Page 56 of The Wrong Brother

I feel like my heart has shattered, all the broken pieces slicing their way around my chest cavity, and it is utterly ridiculous. Catherine has been secretly sewing more patches for me. They’re clever and beautifully made, just like the first. I can tell she put a lot of thought into them. They still feel like tiny blades being buried in my skin. I thought “Hug Friends” was sweet. We weren’t anything else yet. Barely friends at that point. She commemorated that baby step into being more than childhood neighbors. Over the last few weeks though, I’ve been feeling like there’s more. I’ve never had this level of intimacy with anyone. It hurts to see all of her creativity and embroidery skill in four small patches that painfully remind me that we’re friends. Only friends. Friends with an agreement in place that is about to end. Friends that shower together, nap together, read together, and have sex. Friends, capitalized with a period at the end and no other qualifiers.

I should have known better. Once again, I’m too much. I let my guard down, allowed myself to be vulnerable, and now that she’s had a chance to really know me, to really see me, she’s reestablishing those boundaries. Friends. I knew, from the very beginning, that this was where I was headed. I have no one to blame but myself. I didn’t hold anything back. I allowed myself to become fully invested and once this weekend is over I’m going to be in trouble. I should probably go ahead and schedule an appointment with my therapist before I’m too low to make the call. It’s the smart move.

I’m not trying to punish Catherine but I can’t be as open with her as I was before. It already hurts too much and it’s not even over yet. Obviously, she’s noticed. That shaky breath before we went to sleep sliced through me like a scalpel. I hate that I’m hurting her. I don’t know what to do. I guess the only solution is to pretend I’m fine that way I’m the only one who ends up hurt. Things become less strained but it doesn’t feel as natural, as good as it did before. I stay away from the condo more, working extra sessions. I’m pretending that being there less means it’s less painful. I’m full of shit.

Saturday morning is warm and clear. It’s going to be a beautiful day. Catherine gets dressed in the bathroom, away from me. It’s like she’s hiding. Everything feels awkward. I put on the charcoal submersibles and an RVCA tank, making sure to put a rubber band on my wrist in case I need it for my hair later. Catherine comes out in a linen-looking wrap. It’s a soft ivory color that hints at her body underneath. Her golden waves are smooth and shiny and she has on a subtle touch of makeup. It makes my heart ache to look at her. She looks at me with uncertainty in her eyes and a hint of shyness.

“You look beautiful, Catherine.”

She gives me the barest of nods, a faint quiver around her lips the only indication of the tight rein she has on her emotions.

“Are you ready to go?” Her voice betrays her nervousness with the tiniest tremor. “Because I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

We park near the harbor, walking down the pier towards a fancy yacht moored at the end. Even from here, I can see Pressley and Connor greeting everyone as they board. Catherine’s hand grips mine tightly. I stop and turn her towards me, aiming for Kiss Therapy and calm.

“We’ve got this. They can’t hurt you. They don’t matter.”

Her kiss is tentative, the barest brush of her lips, more reflex than affection. I want to go back home and do something, anything, to make her happy like she was before I saw the patches. I guess this is just one more thing I’ve fucked up.

“Showtime.”

Her smile looks forced and her fingers are cold in mine. I breathe deeply, pushing away my own sadness. This is what this was all about. She’s right—it’s showtime. We step up and Pressley exclaims over us, making Catherine’s jaw twitch. I’m introduced to the Witherings and they both hug Catherine, seeming genuinely happy to see her. Connor shakes my hand jovially.

“Rafferty! Good to see you again! Thanks for the tip about that stretch for my shoulder, man! It has made a huge difference in my neck pain.” Huh. that’s surprisingly genuine feeling.

“You’re welcome, brah. I’m always happy to help. It’s a common problem to have with desk work.”

Pressley is eyeing us suspiciously and Catherine’s expression is comically similar. There’s nothing nefarious here. I simply noticed his shoulders were uneven when we were in the elevator and gave him a suggestion. No big deal. I’m sure anyone would have done it, with the same information at their disposal.

Everyone boards the boat (Ship? Boat? I don’t know the difference) and we head out over the turquoise waves. Catherine was right, there’s alcohol aplenty even though it’s only 8 am. We are the least fancy by a country mile but no one treats us like we don’t belong. More than once I see Connor moving like he’s trying to get Catherine alone but party guests keep intervening. She sticks close by my side and I can’t stand to have her so close yet so far away. The boat is slowing now. I heard talk of dropping anchor and swimming. I could not care less. I can’t drum up even the tiniest bit of interest for leisure activities unless it includes drowning in melancholy.

I’m leaning against the railing, my back to the breathtaking view of our island home and the turquoise ocean. I can feel myself slipping deeper inward but I’m powerless to stop it. Catherine steps up between my outstretched legs. Her eyes are moist, their soft blue wavering in the light reflecting off her unshed tears. She runs her fingers along my cheekbones, fanning her hands out across my face.

“Come back to me. I don’t know what I did but I’m so very sorry, Love. Please? Tell me how to fix this?”

“It’s not you, Cat. It’s me. I…it’s my fault. I ruin everything I touch.”

Knowing Catherine so well, I expect Kiss Therapy, reassurance, or maybe her comforting touch. Instead, she straightens up as if she’s reacting to a jolt of electricity, clenching her jaw and tensing her shoulders.

“ENOUGH.” Her voice isn’t loud but it’s laced with steel. “Do you hear me, Rafferty? Enough. No more of this poor pity me bullshit. You are not broken. You are not lacking. You’re allowed to be happy. I WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY. And if something I do hurts you, then you need to man up and tell me. I can’t read your mind and you’re not being fair to me.”

I hate criticism but this is worse than anything that has ever been leveled at me both because she’s right, and because it’s coming from her. Maybe we’re currently friends with extra benefits and that’s all we’ll ever be. But Catherine needs me to be all in right now. I may end up broken tomorrow, but I’m going to ignore my worries and hurts and fears and lean into the role of ‘Catherine’s Boyfriend.’ She needs me.

I slip my fingers in her hair and kiss her with everything I have. She melts into me, her hands sliding up inside my shirt and resting on my sides.

“I’m sorry, Cat. I’m just… I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve missed this,” she sighs, her mouth still brushing mine. The motion of the waves is slowing but I barely notice with Catherine’s lips on mine. I’ve only gotten a taste of her with the tip of my tongue when a smooth voice interrupts us.

“Don’t you two look cozy!” Pressley flashes a hard smile, jewelry twinkling in the sun.

“We were,” I mutter.

“Everyone’s going to swim. We have floats if you want any, and the chef is preparing a brunch as we speak. Are you going to take a dip, Cat?”

A growl escapes my throat and Pressley turns to me, surprise registering on her heavily painted features. “Do you lavish attention on my girl’s kitty?” She turns red and stammers out a no. “Then you don’t call her that. Ever.” I go back to kissing Catherine until Pressley takes the hint and goes away. Catherine giggles into my mouth.

“That was awesome.”

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