Page 11 of The Wrong Brother

“Don’t leave, I’m sure you’ll still have lots of fun. There’s food and I heard Joy’s mom has some games planned. Who cares that you don’t have a swimsuit?”

“I do! I’ll stand out being the only girl here wearing regular clothes! I might as well have loser written on my forehead!”

“Hey, wait right here, I’ll be back.” Catherine goes into the house and the girl stands there, her arms wrapped around her middle, looking uncomfortable and embarrassed. I don’t get what the big deal is either but she seems pretty upset about it. Mina offers her a cold drink and she accepts it, keeping all of her attention on the can instead of the party going on around her. Catherine comes back a few minutes later, dressed back in her shorts and tank top.

“What are you wearing, Catherine?” the girl whispers.

“Now you’re not the only one. You won’t stand out and you can still have fun, ya?”

The girl’s lip trembles and she smiles at Catherine gratefully. Catherine gives her shoulders a squeeze and takes the drink I’m holding out for her, not even noticing me as she surveys the crowd. Later Catherine grabs the girl’s hand and they jump into the pool, fully dressed, laughing and a bunch of other kids follow their lead. I don’t know if Catherine ever hung out with her outside of school. I don’t remember seeing her around the neighborhood. Close relationship or school acquaintance, Catherine willingly spent the entire pool party in her regular clothes and went home wet so that the girl wouldn’t feel alone and embarrassed. She didn’t think twice about doing it either. It’s not only her pretty face, Catherine Brookner is, I don’t know how to put it. She’s…morethan any other girl I’ve ever met. She’s special.

* * *

I distract myself from the work with thoughts of Catherine, past and present. I obsess over every single interaction. I wonder if she got home okay and how she’s feeling after such a terrible day. Mina’s mind seems to also be occupied. The afternoon is lacking in the morning’s jokes and light conversation. We work until we’re all dirty and sore. The moms try to convince us to stay for dinner but Mina is tired and I’m her ride. I drop Mina off at her apartment and take myself to the only place I want to be, invited or not.

8

catherine

Today was an unequivocal disaster. The day began poorly, with a new letter. Good ol’ hate mail from a hateful shrew who can’t seem to move past making me feel as small as she did in college. This one simply a sweet little note to point out that my disappointingly tiny breasts are one of the many reasons my boyfriends always look elsewhere. So that didn’t have me in the best headspace. Then there was the worst date I’ve ever been on that started with a miscommunication that had me heading to a hiking date in a dress and slippahs, to the painful slide down the hill in the mud, then the most awkward silent car ride known to man, having to break up with Griffin, and ending with the saddest, most emotionless kiss I’ve ever had the misfortune of participating in. I don’t know why he thought kissing me would prove we could work as a couple. That backfired on him big time. Poor Griffin. I hope he’s okay. And I hope he ultimately sees my point and understands that we are not a good match. I shudder at the thought of any amount of time in a relationship made solely out of a sense of duty, with only those sad, sad kisses as affection. The one nice point in the day was the brief moment when Rafferty held me and I should not have let that happen.

It strikes me as strange that he would have known, without having to think about it, what the ideal outdoor date would be for me. Stranger still that, not only did the guy who said he wanted to date me not know what that would be, he picked the last thing I would want. I haven’t finished considering what that means. I can’t, however, organize my thoughts more clearly in my current state. I only had coffee for breakfast this morning because I was finishing a book and lost track of time. Then with the terrible date, I didn’t get any lunch. I’m starving. More than my empty stomach though, I’m beginning to feel the aches and pains from my tumble on the hiking trail. I should probably deal with that first or I’ll be too sore to go out for food.

I take off my borrowed clothes, put them in the hamper, and type a reminder in my phone to get them back to Mom. Surveying myself in the mirror, it’s a bit worse than I had anticipated. My left leg, from knee to hip, is one giant, quickly developing bruise with long scrapes and abrasions, extending over my butt. I have a knot over my hip bone where I vaguely remember striking a rock. My left elbow is also scraped and bruised as well as the back of my forearm. I’m not even sure I have the right things to clean it with.

I draw myself a hot bath. I’d love to soak my sore muscles in epsom salt but that would probably feel like hell on all these scrapes so I settle for the hottest water I can stand. I take a few ibuprofen while I’m waiting and lower myself gingerly into the tub. Relaxing and reading until the water is cool, I then climb out and carefully dry off. I pull on panties and an oversized shirt, wanting to touch my sore spots as little as possible. Everything hurts and I no longer want to venture out for food. I’m not sure what I’ll do yet. I’m hobbling into my living room, searching for my cell phone, when there’s a knock on my door.Why didn’t I give Mina the key I had made for her?This is my punishment for not being more organized. I open the door and drop the knob in surprise. Rafferty sticks his foot in the crack to keep it from shutting. He pushes the door back open, his smile a little unsure.

“Sorry, Rafferty, I wasn’t expecting you. I wasn’t expecting anyone, to be honest.”

“I should have at least shot you a text.” His sheepish grin melts me. “I dropped Mina off and wanted to check on you after the day you had.”

“That’s thoughtful. Here, come in. Please.” I take a step back wincing, and he looks at my leg at the same moment that I realize I answered the door in a t-shirt and panties.

“Catherine! What did you do?” I’m not even able to answer before he’s lifting me gently into his arms and carrying me to the couch. He puts me down carefully, smoothing his hand down my leg with the lightest touch.

“Was it like this earlier and I didn’t notice? Did I hurt you when I was having my hair braided?”

“You didn’t. It’s not a big deal, honestly. It’s all I got out of that terrible date with your brother.”

“Why isn’t he here taking care of you?” He scowls.

“I broke up with him.” I shrug. “There was nothing there.”

He looks strangely, well, I’m not sure what his expression is. Relieved? That can’t be right.

“He might have been the only one that didn’t notice. I think he’s still trying to live up to those expectations from when we were kids.”

“I’ll admit, it was a factor for me as well. I guess, as usual, I felt like it would be best if I tried to be who they expect me to be, to not let anyone down.” I sigh, thinking about years of trying to do everything right, no mistakes, and keeping the things that hurt to myself because sharing them would mean admitting I failed. Rafferty looks like he wants to say something more and I’m bracing myself for invasive questions when he gives a barely noticeable nod and changes the subject.

“Have you taken anything for the pain? Did you clean or treat the scrapes?”

“I took some ibuprofen before I soaked in the tub. I don’t think I have anything besides that and I was too sore to go out.”

He stands up, focused and assertive. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to grab your keys so I can let myself back in without bothering you. Don’t get up, ok? Have you eaten? No, you wouldn’t have had time to cook, dumb question,” he mutters under his breath. “I’ll grab some food too. You rest and wait for me here.”

He kisses my cheek, letting his long fingers linger on my jaw, before rushing out the door. I never did find my phone and my skin is still tingling everywhere Rafferty touched. I wish I could go back to not being so aware of him. He’s not even my type. When I was still actively dating, I had a knack for picking the wrong guys. I gravitated toward the appearance of being “the right choice,” but they never ended up actually being that. Is that why I never looked at Rafferty? Appearances? Am I that shallow? He certainly doesn’t fit into the box of the straight-laced, career-focused guys I normally give a second glance. And what good has that done me? If anything, it seems like I should be ignoring my previous criteria. It didn’t work. If my past indicates anything, it’s that my judgment can’t be trusted. I’m thinking about my many dating failures and what Rafferty deserves when I hear the key in the lock. He hurries in, bags in his hands, kicking his shoes off at the door.

“I’m so sorry, Catherine. The wait at the Thai place was a little longer than I anticipated.” His expression is turned inward and he mutters to himself, “Griffin would have called ahead so she wouldn’t have to wait so long.”

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