Page 42 of The Older Brother
I search my mom’s eyes for evidence, but she’s gotten good at masking, and quickly pulls her mouth into a well-practiced smile as she waves her hand.
“Oh, he’s busy. I remember that time in life, the last summer before college. He has more important things to do than see his mom for lunch or whatever. I just wanted him to know I’m thinking about him, and that I’m proud. What do you think?”She nods at the box, which is now in my hands. I crack it open to reveal a pair of modern-styled platinum cufflinks, perfect circles with a thin line scratched along the edges.
“I think they’re perfect. He’ll be the most fashionable freshman in business school,” I laugh out, snapping the box shut and pushing it into my pocket.
“Good,” my mom nods, running her palms along her hips. I’m not sure if she’s dusting away the hair from my cut or clearing sweaty palms from feeling anxious. I would understand if that’s the case. I have the same habit and affliction.
“I’ll tell him to give you a call, too,” I say, the big brother role coming so natural to me.
“No, no. He doesn’t have to?—”
“Yeah, he does,” I say, almost scolding her this time. She puts up with too much sometimes. My brother has no idea what a saint our mother is. It kills me that she craves a better relationship with him, yet he spends his energy sucking up to our dad.
“Alright, but be nice. Just tell him I’m proud.”
I nod and pull her in for a tight hug. This time, I’m the one doing the soothing.
“I will,” I say in her ear, my eyes falling shut for a moment.
“I’m proud ofbothof my sons. So incredibly proud,” she says as we part.
“I know,” I say through a forced smile. It’s not that I don’t believe her, either. I know she’s proud. I just wish that our family weren’t so fucking broken. It’s hard to put on a positive face sometimes.
“I’ll call you this weekend. And tell that Viv lady to keep her hands to herself,” I tease, skipping toward the door as if I’m trying to run away from Viv’s hands. My mom’s head rears back with the kind of laugh I hear so rarely from her. It’s the perfect final note before I leave her behind.
Lost in my thoughts for most of my drive home, I keep my radio turned down low until I reach the city limits again. I put on my new playlist when the traffic starts to frustrate me, and when I’m idling on the freeway at a complete standstill, I pick up my phone and shoot my brother a text.
ME: Where are you now? I have something for you from Mom.
He doesn’t answer, which, of course, is no surprise. When it’s me needing something, it’s not a priority. Also, I said it’s something from mom, which he knows will come with a lecture from me. My brother can say all he wants to about me running away from family drama, but he’s just as much the king of avoidance as I am.
After thirty minutes of bumper-to-bumper traffic and no response from Caleb, I call my father’s office. The traffic is just starting to flow again when Saylor’s mom answers.
“Brogan-Tackerly. This is David Anderson’s office. How may I assist you?” So formal. I wonder if Allison was always so polished or if that came later in her career with my father.
“Hi, Allison. It’s Rowan. I’m looking for Caleb. Is he in the office by chance?” If he won’t answer me, then I’m simply going to have to show up.
“Oh, hi Rowan. No, he’s on a late lunch, but I think he mentioned he was going to the sports club. Hope that helps.” I can tell she’s busy, and I’m glad she’s not giving my brother and my relationship too much of her mental space. She knows he and I don’t get along. Thankfully, she gives me enough grace not to try to fix it. I think deep down she knows she’s the last person I want to take family advice from.
Allison ends the call first, which . . . fine. I exit the freeway and trek back two miles to the sports club on the way to myfather’s neighborhood. Most of the people who work for my dad have memberships. My brother and I don’t even need to flash our cards anymore. The owners of the club basically watched us grow up on their indoor courts and in their weight room. I haven’t set foot in here in years, though. Not since quitting basketball and turning down the D1 offers to go apprentice with a mechanic instead. I’m a little hesitant when I reach the desk, but thankfully, Penny, one of the owners, flashes with recognition, seeing me step up.
“Call the press, both Anderson brothers have been found,” she jokes, rounding the front counter to give me a hug. She’s barely over five feet tall, so I have to hunch over to embrace her.
“It’s been a while I guess,” I admit.
“Uh, years,” she says, falling away from me but grasping my bicep in her palm and giving it a squeeze first. “I see you’re working out somewhere, though.”
I chuck.
“More like working. It’s amazing how heavy engine blocks are,” I say.
“Okay, Mr. hotshot. Good for you! I heard you got a shop going. I think your brother mentioned it, or maybe your dad.”
I smile politely. I’m sure my dad mentioned it with disgust, but Penny’s always been above all that status bullshit. She’s in this neighborhood because she runs a business. She admires hard work.
“Caleb on the courts?” I nod toward the gym doors beyond the counter.
She leans her head in that direction.
