Page 1 of The Wrong Brother

1

rafferty

Handing over my card, I pretend not to notice the finger-brush or overt staring — it’s not that the woman behind the register isn’t pretty, but getting eye-fucked gets old. For real. Based on the location, a vinyl store in trendy Kaka’ako, it’s probably my full sleeves of tattoos, but it doesn’t genuinely matter what it is. Whether it’s my body, my tattoos, my beard, or my long-ish blond hair, I tend to get a lot of attention, particularly here. But it’s never for more than the exterior. I’m not a shallow guy and I’m tired, weary down to my fucking bones, of being only a body. I’ve never said anything about this to anyone, not even Mina, my closest friend. I know even she would give me shit about how hard it is to betoo good-looking, as if that’s what I mean. Making my feelings a joke would hurt too much. I want more. I want to be with somebody who sees me as more. But that level of depth feels impossible, especially after this morning.

I had thought, with Kali, that I had paced things well enough to start adding more physical intimacy while carefully beginning to open up more emotionally. I’d been cautious. I know better than to show too much of myself too soon. I’m always wary of adding the element of physicality when I know my emotions will immediately be tied up in everything whether hers are or not. And let’s face it, it is invariablynot. Even with all of that, earlier this morning found me at an outside cafe table, interrupted while talking about the feelings being out on the ocean brings up. Who knew even surfing wasn’t safe?

“I’m sorry to sound like a bitch, but geez, Rafferty! You are too much. Everything has to be some big, deep, overly-pondered thing with you. I was looking for something light and fun and possibly freaky with a hot guy, not mopey musings and barely making out.” She stood up, tossing her empty coffee cup into the can nearest us. “Let’s not see each other again, k?”

And that’s how I found myself single, yet again, flipping through the stacks at Hungry Ear Records, my entire Sunday morning unexpectedly, terribly open. I take the Maggie Rogers album I just bought and skate over to Mina’s apartment across the street, texting on the way.

Me:Incoming! Hope you’re not busy because I’ll be there in 2 min

Teeny Meens:Nah, just about to make coffee

Me:Will you share?

Teeny Meens:I will AND I’ll even put on a bra! That’s how much I love you

Me:hashtag blessed

I let myself in—I have a key for emergencies and, you know, when Mina doesn’t feel like walking all the way over to the door—prop my longboard up in her front hallway, and go straight to the record player. I can hear Mina in the kitchen.

“I brought something new, I’m going to put it on,” I call over my shoulder. Once the needle is set and music is coming from the speakers, I go greet my best friend, touching noses and foreheads before I ruffle her dark hair. She hasn’t been back on island very long but we’ve already settled into a familiar routine, albeit with more freedom now that we’re no longer teenagers, living with our parents across the street from each other. I didn’t realize just how much I missed her until I was able to drop by her apartment at a moment’s notice to have coffee or binge shows together.

Mina plops down onto a chair at her small kitchen table, tucking her feet up underneath her. “We have 5 minutes until the coffee is steeped, sit.” I sit across from her, stretching my legs out and leaning back. I swear every piece of furniture in this apartment is made specifically for a tiny person. Like these little Mina-size chairs that are less than comfortable when you’re 6’3.” She eyes me, full lips pursed. “Didn’t you have a breakfast date? With what’s her muff?”

I snort. “Kali. And we didn’t get to the ordering food part before she was dumping me.”

“Damn. What was it this time?”

“I believe she said I was ‘too much’ while she was looking for something fun.” I cross my ankles, pushing the hurt deep where it won’t be noticed by the casual observer. I’m always too much or not good enough and it never stops hurting.

“Which one was Kali? Was she the one with long dark hair? Or did she have medium-ish dark hair? Or was that the one before last and Kali was…interchangeable from every other woman you’ve been dumped by.” She smirks and I flip her off. “Maybe you should try going against type, just for funsies.”

That’s not happening. The women I date are…well, let’s say you’ve seen a Mary Qian portrait in person. You stood for hours, taking in the brushstrokes, the layers of oil paint, and the texture until the viewing fundamentally changed you. After that, nothing would ever compare. Nothing could make you feel that way again. And trying to replicate it would be foolish. So instead of wasting time with cheap imitations, you go the other direction. That’s my intention, anyway. I’m…going the other direction. Mina doesn’t know that though. No one does. And I intend to keep it that way.

“Remind me again why you should be giving me relationship advice. How’s dating going for you, Meens? Gone on any actual dates? Have you been back home yet? Or are you still avoiding your parents and mine because you’re scared you might run into my brother?”

She gasps and flips me off. “That’s not fair. There are all sorts of reasons why I haven’t made it over to Ka‘a‘awa. I barely even considered Griffin.”

I roll my eyes. “We both know that’s bullshit, ya? There’s no point in pretending, it’s me.”

“Fine. I’ve been trying not to run into your brother. I’m in a good place! I have everything I’ve spent years working toward. It would be nice if I could settle in and do my job without falling right back into pining over a guy that will never see me.”

She plunges the french press and pours our coffee before curling back up in her chair. It’s good to sit and enjoy the dark brew, Maggie Rogers singing in the background, with no need to fill the space between us with pointless chatter. Eventually, I flip the record and we finish the rest of the coffee. This is far better than that brunch would have been anyway. Texting with drastically different time zones isn’t the same as hanging out in person—I’ve missed her.

Mina takes my mug and sits it in the sink with hers.

“I can’t be in this apartment any longer. It’s Saturday. Let’s go to the beach!”

I’m always prepared for an impromptu beach trip. While Mina changes I put the record away, stashing it with all the others I’ve subtly purchased and left over here. I don’t think Mina has noticed, but if she has, she hasn’t said anything about it. It beats leaving them in my trunk and worrying the heat might warp them. I smooth sunscreen over my tattoos and fill our water bottles, ready to leave the moment Mina is. Man, it’s fucking great to have a friend again.

2

catherine

I’ve finished spin class, showered, and had breakfast but I don’t have any other plans for the day. An entire Sunday stretches out in front of me, making me feel restless. Normally I’m quite content to spend as much free time as possible at home, where I’m most comfortable. I don’t know why today should be any different, but the thought of staying in all day, alone, makes me antsy. No, that’s not being honest. I know why. It’s the letter that came with yesterday’s mail. They always put me in a funk and leave me cataloging all of my faults, obsessing over all the ways I never meet expectations. I know I should dismiss their contents and stop giving them and their author power over me, but let’s face it, I can’t. I tell myself it’s better to know what’s being thought of me. How can improve if I don’t know my faults? So I can sit here at home, re-reading the letter and punishing myself, or…

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