My Brothers Best Friend [18+]

Chapter Twenty Six

Authors PSA: I'm British. I use the word mum. I will not change.

She holds out her arm, smiling as she gestures to the booth in front of us. I thank her as I slide into my seat. My mother and Matt sandwich me on either side whilst Paul asks her for the wine menu. 

My mothers hair is dyed a golden honey blonde streaked with even lighter highlights and folded up with a sharpened pencil. She has a faded ring around her eyes remnant of the summer holiday she always seems to be on since Matt and I went off to University. Seeing her on Christmas Eve is both a shock and a treat. 

"You don't look a day older, Mum." 

Matt's correct, she doesn't. If anything she looks younger; more carefree, a tad wilder, but not as if she's had bits nipped and tucked. Her nails are neatly manicured. Her skin is bright and smooth like silk. She's wearing a loose dress that probably costs more than the dinner we're about to have at this no-prices-on-the-menu restaurant. 

"You're too flattering baby," she coos at him. "I've been getting grey hairs." 

Of course she has. She's almost fifty, not that anybody can tell. 

Paul takes a seat beside her and gently takes her hand, squeezing it as he picks up the menu. I pretend I remember my GCSE French as I read menu items like coq au vin and bourguignon. 

They tell us about their time abroad, their upcoming holidays, the flat they've started renting out because keeping an empty house wasn't worth the hassle. Matt and I talk mostly about work. He updates Paul on the internship whilst I go through the campaign with mum. 

"And how has it been, living with your sister again?" I hear Paul ask. 

Both mum and I tune into their conversation. Matt, to my utter surprise, smiles. 

"I can see neither of you is missing a clump of hair yet," our mother adds. 

When I was seven and Matt nine, my aunt on my fathers side got me a tin of peanut butter cups and Matt a tin of chocolate biscuits for Easter as per my mothers instruction. Matt, being nine and selfish, decided he didn't like chocolate buttons anymore and that my peanut butter cups were better. We had a fight over them in the living room whilst my mother was on the phone to a friend; I chipped his tooth and he pulled out a clump of my hair. 

We shared both. The problem was resolved more easily than the damage we'd already done to each other. 

"Not yet," Matt laughs, likely reminiscing on the same story. "Although tomorrow if she gets more presents that I do we'll have to re-evaluate." 

"The sofa is not a pull out bed." 

Both Paul and my mother look confused. 

"You said it was a pull out bed and it isn't." 

"Oh, for goodness sake Madelaine, it's a roof over your head isn't it?" 

"With Matt," I mutter, even though I'm smiling down at the table. His leg jerks against my own, an elbow jutting out, before he begins talking about how terrible I am at cooking. 

When the food comes we're still laughing with each other about past memories. We're talking about the fact that Noah does exist and Paul is surprised that Matt isn't secretly dating him (he's not far off - someone in the family is secretly dating him, it just isn't Matt). 

We pick at bits from each other plates, we squabble over who has eaten the most of our communal fries, we order expensive coffees as soon as our empty plates have been taken by the service staff. Paul orders Matt and I desserts.