Page 45 of The Twins

That I’m drowning?

“I’m afraid this can’t wait,” Mr. David insists. He takes a seat on the other end of the sofa, by the edge, where he’s far away. He hasn’t gone home to change out of his fine clothes, hugging him close and touching him the way I sometimes wish I was touching him. He couldn’t tone down his charm for one event. He had to drop jaws at my mother’s funeral service. “I’m selling my house.”

“And we care because?” Vegas asks, and I let out an uncontrolled raw grunt of pain that only Mr. David picks up on.

“I’m friends with Remo, and I’m sure he’d like to know first,” he reveals in front of Vegas. My brother turns to look at me, and I tilt my head to the side, incapable of finding the right words.

It’s like he outed me without my permission.

Mr. David is selling his house, and he waited to tell me on the day of my mother’s funeral. Is nothing sacred anymore?

Is that what I get for ignoring the man?

I guess so.

Vegas isn’t dumb. He knows Mr. David is a gay man, and my parents suspected it, too.

“I would also like to inform you that your brother has been suffering in Fort Mote,” Mr. David continues, and I lower my gaze. This is how he wants to play it? Today?

I should stop him before he rats me out, but I can’t muster the strength.

“Suffering?” Vegas gasps. “Remo? What does he mean?”

My voice is stuck in my throat.

“He hasn’t been eating well, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. Don’t you see that?” Mr. David points out. I shrink where I sit. I’ve done everything I can to hide, but Mr. David sees through details that not even my twin brother can. “He hates his job. It doesn’t challenge him. He wants to go corporate.”

“Who do you think you are? Why are you doing this today?” I manage to ask.

My brother doesn’t know how to process what Mr. David’s told him, and I don’t blame him. I’m supposed to be perfect, and Mr. David’s just told him his version of Santa Claus isn’t real.

“I fear that it’ll get worse now, and I can’t sit by without doing anything about it anymore. Remo’s not invincible, you know? He has flaws like the rest of you. He hurts like any other man,” Mr. David says, the words leaving him in a battle of emotions. He’s a calm man, and I’m not used to seeing him lose control of his feelings.

“I’m sorry,” Vegas blurts out.

“For what?” I hiss. I didn’t expect his admission of guilt.

“I haven’t been the nicest to you,” my brother says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Mr. David relaxes, and it fills me up with longing.

He’s right. I don’t eat. I rarely sleep. I barely hydrate. I don’t move at work because I’m bound to an office desk all day, but I wouldn’t manage if I did. By the time I reach home every night after my bus route, I can barely stick the key into the keyhole.

“Should we also sell the house, Remo?” Vegas asks, his doe eyes wide and acquiescent. It’s like we’re ten years old again.

“That’s drastic,” Mr. David comments.

“That’s what’s needed,” I blurt out.

“Are you sure?” Vegas asks. He looks at Mr. David as he asks the question, and I wonder what he sees. My brother is a shallow asshole most of the time. He should stick to that and stop gawking at Andre, like he can climb under that sculptured, thick, and luscious skin of his.

I nod, and without looking at me, Vegas gets the signal.

“Consider it done, bro. I’ll handle it all. You go rest—”

Mr. David interrupts my brother. “Let’s go out for dinner. I have some things to tell you since I’m moving away.”

Vegas misses my shivers of fear.

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