“That, dear brother, is everything I own. Minus the lamp that came with my apartment, which is somehow controlled by the upstairs tenant. Or, at least, Ihopethat’s who is turning it on and off all day.”
I walk toward the back of the van, and she follows closely. “Toronto sounds…fun.”
“For sure.” I catch her smiling softly at the back doors of the van as I struggle to open the right rear door. Much like my own skin, Bertha’s outer shell is covered in memories, mistakes, and inspirational scribblings. “I see you’re still collecting these…” She taps on a bumper sticker, one of many, then underlines the words with her finger. “My other ride is your mother,” she reads, firing an entirely unconvincing disapproving stare my way. “Real classy.”
I smile widely at her in response, flashing all my teeth as I manage to pry open the door with a grunt of effort. “I have the father version of that one too,” I say, gesturing to the hundreds of other stickers decorating the entire surface of the doors. I toss her bags into the hollow back of the van, alongside my own luggage. “I believe in equality, after all.”
“Do you? Or are you simply an equal opportunist?” she asks, smirking.
My bisexuality is no secret to either of my siblings and, asmuch as they like to tease me about it, they’ve been nothing but supportive. Not that they’d have a choice to be anything but. I have no place in my life for bullshit from anyone, family or not, and they know that. “Can’t it be both?” I ask, shutting the door by throwing my shoulder against it.
She nods, grinning mischievously as she pulls out her phone from her pocket and snaps a photo of Bertha’s rear. “So…” I lean my shoulder against the door and run one hand through my hair, pushing it to one side as a gust of wind tries to blow it back. “What do you make of all this?” I gesture broadly in what may or may not be the direction of Baysville, my brother’s new home. “A bit dramatic, don’t ya think?”
Nadia’s lips pout as she considers my question, then she looks up at me with those deep brown eyes that all of us siblings have. “You mean Nik using his one-one-nine?”
We coined the termone-one-nineover twenty years ago. Whereas a code nine-one-one meant an emergency that we, unfortunately, had no choice but to involve our parents in, a one-one-nine could and should remain between us siblings.
Nik graciously granted us all two one-one-nine uses per year in childhood. But the rule was that we’d have only one after the age of eighteen to use in perpetuity. That goes for all of us. We have one Get Out of Jail Free card. One Hail Mary. One help-me-bury-the-body-and-don’t-ask-questions. Then, you’re on your own.
“Yeah,” I answer. “It feels a bit extreme; don’t you think? He’s dreamed of opening his brewery foryearsand we’ve never been a part of that plan. What could possibly constitute an emergency?”
“He never specified it had to be used in an emergency…. And, if I recall correctly, you used yours to make me catch a mouse for you when we were backpacking in Costa Rica.” She leans her hip up against the van and digs around in her oversized tote for what Ihopeis not a cigarette. “So, maybe let’s not be so quick to judge.”
“It was Ecuador,” I correct her, “and it was a rat,nota mouse. Plus,yousaid we didn’t have to count that because a one-one-nine is only for situations that require both siblings, and Nik was here playing house. I’m saving mine for my forties, when I plan to hit rock bottom.”
“That doesn’t sound like something I’d say,” Nadia replies as she continues rifling through her bag. “And Nik wasn’tplayinghouse, he’d fucking committed to the bit. But I guess you’d already skipped town by the time he got Sef knocked up and married her a month later….”
I’d been gone for only three months when my brother popped the question. I couldn’t go back for the wedding. I just…couldn’t. I could finally breathe, lost in the middle of nowhere. I finally felt some semblance of freedom, some control over my own life. Still, I know Nik hates me just a little for not showing up. And, I hate myself a little for it too.
Nadia’s arm is deep enough inside of this tote bag of hers that she should consider asking it if it has a safe word. “All right, what’re you looking for in there?”And please don’t say a cigarette.
She rolls her eyes,again.“Relax, I quit….”
“Okay, good.”Wait; how did she?“Wait, I didn’t—”
“Aha!” she says, pulling out a neatly folded lined piece of paper. “Here,” she says, handing it to me.
I unfold it, and immediately recognize my handwriting and half-scribbled signature at the bottom of the page, though I don’t remember writing any of it. To be fair, Nadia and I don’t typically stay sober for very long when in each other’s company.
“I, Milo Kablukov, hereby grant Nadia Kablukov the right to one pack of cigarettes whenever she is within a twenty-mile radius of either of our parents.” I look up, noticing that she’d mouthed the words along with me as I’d read them. “Furthermore, I will purchase them for her without complaint. Signed on the fifteenth of May, 2022…” We say that last part in unison.
I scrunch it up into a ball in my fist. “Didn’t you just say you quit? Won’t this, like, fuck that up?”
“I’m not going to smoke them!” she says, rolling her eyes, then they harden as she purses her lips. “Unless we end up seeing Mom and Dad. Then, all bets are off.”
I sigh, tossing the paper back and forth between my hands. “Nik said they haven’t come by his new place at all. That we probably won’t—”
“I know.” She rips the balled-up note away from me and begins smoothing it out. “I asked him too.”
“Fine,” I say, turning to walk toward the driver’s seat. “But you can never smoke inside of Bertha. She’s got asthma,” I shout over the top of the van. Plus, I’m not fully confident she won’t somehow combust if we light a match in her. Shedoeshave aslightgasoline-tank-leaking smell.
We both get inside, fasten our seatbelts, and reach out to pat the bobblehead Jesus. Nik bought him for me ten years ago as a gag gift the day I bought Bertha from his best friend’s grandma, her namesake. None of us siblings are remotely religious, but we are creatures of habit, and I can no longer drive without first forcing all passengers to pay their respects to bobblehead Jesus.
“I seriously cannot believe that Bertha’s still going.” Nadia looks around cautiously. “How old is she now?”
“You know better than to ask a lady’s age.” I think back to the hill, my obituary, and then to the memory of my little sister ten years younger than she currently is, sitting in the passenger seat, asking me for the last time to not leave town. I decidethento take the long way to Nik’s new place, avoiding any hills, highways, or possible dangers. I’m more than willing to roll the dice with my own life, but not hers.
“But seriously, is she still safe to drive?”
