Page 54 of Love Never Happens with your Brother’s Best Friend

Rita

Something’s bothering Brodie. Or maybe it’s just me. I thought a few relaxing hours by the river would be the perfect way to spend the day. But I’m being oversensitive and jumpy, and when he leans in for a kiss, I’m too distracted by my internal chatter to let go and enjoy the moment. I want to ask him about plans and how we’re going to make things work. I want to ask if I am factored into his future and I’m waiting for him to say, ‘It’s been nice seeing ya’. Kate’s words echo around my brain making relaxation beyond my reach. I should just come right out with it and ask, ‘Brodie Kent. You and me. What happens now?’ Rita. Get a grip. What is wrong with you? Just be cool.

At the river, we swim and eat our picnic. And I am just about to broach the subject when a family arrives. I try not to be annoyed when they say hello and wave, but my heart sinks.

“Lovely day for a swim and a picnic,” the mom says as she sets down their things on the bank a few yards away. The kids scream and jump in the water with their lurid plastic blow-up toys.

Then the dad nudges the mom and says something about Brodie that we’re obviously not meant to hear. So, Brodie and I pretend we haven’t heard. It’s awkward.

I don’t want anything to spoil our afternoon but the effort of trying to make things as perfect as possible is actually having an adverse effect. I’m stressed by everything. And I’m sad because our day is not romantic at all, the way I wanted it to be. And since the family showed up, I’m so self-conscious and aware that they know all about Brodie and the drama that’s been playing out in the media. I mean, they seem nice enough, but all I want to do is yell at them, “Go away!”

I roll over and watch Brodie’s face for clues. Maybe he’s feeling the same as me. He reaches out his hand, and I scoot over to rest my head on his chest. My agitation is soothed by the rhythm of his pulse and breathing. But any kind of closeness is interrupted by the shrieks of children diving and splashing around in the river. There’s no chance of intimacy or a tender moment with a horde of kids squabbling at full volume. The parents add to the din, shouting at them to turn it down! Then the mom tries to sort out a disagreement, and the dad joins in. Voices escalate adding to my irritation.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Brodie asks quietly. “Should we move along perhaps?”

“Yeah. I was just thinking the same.”

We pack the bags with what’s left of our picnic and fold up the blanket.

“Let’s go visit our tree,” says Brodie smiling and taking my hand.

“It might be dead by now.” Brodie looks at me, puzzled. “You know, someone carved into its bark.”

“Ha! You’re so funny. It seemed okay yesterday.”

My joke has eased some of the tension, but there’s still a cloud hanging over our perfect day. We walk to the tree with its lovely leafy branches and look up at the heart with our initials etched inside.

“So, hey. Looks like the tree is not dead.” Brodie pulls me close. “As you can see it is very much alive.” He breathes into my hair and wraps his arms around me. “Rita.”

“Brodie.”

“I’ve been thinking about what happens next.”

“Oh yes. Me too.” I pull away, excitedly, and look into Brodie’s handsome face. “I wasn’t sure when I was going to say something about that. I’m so happy you said it first… unless you’re going to say…”

“Thing is…” Brodie seems unsure of himself. He takes my hand and leans up against the strong tree trunk. His gaze drops to the ground. Then he breathes deeply and redirects his attention to me. “I’m going back to Boston, and um…” The shade from the leaves tinges everything yellowish green.

Suddenly, Brodie’s sentence is cut short by an over-friendly big brown dog that leaps up, wagging its tail.

“Whoa! Down boy.” The dog snuffles a damp inquisitive nose up to my daypack. “I think he wants a sandwich.” The dog has a drooling problem and no apparent owner.

The big dog barks happily, then finds a stick and drops it at our feet. He barks some more until Brodie picks up the stick, waves it around teasing the dog, then throws it. The oversized hound bounds away, chasing the stick. I think he’s gone. But then, in seconds, he’s back and drops the stick for Brodie to throw again.

“Where’s your person?” Brodie says waving the stick around as the dog jumps and barks. “They’ll be worried about you.”

At that moment, someone whistles from somewhere downriver. The dog seems torn between the stick and the calls of his owner. Eventually, he runs off: ears flapping, jowls slobbering, tongue lolling.

“You were saying…” I say wiping doggy drool from my leg.

“Let’s go, huh?” says Brodie smiling. He unscrews a water bottle and splashes water on his hands to wash off the slobber. “There’s something I want to talk about but there are too many distractions here.” He dries his hands on his t-shirt, and we walk back to where we left the bikes. “I know the perfect place.”

We wave goodbye to the family and ride away down the bumpy access road. The heat of the day has gone and it’s a pleasant pedal back through town, the long way, to my parents’ house. No one is around when we arrive. We quietly lean the bikes against the barn, then I follow Brodie down the narrow path away from the house.

“I know where we’re going now,” I say smiling at Brodie who squeezes my hand and smiles right back.

“Hopefully we won’t get distracted here.”

At the treehouse, Brodie climbs up the rickety ladder, leaving room for me to sit down beside him. Our legs dangle over the side. It’s cool on the wooden platform and smells pleasantly of moss and ferns.

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