Page 4 of The Wrong Brother

Originally I’m sure Mina started calling me that as an insult but it stopped meaning that a long time ago. Now it’s merely one of many long-held inside jokes. She even has me listed that way in her phone. I swallow hard, fighting my nervousness. It’s silly to be nervous. I’ve known Rafferty most of my life. He’s not scary or intimidating. I’m being ridiculous. I can interact with him without acting like a salivating groupie or embarrassing myself. I would like to do that away from my entry table though. I can see the latest letter, invisible waves of hate pouring off of it, lying in the pile of mail and that is the last thing I want to think about.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use some more coffee.”

“I’d enjoy another cup. Would you like help?”

I offered to make coffee to have something to keep my hands busy, a task to get away from him long enough to regain my equilibrium, but now we’re side by side in my kitchen, closer than before.

“I like your condo. It’s very you.”

“How is it me?” I bristle, already worrying about what he sees.

Rafferty looks it over with an artist’s eye, not even reacting to my snippy tone. “It’s cozy and homey. The colors are inviting, soft and feminine without being juvenile or busy. It’s neat and well-cared for. A pretty place that feels peaceful and happy. You’ve made a perfect little safe haven here.”

I blush, his honest assessment warming me from the inside. “Thank you. Sorry if I seemed a little snappy. I guess I worry a bit about how I come across or what people think of me. Certainly more than I should.”

“I’ve always thought you come across as very genuine. Neither you nor Mina shy away from what makes you each uniquely special. I like that.”

I turn to get us mugs to hide my face. He’s been very complimentary and I’m not used to it nor do I feel like I deserve it. How genuine can I be when I’m basically just a mess of self-consciousness and anxiety hidden behind a false, carefully constructed, put-together exterior?

I clear my throat, trying to regain some sense of balance. “That sounds more like you, Rafferty. Mom used to say that with you it wasn’t just the beat of a different drummer but an entire symphony.”

“I can’t decide if that’s a compliment or a very elaborate insult.”

“Compliment! You’ve never been afraid to pursue what interests you or to show everyone who you are. I envy that. I feel like any surety I have has been very hard won and I still manage to second-guess myself more often than not. In fact, as I remember it, teenage Rafferty convinced me I shouldn’t be embarrassed by what makes meme. You told me not to dumb myself down to fit in and it made all the difference to me at the time.” The memory of the feel of his gangly arm around my shoulders makes me smile. His long, surfer hair tickled my cheek as I leaned into him, crying because some jerk had made fun of me for wanting a math team at our high school.

“I didn’t know you remembered that.” He sits at the table, leaving room between us, and sips the fresh coffee. The thoughtfulness of that extra space, the intentionality of it, is so noticeable because Rafferty, on his own, takes up so much space. Not just his size, but his depth, his humor, and his presence are all enough to brighten and fill everything around him. Yet here he is, making room for me to feel comfortable.

“Of course I do. I should have said something to you then. It was a real turning point for me. Everything changed after that. It solidified what I wanted out of life and who I wanted to be. I was probably embarrassed that I was so self-conscious I needed advice from a sixteen-year-old boy.” He grimaces and I do too, hating how that sounded. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I was a snob, especially at seventeen. I don’t know, it’s always felt like my family put me up on this pedestal and there’s so much pressure to be perfect, to do everything right, to make no mistakes. It’s hard to let anyone see how I fall short and I couldn’t thank you without drawing attention to my faults. I should have talked to you sooner, knowing how little you care about people’s opinions compared to being authentic.”

“That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about me, Catherine.”

That makes me giggle, imagining all the compliments Rafferty must get on a regular basis. “I doubt that. I mean, look at you.” His expression falls and my stomach clenches. Goddammit, I know better. “Shit, Rafferty, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was trying to be nice and I managed to mess it up.” God, I’m so tired of my constant rhythm of fucking up and apologizing, over and over until I close myself off in shame.

“It’s not you. You’re fine. That’s why the compliment was so meaningful—you said something truly nice about who I am, not about how I look. I’ve been a tad sensitive about it lately. That’s on me, not you.”

I reach across the table and touch his forearm. I shouldn’t. It’s hard to maintain distance when I’m touching him, but I hate the thought of withholding simple human connection in the face of hurt. He deserves to be comforted, regardless of how I’m feeling. His skin is warm underneath my fingertips, the light dusting of golden hair soft against my skin. I can’t believe I was so thoughtless. Again.

“I’m sorry people are shallow and don’t take time to see past your exterior. I know a little bit about what that’s like, although clearly not to the same degree.”Or the same way, I think to myself. I’m not getting hit on in public but people always see my exterior and make assumptions that we rarely get past.

“Thank you. For understanding what I meant and not making me feel like a joke.” His expression is so serious. The moment feels heavy. I concentrate on the look and feel of his skin beneath my fingers. His arms are strong and the muscles and veins ripple underneath all the bright colors of his tattoos. The contact starts to feel like too much, physical sensation and feelings blending in unasked-for ways, and I take my hand back, wrapping it around my mug.

“Maybe you should get a super unflattering haircut! Or start wearing oversized jeans shorts and white-on-white tennis shoes.” The image makes me giggle and cuts the tension I had been feeling. “Oh, I’ve got it: gold chains. Lots of gold chains. Or we could bedazzle your beard.”

He laughs too, making me feel at ease in a way no one else ever has. “I’m afraid a glittery beard would have the opposite effect. Can you imagine this with pink sparkles? That’s hot.”

No, I will not be imagining that. I work hard, every day, to not think about Rafferty like that.

He tops off our mugs and sits back down. I ask him about his work, embarrassed at how little we’ve talked, just the two of us, even though we grew up across the street from each other and were an oddball foursome for years. I haven’t ever been a very good friend.

“I started working out in high school. I was having a hard time and your dad told me exercise could help. He did a lot for me. I worked in gyms while in school and later to pay for classes. I pursued that instead of art. The passion isn’t there but…art never felt like a viable option for me.” There’s the feeling that he’s not saying everything but it’s not my place to dig. I sit back, leaving him space to continue when he’s ready. “I feel the pressure though, as a personal trainer, to look a certain way. Nobody wants a trainer who is merely healthy. They want someone who is cut, someone who looks impressive, someone that they believe they can be if they put in enough hours. Griffin likes to say my body is my business card. It would be easier if working out was all I care about and who I am.”

I nod, curling my legs up underneath me. “I know what you mean. And I’m sure it’s incredibly frustrating because what you do for an income doesn’t have a strong connection to who you are. It makes me sad to think of people missing out on everything that’s underneath.”

He smiles gently, his green eyes unreadable. Before we can slide back into a realm I find uncomfortable, he turns it back on me and asks about my job.

“For some reason, people find dealing with their finances very stressful. I work for a CPA firm and my focus is small businesses. I’m there to help them work towards their financial goals and keep everything in order. I handle account reconciliations, generating income statements and balance sheets, tax planning, and tax preparation. You have a business to make money, but a lot of people hope that they can ignore that side of it and still come out okay at the end of the year.” I have to make myself stop talking. This is the point when people’s eyes start glazing over and they make excuses to leave. Boring Accountant Catherine strikes again.

“I think it’s cool that you found a way to combine your affinity for numbers and order with your caring nature,” he remarks.

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