The Bet by Max Monroe

Wednesday, March 7th

Jude

Tossing the remote down on the coffee table after shutting off the Knicks game, I walk into the kitchen and over to the counter where I’d put my phone on charge a couple hours ago. It’s been going crazy with messages ever since the fourth quarter started, but fuck if I was going to miss the Nets getting their asses handed to them.

The sun glows through my floor-to-ceiling living room windows on its descent into the Lower Manhattan skyline. With a colorful abundance of nightlife and bars, SoHo is a natural fit for me and my lifestyle and has been since I moved to this apartment five years ago. It took a little while to afford a place this nice—and certain milestones in my career like stepping out from under Cruz Nightlife and into a leadership role at my own promotional firm—but I now live more than comfortably.

I pull the phone off the plug and scroll into the messages, and the running chat with my siblings is at the top of the list. I tap the screen to open it and read through what they’ve said.

Winnie: Hey, guys. Just wanted to let you know that we’re going to do family night at seven this Friday instead of at six. Lex has Mathletes practice, and I want to make sure I have time to get home and get dinner started.

Remy: Does it help if I pick her up for you, Win?

Ty: Oh, look out. Remy the suck-up has entered the chat.

Remy: Fuck you, dude. Don’t take your insecurities about being an inferior uncle out on me.

Ty: Excuse me? I’m the fucking greatest. And I’m a professor. Lexi relates to my intellect.

Flynn: You’re not even in the neighborhood, dude. In all honesty, you’re probably in fourth place.

Winnie: LOL

Instantly annoyed, I type out a message with hostile fingers. I don’t mind spending my time alone, but fuck if I haven’t been in a funk for the last day or so. It’s weird, and I don’t know how to explain it. But time with my family always pulls me out of shit like this.

Me: Why do you fuckers always make family nights happen on the weekends? You know I work every Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night.

Ty: Sounds like you just answered your own question, bro.

Me: Wow. I didn’t know I had a turncoat for a brother. And after all the time we’ve spent together over the years.

Winnie: I’m sorry, Jude. It’s just much easier for me to cook on Friday or Saturday nights during the off-season. I’ll go back to including you when I’m working weekends too.

Fuck that.I’m just as much a part of this family as anyone else. It’s not like I need to see them all weekly, but it might be nice. Immediately, I click to open a new message and start entering contacts—all the same, minus my beautiful sister. I feel a little bad cutting her out like that, but it’s a necessary evil in this case.

Me: Okay, fuckers. I’m going to Winnie’s house tonight for family dinner. Who’s going?

Remy: Did you not read that last message where Winnie expressly told you it wasn’t happening tonight?

Flynn: I’m not sure Jude reads.

Me: I don’t. At least, not well. No WoNdEr I GoT cOnFuSeD aBoUt WhIcH nIgHt tO cOmE.

Ty: Winnie’s going to fucking murder you, Gen Z sarcasm typing or not.

Me: I’m not a complete assmunch. Winnie said it’s easier for her to cook on the weekends. She didn’t say anything about it being easier if she didn’t cook. I’ll go by the store, grab some shit, and you fuckers can help me cook while she relaxes.

Remy: You don’t know how to cook.

Me: True. But you and Flynn will be there to supervise.

Ty: I’m pretty sure when Jude says “supervise,” he means you’ll be there to do all the work.

Me: Shut up, Ty. I’m going to help. Plus, I’m going to get all the groceries. What are YOU doing?

Ty: Oh, me? I’ll be helping Winnie hide your body.

Me: Bring extra tape and garbage bags. You know I’m SWOLE as a motherfucker.

Flynn: Eh, what the hell. What time are you getting there?

Ty: Are you serious, Flynn? Aren’t you supposed to be the voice of reason?

Flynn: Says the man who’s talking about hiding bodies.

Ty: Whatever, dude. I’ll help Win bury you both.

Remy: I’ll be there at seven.

Ty: You too??

Me: Fuck yes. That’s what I like to hear, boys. See you then.

Plan successfully achieved, I click out of my messages, shove my phone into my pocket, grab my keys off the hook, and head out the door. One quick stop at the grocery store and then Uptown to my sister’s house.

It’s fifteen minutes before seven, and I’m not at all expected, but I ring the doorbell anyway and stand back and wait to be greeted.

I figured the least I could do for my two eldest brothers in appreciation of their loyalty was to show up first, help Winnie get over her initial anger, and welcome them with open arms and smooth sailing upon their arrival.

The light on the porch flicks on above me, and I plaster on my most charming of smiles.

There’s a slight squeak as the door swings open, and Wes’s face stutters to a scowl as soon as he sees me. I don’t let it discourage me, though. People glower at me all the time, to be honest, and I don’t give a shit. I’m not about to start now.

“Wes!” I greet cheerfully, holding my sack of groceries up and out to the side. “How are you, bro?”

“What the hell are you doing here, Jude?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know my wife told you that family night is on Friday.”

“She did,” I agree, stepping forward and crowding him out of the doorway so I can step inside. It’s a bit of a dick move, and on any normal day, Wes Lancaster could do some damage to me if he wanted to, but I’m counting on the element of surprise to throw him off his game. “And then I responded that I’m unavailable and that I’d like to reschedule.”

I shrug, turning back to look at him from my place inside the front hallway, having successfully infiltrated behind his line of defense.

“Jude—”

“Thanks so much, Wes,” I say in avoidance. “But I think I can handle carrying everything.”

There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that offering to help me with the groceries is even remotely close to what was about to come out of Wes’s mouth, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I beat him to the punch.

Lexi appears at the bottom of the staircase, spotting me easily as I pass her by and immediately questioning my presence. “Uncle Jude? What are you doing here?”

“Making dinner,” I say, smiling and waggling my eyebrows. “I got all the stuff for your favorite.”

“Spaghetti?” she asks hopefully, and I nod.

“You bastard,” Wes mutters under his breath, and I can’t stop myself from looking back at him and winking. I may be the goofball of the Winslow clan, but that doesn’t mean I’m a fool. The way to the heart is always with food, and the best heart to infiltrate is the one the others can’t stand to deny. That of their beautiful baby girl.

Continuing into the kitchen, I find Winnie at the counter, looking through takeout menus intently. She glances up at the sound of my entrance, spots the bag of groceries, and damn near growls.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Now, now,” I soothe, setting the bags on the counter and raising my hands in the air defensively. “I know this looks bad, but I promise I heard you about the cooking. I don’t expect you to cook at all, I swear.”

“And who’s going to? You?” She does a half scoff, half laugh that doesn’t really offend me in the slightest. I’m definitely not the chef in the family, but I’m a single dude and I survive. So, whatever.

I shake my head. “I called in reinforcements.”

“What are—” she starts to ask, just as the front doorbell rings again.

Winnie narrows her eyes. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

I shrug and stretch my neck forward like an ostrich. “I mean…I don’t think I’m not clever.”

“Uncle Jude brought the stuff for spaghetti,” Lexi says factually, having finally found an opening to add her opinion.

Winnie glowers, and I practically rub my hands together with glee.

“Just look at it this way,” I say. “Now, you don’t have to order takeout and you don’t have to cook and Lex gets to have her favorite food. All around, I’d say this is a win, Win.”

She tosses annoyed eyes at my pun, but personally, I think it was pretty damn cute.

When Wes returns from the door, Remy, Flynn, and Ty are all behind him, looking nearly as satisfied as I am. There’s also a random woman, whom I can only assume is Ty’s flavor of the day.

I only have eyes for the youngest brother of the three, though. The traitor. “I thought you weren’t coming,” I accuse pointedly, taking a seat on one of the stools at the Lancaster kitchen island.

Ty gives me the finger. “It wasn’t my idea, but I wasn’t going to be the only asshole out.” He pulls a twine-tied package out from behind his back and smiles. “Plus, Flynn drove me by the bakery.”

“Cannoli?” I ask hopefully.

“And chocolate chip and almond cookies.”

Well, hot damn. Food, family, and cannoli.

Today started in one hell of a funk—that I haven’t been able to explain—but my mood should be back to normal in no time.