“I’m thinking about it.”
“Yeah?” He sounds genuinely surprised.
I turn the text over to check the price only to find a wad of pink gum stuck to the back.
“I have to go to grad school.”
“You should do it.”
I head for the checkout, wedging my phone between my ear and shoulder and grabbing a plastic ruler off a display to scrape off the gum.
My older brother’s talent is why my parents were so focused on him when we were growing up. Clay’s prospects and mine moved in opposite directions. Just when he was starting to shine, I began to stumble.
I wonder if he feels guilty about what went down when we were kids. At the time, he didn’t notice. He’d FaceTime me from wherever he was playing to check in, but our parents didn’t know what to do about me.
“You going home for her birthday?” His words bring me back.
“I don’t think so. The semester just started and I’m already behind.”
“Last I heard they were thinking of going on a trip anyway,” he says.
The line is long, but advances quickly. I drop the text in front of the cashier.
“This too?” she asks, pointing to the ruler.
I shrug and reach past her for a tissue, sticking the wad of gum in it and setting it next to the book.
She recoils as if I’ve passed her a live spider.
“So what’d I interrupt last night?” Clay asks.
“I was about to get laid.”
“Impeccable timing on my part. Clearly, I’m looking out for you.”
“First time for everything,” I mutter.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. I have to go.”
“Send me the link and I’ll get my assistant to order the bracelet and wrap it.”
“Will she make me a sandwich while she’s at it?”
“I’ll ask.”
“Tell her to sign it with the usual.”
“Uh-huh. Take care of yourself,” Clay says.
I always have, I want to say.
I click off and head back out into the sunshine.
* * *
Group therapy takes place at a community center in Elmwood. The one-storey building houses a big gymnasium plus smaller rooms. It’s well-maintained with tidy gardens separating the parking lot from the front doors. The paint on the brick is new, but the trim near the door is cracked.