Loving You Differently

Thirteen

Aria Adkins

"Wait, ass-less chaps... made out of tin foil?" I ask in bewilderment.

Austin laughs. "Yeah, but that's not the craziest thing I've seen. We take Mardi Gras pretty seriously in New Orleans."

I give him a flat look. "I really don't think tin foil ass-less chaps would make the experience better... more like uncomfortable."

"Yeah, you're probably right. My mom forbid us from attending the parade until we were teenagers. She was trying to prolong our innocence, I guess," he jokes, but I detect a twinge of sadness in his tone.

"Our?" I ask curiously. "Do you have any siblings?"

"My brother, Reed. He's two years younger than me. You've met him before, actually. Well, not met, but yeah, he was with me the day I hired you." he explains.

I smile, remembering the day he waltzed into RJ's and offered me a job on the spot. It was also nice to finally put a name to a face; but now that I think about it, I haven't seen Austin's brother around in awhile.

I fiddle with the crumpled up napkin next to my empty plate, pondering my next words. "Does he live here in Memphis too?"

I watch as he takes a sip of his soda before responding. "Nah, he's back in Louisiana with my mom. He visits every once in a while, though."

"Your mom is in Louisiana, too?" I ask, surprised.

He shifts in his seat. "Yeah," he exhales. "Well, a small town outside of New Orleans. She, uh, lives in a senior apartment in Metairie. Twenty-four hour care. It's a nice place."

"Twenty-four hour care?" I ask gently. "Is she okay?"

Austin smiles wryly. "Alzheimer's."

And that, ladies and gentleman, is the sound of my ice cold heart splitting in two.

"Oh, wow," I say softly. "Were you close?"

He clears his throat. "Sometimes."

I take that as my cue to change the subject. Feeling grateful that he's already shared so much personal information with me tonight, I decide to reciprocate.

"Savannah and I are pretty close. I like to think she's the mini-version of myself, but nicer," I joke.

Austin smirks. "She told me you chased her around with worms when you were kids."

"Oh, god," I laugh. "The one time a year my dad would take us fishing. Savannah hated it. Between the live worms and the killer mosquitos... yeah, it wasn't the best time. I guess I wanted to see how annoyed she would get."

I smile bitterly as I remember being woken up at the ass crack of dawn, my dad screaming at us to throw our rain boots on and get our asses out to his truck. My dad and I were never close, but for some reason, he had initiated annual fishing trips. It was maybe the one day a year where he was stone cold sober and alert. A raging asshole, sure, but a sober asshole.

"I never knew either sets of my grandparents," I find myself confessing. "My mom was disowned when she was sixteen. My dad never knew his father, and his mom was about as coherent as a concrete wall. He told me he'd always wanted to go fishing as a little boy. I don't know, it's just something he'd always been interested in."