Page 7 of The Swap Masquerade

“Oh, my goodness, baby. I didn’t even hear you pull in. I guess I was off in my own little world.” She laughed, using the back of her hand to push up her sunglasses which had started to slide. The movement left a smudge of dirt along the bridge of her nose. It was cute.

I chuckled. “Yeah, I could tell. You were in the zone. What’s the yard plan this year?” My mom had been blessed with a green thumb, every year creating the most vibrant gardens in our neighborhood and making the outside of our house look beautiful. It was a lot of work, but it made her happy and the results were gorgeous.

She lifted the small trowel she held in her hand and pointed out various areas around the property. “Across the front porch, I planted yellow daffodils. I put a ring of daisies around the base of each oak tree, and I’ve got red geraniums and blue forget-me-nots around the back deck. I figured they would look perfect for our Memorial Day cookout. Yesterday, I lined the back of the koi pond with a mixture of wildflowers then decided to add a few petunias along here to keep the side from looking too plain.”

“Sounds amazing.” I reached for the small metal cart she pulled around with her whenever she worked. My younger brother, Trey, and I had gotten it for her for Mother’s Day a few years before, after we’d seen her making several trips to the tool shed to get what she needed. The cart made it easy to keep all of her gardening supplies right there with her.

Without a word, I grabbed a tray of pink flowers off the cart and squatted down. Mom bumped my shoulder with hers and we shared a smile. I had done this with her a hundred times over the years, so I knew exactly what to do without asking. I popped each flower out of the tray, careful not to damage the dirt at the base which housed the roots and placed them into the holes Mom had dug. Then I covered them back up and patted the dirt around them.

We worked quietly for several minutes before Mom spoke up. “How’s school going? Are you enjoying your classes, so far?”

“Yeah, they seem pretty interesting. Especially the Humanities class I’m taking. We’ll be taking a close look at some of the mistakes made throughout history—and even today—that create divisions in human equality.” My excitement was evident as I launched into a full description of the class and the volunteer work we’d be doing.

“Wow! That sounds amazing. Which organization did you choose?”

Suddenly, an image of Professor Holt flashed through my mind causing my blood pressure to spike. Throughout the week, I’d found myself looking around, hoping to catch a glance of him as I walked across campus or on my way to the student center to grab a bite to eat. The two other times we’d met for class, I’d had to force myself to concentrate on taking notes so I wouldn’t get caught ogling him. The man really was too gorgeous for words.

“Um. Habitat for Humanity,” I finally answered.

Mom’s eyes lit up. “That’s a perfect choice. I’m sure everything you’ve learned from your father over the years will come in handy.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I responded. I left out that the main reason I’d chosen that as my project was because I was crushing on my very male teacher and was hoping to get to work alongside him.

When we’d finished planting the last few flowers, Mom went inside to get cleaned up and finish putting dinner together while I put her tools away in the shed. Afterwards, I headed inside to wash up. My parents had remodeled a bit since I’d moved out, getting rid of the dingy old carpet that used to be in the living room and installing fresh new hardwood floors. They had also knocked out the wall between the kitchen and living room to provide a more open layout and had updated the kitchen counters and appliances. It had felt strange at first, like I’d entered someone else’s home by mistake, but once I’d gotten used to it, I had to admit, it looked incredible.

The stairwell leading up to the bedrooms on the second floor was littered with framed photographs, a collage of all my mother’s favorite family memories. Included were photos of my grandparents and my parents on each of their wedding days. Pictures of me and Trey throughout our childhoods took up most of the space, our chubby baby cheeks and wide, toothless grins from kindergarten on full display. Family camping trips, the sandcastle we’d built while on vacation at Virginia Beach, and me in my high school cap and gown.

I paused on the landing and let my eyes glide over each one. Seeing those pictures used to make me so happy. I would smile as I passed by the reminders of my family’s love for one another and all the good times we’d shared. As I looked at them now, however, I couldn’t help but wonder what they’d think of me if they knew the truth. Would Mom’s eyes continue to light up each time she saw me? Would my little brother still look up to me?

I swallowed hard as I thought of my dad’s possible reaction. Even thinking about them finding out was enough to make me feel all jittery and nervous inside but I knew they would have to find out eventually. I wasn’t going to live in secret forever. I refused. I stared down at my shaking hands, clenching them into fists. It doesn’t have to happen today. The reminder brought with it a sense of relief, but it also brought that same caged-in feeling I’d been experiencing lately, the one that said I was tired of waiting and three months was a hell of a long time.

Turning away from the photos, I made my way up the rest of the steps. I washed my hands in the bathroom, then went to my brother’s room and knocked on the door. “It’s open,” he called from the other side.

I poked my head inside. “Hey, squirt. Can I come in?”

My parents had never planned on having any more kids after me, but when I was nine, Mom found out she was pregnant. While my parents were shocked, I was ecstatic. I couldn’t wait to finally have a sibling to play around with and be a big brother to. Unfortunately, Mom’s pregnancy was anything but easy and Trey ended up being born two months early.

He’d had to spend several months in the hospital, and we were told he might experience physical or mental delays. I still remembered the way I’d held my breath the first time they’d handed him to me to hold. He’d been so tiny, so fragile, and I was terrified I’d do something to hurt him. But then he’d grabbed a hold of my finger, gripping it tightly in his little fist and my heart had tripped over itself. I had vowed right then to be the best big brother to him and always do whatever it took to keep him safe.

Trey had experienced a few physical delays, like being slow in learning to roll over and not walking until he was almost two years old, but eventually, he caught up and his mental abilities far exceeded those of other kids his age. In fact, he was placed in a third-grade reading level when he was only in kindergarten and had won the state spelling bee all through elementary and middle schools. Lying on his stomach on the bed, I wasn’t surprised to find him with his nose buried in a book.

“Elliott!” Happiness spread across his delicate features as he glanced up and saw it was me. While I looked like our dad, Trey was a carbon copy of our mom, right down to the bright blue eyes and the same sunshine-yellow hair.

“Whatcha reading?” I asked as I flopped down next to him on the bed. He flipped the cover over to show me. “The Chronicles of Narnia, huh?”

“Yeah. Have you ever read it?”

“Nah, but I liked the movie.”

Trey rolled his eyes. “The books are always better.”

I poked him in the ribs with my finger, making him jerk away with a laugh. “Hey, I read. I just don’t have as much time as you do. Speaking of which, what have you been up to? Written any new stories lately?”

“Yes! I finished one today actually. You want to read it?” His eyes were so hopeful that even if I hadn’t liked the things he wrote, I would have made myself read them simply to make him happy. Luckily, I loved his stories. He may have only been a teenager, but he could write better than some adult authors. His stories were always creative, full of magical creatures such as fairies, wizards, and dragons.

“Is that a real question? Of course, I do. You know the rule. Big brothers always get to read your stories first,” I reminded him.

“I know.” Scrambling off the bed, he grabbed a notebook from his desk and handed it to me. He settled back onto the bed, waiting patiently as I read every word.

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