Page 3 of Oh Boy!
Nathan
David slams the trunk shut once the grocery bags are secured.
Subtlety doesn’t run in the family, and how we express it varies. Must be why I can’t help myself and yell, “Are you sure it’s closed?” My spite is unnecessary.
He doesn’t hear a thing, too busy checking his phone as he rounds his brand spanking new Jeep Grand Cherokee. His hand remains on the door handle for ages. I purse my lips, shutting my eyelids until I’m forced to acknowledge his presence in the driver’s seat.
Ever since we were kids, my big brother’s had a way of grating on my nerves. Actually, things went downhill when David evolved from a wallflower into a brainless preteen jerk. His sole goal in life became making my life miserable. One day at a time.
Why am I so worked up over nothing lately?
Grunting, I sigh and work to control my breathing. In and out. My brother and I made peace years ago. Although we’ll never be close, we’re still family, and I owe it to my parents to keep things civil.
As I expel my exhalation, I run my fingers through my jet-black hair to calm down and watch him slide next to me. I often ask my mother if she cheated on Dad, to which she replies that recessive genes are responsible for my looks. Are genes also to blame for not fully connecting with my brother?
In silence, he starts the engine. Not quite silence now that country music invades the vehicle. This time, I keep my big mouth shut. I’m really trying to stay in his good graces for reasons I don’t quite comprehend. Surely, being thrown out of his mansion in Morrison, Colorado, isn’t one of them. Checking into a hotel is a non-issue; there are plenty of vacancies during the off-season, and it would make hooking up easier. But I want to be more than the careless uncle that I’ve been to Meghan so far. Of course, the fact that I live in New York and my job requires frequent travel doesn’t allow me to see her as often as I’d like. She’s a cool kid, I’ll give my brother that, unless she inherited it from Lori, who’s way too good for my brother.
Anyway, considering how my niece shyly stared at me upon my arrival two weeks ago, it’s clear that the gifts I’ve sent over the past seven years didn’t offset my obvious absence. Since then, she’s slowly warmed up to her selfish uncle. It’s a good thing that I planned on an extended stay for once; mixing work with vacation is a foreign concept for me, except when I go to France.
“What were the odds, right?” my older brother asks, glancing my way. “I still can’t get over the fact that you found a venue to preach your meditation techniques.” He raises his voice to be heard over the blasting music. The country band that he’s been raving about since I landed in Denver plays the last notes of a song that started, and was subsequently paused, when we arrived at Whole Foods an hour ago. The Bourbon Barrels or something? Did I mention that I despise country music, even if he insists that they’re an alternative—air quote that, please—group? Yup, I couldn’t care less that these up-and-comers will be playing at the three-day USA Music Festival tomorrow; I did snag tickets, but I’m here to see another rising star: Monster Hunter, my favorite DJ.
Right after lowering the volume without asking for permission, I watch him exit the parking lot with wide eyes… not due to the lack of cars—it’s early Thursday evening after all!—but rather to his words and sarcasm.
As always, I feel compelled to point out the obvious. Eyes trained on the road, I take a gulp of my forgotten coffee that’s now cold, put it back in the cup holder, and start counting on my fingers. “Let me straighten this out once and for all. First, I’m not aguru. I don’t preach anything. I’m a calligrapher!”And the only creative person in this family, but I keep that thought to myself. “Second, I picked up breathing techniques along the way. That’s why I lead sessions like the one later tonight.” My fingers return to my hair. A chuckle leaves his mouth, although his attention stays on the road for our short drive home. I’m well aware that he mistakes my fixing my hair for a nervous gesture. Again, I take a deep breath to center myself. “Third, as for why Colorado… Well, I’ve already told you that I might not be as attached to the area as you are, but I, too, have fond memories here. I mean, come on, we came here on vacation for like ten years as kids.”
“Right,” he mumbles, offering a sheepish smile, as if he’s just recovered the memory.
I readjust my seatbelt to buy some time. A tired sigh leaves my mouth. “Look, I know you and I have opposite lives and goals, but I’m also here to make amends. Being back here feels odd, and I’m still trying to adjust to the fact that we’re no longer kids fighting over who has better ski skills.”
“Well, even then, I knew the answer to that one. You’ve always been the prodigal son. The gifted son. The good-looking son…” He trails off, avoiding my gaze. I don’t object. Oddly enough, his casual tone contradicts his white-knuckled grip on the wheel. “And I used to hate you for that. I never understood why you didn’t choose to be a model, to be honest. I guess your natural gifts extended to calligraphy since you became a celebrity overnight. You’re this—”he swallows the lump in his throat—“this surreal individual. Successful at everything you try. You have it so… easy.”
I feel kind of badly for him because he’s right… Yeah, modesty has never been my forte. What can I say? I wouldn’t be where I am today if I sold myself short. I have to cut him off. “Listen, I know how it looks from the outside. Calligraphy is a lot of work, you know. Precision. Patience...” And let’s not forget about the third P: Phi, the golden mean. One of my many obsessions that I can’t share with him. As much as he loves numbers, he can’t grasp its influence on my work. Yeah, there are many things that I keep quiet, such as the reason why I most resent him: his mockery of my infatuation with a certain French girl while we were staying in the South of France. A young girl that I genuinely believed to be my soulmate. How could he fathom the impact of this encounter? The ignoramus was ruled by his hormones and had to soil something pure. He made me doubt my feelings, and I hated him for it. Over fifteen years have passed, and it seems that I’ll never fully forgive him. That’s why I kept my reunion with Fanny Fortune a secret from him a couple of years ago, as well as what ensued. But that’s another story.
“Yeah, I watched some videos on YouTube.”
“Seriously?” My jaw drops. Maybe he’s not such a bad guy after all. At least, he’s making an effort, which I admittedly never have. To me, he’s always been this bland, annoying, and boring brother who thankfully left the East Coast to go to college and fell for a sweet local girl who’s barely older than me.
He scratches the back of his neck and his cheeks redden at his admittance. “I don’t know the first thing about your world, but I’m not trying to undermine your work, you know. I’m just saying that you’ve never been an average Joe, and sometimes, it was a lot to handle for an older brother.”
Wondering what prompted the deepest exchange we’ve ever had, I’m almost tempted to apologize, which is utterly out of character. I’m proud of who I am and who I’ve become. So instead, I nod, glad that he attempted to understand one of my interests that grew into a successful career before I knew it. “I admit it’s pretty sweet to be able to live off of something I’m passionate about.”
This earns me another chuckle. “I bet! Can’t say the same about accounting, but it pays the bills.”
“Nothing wrong with accounting.”
“True.” He grabs a pack of gum from the empty cup holder and offers me one. I shake my head no. He pops one between his thin lips and chews for a moment. “Dad would be pissed at me if he heard me bad-mouthing a job he basically taught me.”
“And you are successful with your firm.”
It’s his turn to nod. “Now that we’re at it, I need to confess that the fact that you don’t give a shit about damaging your face is also super annoying.”
My roar of laughter is so loud that the music becomes background noise. I know that he’s referring to the Krav Maga class that ended yesterday. “You’re so wrong, bro!” I manage to say once I calm down “The whole point was to master the martial art better so that I wouldn’t risk damaging my face or anything else for that matter. I agree with Elijah: Being the only guy in the room isn’t as effective, plus you embody some women’s negative personal experiences. It’s all part of the same…”
My brother reaches for the garage door opener. While we wait for it to rise, he snorts, his eyes full of mischief. “And it’s a great way to pick up girls, isn’t it?”
“Oh, you’ve noticed my sleepovers!” Of course, he knows that I sleep elsewhere more often than not. It’s not like I’d bring hookups to his house, right? Maybe telling my brother that I think it’s unethical to pick up girls at the dojo would be TMI. “There’s one thing I don’t have in my perfect life, though.”
He pulls the car to a halt. We get out, and he tilts his chin my way as a silent question that beckons an answer.
“My soul mate.”
