Yet, another thing I tried to keep from today's lunch, but his doubts about my game haven't left my mind since, so why would they disappear now? Life's never that convenient.

It's not like he's my first-ever critic, either. I've had plenty. Friends I thought were friends, random internet trolls, genuine enthusiasts who just simply didn't like the game. Then there's myself, possibly my own worst enemy, at times—shout out to imposter syndrome.

All of that, I can live with, can shake off those doubts and move onto the next day, just fine. But Elias... there's something different about his remark.

First off, he's not someone who's poking fun, teasing, being spiteful, or trying to get under my skin. He's speaking the truth from a business standpoint. That's just who he is.

Secondly—and this is the real punch to the gut—he isn't criticizing the actual content of my game, like the graphics, the efficiency of my code, the server speeds, the user interface design, or anything I can actually improve on. No, he's doubting the entire genre. That cutesy, tower defense mobile games can't hold up in a wide market, and wouldn't prove appealing to the DreamScape audience. A theory that, if true...

Is one tough pill to swallow.

I wish I could confide in my mom about it, without inevitably spiraling into uncomfortable topics that would only be exacerbated with Jeremy sitting across the table. So, as a last resort, I fudge the truth.

I sigh, plastering on a worried expression that proves a bit too easy to fake. "Things are kinda stagnant, which feels a lot like a downhill slide, especially after such a big feature."

"Oh, no. I'm sorry to hear that, sweetie..." Her shoulders sag, clearly not what she was expecting, but she bounces back quickly, like she always does. "I wouldn't look too into it. It's just summer, is all. People are out enjoying the weather. They'll be back inside, playing games, once things get colder."

Wow. I force a nod. That's... something I haven't thought much about. If I wasn't lying, I'd take that insight to heart. "You're probably right," I say.

"Everything happens in due time." Stretching her arm across the table, she places a hand over mine, seeping comfort into me that I genuinely feel, despite keeping secrets. "Your father and I couldn't be more proud of you."

"I know."

"And..." she hesitates, as a darkness I rarely see flickers across her gaze, filled with sorrow but also strength. I know her next words before she speaks them—as I'm sure Jeremy does, too. "And I know Daniel would be too, if he were here to see it."

Silence grows between the three of us. My eyes connect with Jeremy's, his swirling with shadows.

Like my brother, I never quite know how to feel whenever Mom brings up our biological father. It's not like I met the man, and Jeremy could pretty much say the same thing, since he passed away when he was only a one-year-old, while I was still in the womb.

Daniel Lawrence was his name. A car crash is what killed him, Mom said, on his way to a job site. He worked as a carpenter and married our mother, who was his high school sweetheart, when they were both twenty-two. But to Jeremy and I... that's all he really is. A name and a story. A good man we never truly knew, who left this earth in a tragic way.

We lucked out, in a horrible, twisted kind of way, that our mother is by far the most deserving of the Supermom title. She really did it all, filled that gap so well that we didn't even know we had one.

She went to Jeremy's football try-outs, danced with me at the father-daughter dances, chaperoned our class field trips, and even managed to be the loudest cheerleader at our science fairs, all while teaching second grade at our private K-12 school, Riverside Prep on the Upper East Side. Unlike our classmates, the sons and daughters of senators, celebrities and CEOs, Jeremy and I would've never been able to attend, if it weren't for her active participation in the school affairs, granting us free tuition.

Truly, truly, truly, she did it all, and then some.

Years later, she met Raymond "Ray" Brooks, who was a substitute teacher for her class. The two got together when I was nine and Jeremy was ten, then married several years later, after Mom asked for our approval of him. It was an easy choice. We'd already started calling him Dad, as he naturally stepped into the role of our father figure. It wasn't long before we willingly took his last name. To this day, I still remember him breaking down in tears when we said yes.

Today, our dad teaches ninth grade geometry at a local public school, and our mom is still a second grade teacher at Riverside Prep. It's not the norm, having dual teachers for parents, but it does come with a few privileges. Yes, we had to learn the importance of staying frugal, but we also utilized their knowledge of the school system, which undoubtedly aided us throughout our studies and while applying to colleges.

I know Jeremy wouldn't put it any differently, including his appreciation for our mom and her enduring strength, which is why those shadows quickly lift from his gaze as he places a hand on her shoulder. He doesn't say anything, yet a glassy film waters over Mom's eyes as if he did.

I bat away my own emotions. "I know, Mom. I know he'd be proud of me. And he'd be just as proud of you."

She squeezes my hand, hers revealing a slight tremor. Thank you, she mouths, blinking those tears away.

For the rest of our lunch, those lingering doubts found their exit from my headspace, without me even realizing their absence. Although, something else slips through the door those thoughts left wide open. A memory, one that brings me warmth, even when I've tried so desperately to hate the man who repeated the beautiful words I once said to him, back to me.

I think your game is amazing, if that counts for anything...

And what does this man get in return, for days on end? A cold shoulder. Except... even with all my efforts, that coldness thaws, piece by piece, as his words sing their soft melody. Is it enough to put a stop to my silent treatment later today? Probably not. But...

Come tomorrow, I'll have no choice but to talk with Hayden.

And more.