Free The First Husband by Laura Dave Page A

asked. “Did I hurt you?”
    “No . . .”
    I shook my head, as Griffin lifted me up. I was more startled than anything else, looking up at him, looking over again at the two small boys. They smiled widely, seemingly enjoying all of this. They were beautiful little boys with that red hair and enormous green eyes. They looked quite a bit like the man I was assuming was their dad—same shape to their faces, those same green eyes. But their awesome red hair, that must have come from somewhere else.
    “Aren’t you guys going to hug your Uncle Griffin hello?” he said. Then he simultaneously patted the boys on their heads.
    Uncle Griffin.
    This was Jesse. Of course, it was Griffin’s brother Jesse. Griffin hadn’t had family photographs with him in Los Angeles, but it made perfect sense. He had told me that Jesse had little boys—had he told me that they were twins?—Sammy and Dexter, if I was remembering correctly. I knew they lived in Boston, which wasn’t so far from western Massachusetts. Jesse was a graduate student working toward his PhD at MIT. And Jesse’s wife—what had Griffin told me her name was?—owned a flower shop in Cambridge. That was what I knew. And now I knew this: behind those eyes, and that Fudgsicle, Jesse was looking a little crazed at the moment.
    “They’re having a silent contest right now,” Jesse said, gently pushing both boys in Griffin’s direction. “Go on, guys. No talking necessary.”
    The twins ran to Griffin, who scooped them up into his arms, holding both of them close—one hand cupped under each small body, his eyes still drilled into his brother.
    I noticed it, right on the other side of Griffin and the boys, at the foot of the stairs: several enormous suitcases and piles of clothes. Sporting equipment. Children’s toys. All of it partially unpacked and spilling up the stairway, spilling all the way down the upstairs hallway, which, from my angle at least, was a total and complete disaster: paintings falling from their hangers, carpet ripped up. And the distinct smell of grape juice, coming from somewhere that I wasn’t sure I wanted to visit.
    Griffin must have followed where my eyes went because he looked that way too, and then back at his brother.
    “Jesse, how long have you been staying here?” Griffin asked.
    Jesse shrugged. “Not long.”
    “How not long?”
    “Not long,” he answered. “Like five weeks.”
    “Five weeks? ” I said.
    It was the first thing I’d said. And Jesse turned to me—for the first time—as if just noticing I was there. Standing in front of him. After falling out of his brother’s arms.
    “Hey there,” he said.
    “Hey there,” I repeated.
    Then I gave him a small wave, more than a little surprised I had opened my mouth at all.
    “How could you not have told me you were here?” Griffin said.
    Jesse tuned back to his brother, offering up a shrug. “Didn’t want to worry you,” he said. “Seemed unnecessary.”
    Griffin put down the twins, who raced wordlessly up the stairs, fighting back their laughter, fighting hard not to tumble and trip over the massive amount of belongings covering the floor. I watched them go, my eyes shifting back to Jesse once they’d disappeared, a bedroom door slamming behind them. The only noise.
    “What do the kids get for winning the silent contest? ” I asked. “They seem incredibly committed.”
    “A hundred bucks,” Jesse said.
    “That’s some prize,” I said.
    This made Jesse smile. “I believe it breeds a certain level of commitment,” he said.
    Griffin drilled his brother with a look. “Where’s Cheryl, Jessie?”
    “Cheryl kicked me out,” Jesse said.
    “She kicked you out?” he said.
    Jesse nodded, his voice getting smaller. “Sammy hasn’t put down Cheryl’s watering can since. The kid even sleeps with it. That means he’s traumatized, right? We’ve probably traumatized him. Dex seems to be handling it all a little better, but last night he took a hard swing at