Page 38 of The Older Brother
“Hey,” I hum. He glances at me with a wry smile, his expression suddenly guilty. “Where’s this coming from?”
My fingers curl against his skin, and he slips his arm from my grasp, exchanging it with his hand. He threads our fingers together then pulls my hand to his mouth, kissing the back.
“Your mom isn’t totally wrong, is all. You shouldn’t throw your life away. And maybe what we’re doing?—”
“Uh uh.” I cut him off, moving my hand to his chin and pulling it to me for a second, just long enough for him to see the sincerity in my eyes. “Nothing about last night, or this morning, or last week. Nothing about you and me is a mistake. If anything, Rowan, for the first time in my life, I feel brave enough to confront the hard choices down the road. To stand up for myself and say what I want. And what I don’t.”
My heart is beating so hard suddenly, and I’m not sure if it’s this growing pull I feel toward this man or the new muscles building alongside my resolve. Maybe it’s both.
“I don’t want to study business. I don’t want to be anything like my mother.” These thoughts I’ve said internally feel so good out loud. Sure, I’ve said this to Rowan before, but this time . . . I hear myself. And I know I’m going to do something about it.
“Then what do you want?” Rowan puts the idea out there and I find a smile suddenly pull at the corners of my mouth as I sit back in my seat.
“I helped this sweet older woman with her groceries the other day. Remember when I took the bus to your dad’s office?”
Rowan’s mouth curves into a sinister half smile, and I swat at him playfully. He remembers going down on me later that day.
“I’m talking about a life-altering experience, Rowan!”
“So am I,” he laughs out.
I blush, shaking my head and fighting off the bashful smile that wants to take over my face.
“I’m sorry. Continue. I want to hear about this life-changing grocery trip.” He smirks, but I can tell he’s not teasing or belittling.
“It was such a small thing, really. She was managing a lot of grocery bags along with her walker and public transit, and I helped a little. Then there was this guy named Chad, and he was on the bus?—”
“You can skip the part about Chad,” he jokes. Sort of. There’s a little honest jealousy flexing his jaw, I think.
“Okay, okay. What’s important is what the woman told me while we were on the bus. Chad works at the retirement complex, and he helps her get on and off the bus or carry her groceries all the time. It’s the helping part that stuck with me. I want to be a Chad, I think. I mean, not a maintenance guy with a heart of gold. I’d rather just do work that has heart. Help people navigate life. Make things easier for someone. I don’t know . . . maybe I’m just being stupid.”
I put my safety belt back on and shift my gaze out my window, but after a few seconds, Rowan’s hand finds its way to my thigh again. I look down to find his hand turned up waiting for mine, so I fold our palms together. He gives me a gentle squeeze and I gaze up to find a softness in his eyes, along with the small dimple on the right side of his mouth.
“You’re not being stupid, Saylor. If anything, you’re maybe the most grounded person I know. You’ve learned something about yourself that others never find.”
I tip my chin up and tilt my head slightly.
“What’s that?”
“Purpose,” he says. “You want to be the helper. There’s a reason that Mr. Rogers guy always touted the helpers. They’re the good ones. The real ones. And I gotta tell you, Saylor. I’m not surprised at all that you want to give more of yourself to others. The world is lucky to have you.”
I’ve never really felt my heart explode from a compliment before, but it does now. It’s as if one of those ultra-wide, bright-burning fireworks from the Fourth of July just went off in my chest and sent embers coursing through my veins. My mom always talks about my potential, but she’s not really talking about me or my dreams—she’s talking about her own. But Rowan? He sees a better me.
“Thanks,” I croak, covering his hand with my other one and hugging it close to my chest. I want to keep it for a while.
My phone chirps from somewhere under my seat, so I let go of Rowan’s hand and feel along the space between the seat and the door. I pull it from the crevice and brace myself for yet another passive aggressive message from my mom. I’m pleasantly surprised, though, when it’s from my other parent. The one I miss and rarely see. The one my mom doesn’t like me visiting or having a relationship with at all, it seems.
“It’s my dad,” I say, flashing my screen to Rowan. His eyebrows lift.
“I didn’t know you talked to him,” he says.
I waggle my head.
“Not often, but when he’s between gigs, or . . . well, sober. He’ll text me. Sometimes it’s a phone call. He’s in a new city every time. It’s kind of exciting to piece together his route through our phone calls and messages.”
Rowan’s brow pulls in, and I realize how sad I made my relationship with my father sound. I squeeze his arm once then cradle my phone to take in the selfie my dad just sent.
“It’s not a sad thing, so don’t feel bad. I know how different he and my mom are, and I truly believe they both wanted to do right by me. I’m not harboring any strange resentments. Though, I do wish I could see him play sometime. It’s been years. I remember him playing songs in our living room, but those memories are getting fuzzy. I need new ones.”
