Page 71 of It Started in the Chatroom

Ciara: Talk to you later. ??

Ispent the rest of the time alternating between indulging in daydreams in which Ciara and I stayed together, and wondering why Daniella got fired. It felt like I got to The Chicken Joint in the blink of an eye instead of the hour it took me. When I had food in hand, I started toward Brandon’s house.

Brandon chose to live on the outskirts of Hemingway, where many of the local farmers lived. His cottage stood on a 1.5-acre piece of land, with the forest as his backyard. Over the years, he had cultivated a massive garden, growing much of his own produce with enough to donate to our town’s local food bank and farmer’s market. Of my siblings, he was the quietest, gentlest of them, and the most misunderstood, according to him. But of all the siblings, I was closest to him.

I felt no compunction about letting myself into his house with my key, announcing myself once I was inside. He called back, “I’m on the patio!”, and after dropping the food off in the kitchen, I followed the sound of his voice.

He was, as stated, sitting on the patio, in a rocking chair that overlooked his garden. He sipped from a glass of red wine, the bottle at his big feet. At six feet, six inches, and almost three hundred pounds, Brandon was an imposing figure. He had played football in high school and almost got drafted for the pros…but he gave it up.I just want a quiet life with my music and my produce, he said.

As I stood in his doorway, I could see why. The fresh air in twilight wrapped around me, and I felt my body wind down with the setting of the sun. The vibrance of the sunset that touched the surrounding forest made it come alive, bathing everything in a warm glow. The only sounds were the road noise, far, far in the distance.

For all the shit the siblings and I gave him for living practically in the middle of nowhere, I could see why he chose it. No one to bother him, no one to rely on.No family estate to oversee,I thought glumly.No lies or fake marriages.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he said quietly, still looking out into the distance. “Uncluttered with noise pollution and…people.”

I chuckled. “It’s really the people that are the issue with you, huh,” I said.

A corner of his mouth lifted, and he took a sip of wine. “You said it, not me.”

We sat—or, in my case, stood—in silence for a little while longer before he said, “So, are you gonna at least tell me what’s going on?”

I sighed, finally flopping down into the chair next to him. “It’s nothing big, man, just trying to get my head on straight. You know?”

“Define ‘straight.’”

“I don’t know, ever since Mom died…” I paused, trying to find the words to describe the mounting sense of panic I’d been feeling. “Lately, I’ve been feeling unsettled. I’ve done things according to plan—making sure the estate stays out of Zeke’s grubby-ass hands, ensuring that the family upholds the legacy, all that…And now, I’m marrying Ciara, which was also part of the plan, so there’s nothing left to do. But I’m still unsettled.”

“Well, it was no secret that Mom touted you as the golden boy,” Brandon grumbled, scratching the hair on his jawline. “She drove you harder than the rest of us, put all her energy into making you her carbon copy. That has to come with some side effects.”

I frowned, offended. “I’m not a carbon copy of her.”

“Not for her lack of trying.” Brandon took another sip. “I’m the black sheep of the family—”

“No, you aren’t,” I insisted.

“—Which affords me the chance to shirk the responsibilities you have,” Brandon continued, as if I hadn’t said anything. “I’m thankful for that. Better to be left alone than to have a spotlight on me all the time. But I’ve always wondered if you’re happy.”

“I have nothing to be unhappy about.” I spread my arms, gesturing to the breadth of Brandon’s backyard. “Look at us. We’re sitting on a property that you own, thanks to the hard work that Mom and Dad put into ensuring we had everything we needed, talking about whether or not we’re happy with our lives. It’s a luxury. How many people in our town get to have this? How many in theworldcan say this?”

“I’m not saying we don’t have it good,” Brandon argued. “But if success and wealth are all we have, what do we aspire to do once we’ve obtained it? Maybe that’s why you’re feeling the way you’re feeling. You have everything money can buy, and some of what it can’t, but not happiness. You’ve spent your whole life pushing yourself for success, but at what cost? Do you even know what you want?”

“Yes,” I said immediately. “I want…”

Brandon looked at me as I opened and closed my mouth a few times with no words. “Exactly.”

Rallying, I replied, “I know what I want. I want what I have, and I have what I want.”

Brandon shrugged. “Okay. Then what’s the problem?”

“I guess there isn’t one.”

“Guess not.” Brandon sighed and leaned over to pour more wine into his glass. “Look, whether you figure out what makes you happy, or not, ultimately doesn’t affect my life. But if you’re feeling unsettled, there’s a reason why.”

I frowned, even as I paused to mull over his words. I knew he was right to some degree; my parents, Mom in particular, seemed to expect more out of me because I was the oldest Hemingway of my generation. But he couldn’t possibly be right about me not knowing what I wanted out of life. I started a whole company—that was very successful—on the basis of the change I wanted to see in the world. My duty as head of the family was one I took seriously and enjoyed. There had to be another reason why I felt this way.

As he and I sat and watched the sunset, and the day wound down around us, I heard my brothers come in one by one. Damien was first, the quiet clink of bottles announcing his presence, followed later by John, loud but tinny music and his whoops announcinghispresence.

When John arrived, Brandon sighed, taking his time getting up as if he was the one closer to approaching forty. “Might as well go in,” he grumbled, “before they come out. Don’t want John wrecking my peace.”

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