When I open the door to him, it’s as if something fundamental shifts in my relationship to this house. I’d thought it was home before, but now, with my brother here on the threshold, I can really say,hey, this is where I live. This is where my life is.His jet-black hair is messy and his jaw is thickly stubbled, and he smells a little like airplane when I open my arms and wrap them around his middle, but I’ve never felt more glad to see him.
“Hey, Tool Kit,” he says, squeezing me back before pulling away to look down at me with bright green eyes that I’ve always envied. I’d only ever seen a couple of pictures of Alex’s mom, and she was a knockout, tall and curvaceous and eyes exactly the same as Alex’s.“You look too skinny.”
I laugh, just with the relief and joy I feel at having him say something so familiar, something he’s said to me since we were kids and he’d harass me about whether I was eating the lunches he’d packed for me.
I’m ushering him through the door, grabbing bags off his shoulder and setting them down in the foyer before pulling him into the living room, and I know I’m chattering away, pointing out details about the house that are totally irrelevant at the moment someone is trying to take in a place for the first time.
He hooks an arm around my neck and gently rubs his knuckles over my head.“Give me a minute, huh?”
Zoe comes into the living room to introduce herself, shaking Alex’s hand and winking at me.“God, Kit,” she says, with no shame in her voice.“All your friends must’ve hadmassivecrushes on him when you were growing up.”
Alex smiles, his cheeks going briefly ruddy, and I laugh.“Oh, yeah.Massive.” This was partially true, since pretty much every girl in any one of my various high schools went silent and swoony whenever Alex showed up. But not many of those girls were my friends, since I was a temporary fixture everywhere, and anyways, I was too wrapped up in my schoolwork to think about anyone’s romantic interests. For a second, I have a distracting flash of imagining how it would’ve been if I’d seen someone like Ben Tucker in high school, of wondering whether he would have noticed me at all.
I shake my head and refocus. I have no room for thoughts of Ben tonight. Instead, I wait for Alex’s eyes to snag on the picture above the mantel, and when they do, I’m not disappointed. He looks at me, then back at it, and I see him take a deep breath. It’s the first picture Alex ever developed on his own, a shot he took early one morning after an ice storm had closed nearly everything in town. I still remember him lying on his back in his too-thin coat, pointing his camera up at the sky, catching the clear-blue of it as the backdrop for the ice-encased branches of the lone elm tree that was out front of the complex we’d lived in for eight months when I was twelve, Alex seventeen. Somehow, he’d made it look as if we grew up in pastoral bliss, as if we lived in the kind of place where the wonders of nature could be appreciated. I’d loved that picture since he’d first brought it home to show me, an uncharacteristic gleam of pride in his eyes.
“Looks good,” is all he says, but I can hear the catch of emotion in his voice.
Zoe is pretty much allergic to this kind of loaded moment, so she takes over, asking Alex about his flight and his travels while I go grab him a beer from the fridge. I’m glad not to be giving him a full tour right away, since I’ll have to do a lot of explaining about the condition of other parts of the house, and anyway, I’m enjoying seeing Alex sitting on my couch, talking and laughing with my best friend.
It’s about twenty minutes before the front door opens and Greer comes in, her hair mussed and her cheeks flushed pink, panting out,“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Traffic was totalshit, and I had to park three streets over, and then your neighbor’s dog was out in the street, and I was trying to chase it down…oh.” She stops, noticing for the first time that Alex has stood from his spot on the couch and is watching her with a smile.
“Alex, this is Greer,” I say, stepping around him to usher Greer farther into the room.
“I’m sorry!” she says again, her hand fluttering over her forehead.“I don’t usually use that kind of language.”
“That kind of…?” Alex says, confused, and I laugh.
“Greer, don’t worry. Alex has the foulest mouth of anyone I know.”
“I don’t,” he says, a little sharply, cutting me a look before reaching out a hand to Greer.“It’s nice to meet you.”
There’s a little ripple of silence while they shake hands, nothing like the easy joking that seemed immediate between Alex and Zoe. But I’m sure she’ll warm up. Greer has always been a little shy around new people, and Alex can be a bit intimidating.
I excuse myself to the kitchen to check on our food, but also so I can have a second to take a deep breath, to take in the feeling that’s overwhelming me. This dinner, it’s already how I imagine a real family dinner, with food I’ve made from scratch and in a house that’s mine, with people I love talking and laughing in the next room. It’s what I dreamed of every day when I was growing up, when Alex and I would sit by ourselves on the living room floor of the apartment and eat hot dogs he’d chopped up and mixed with macaroni and cheese.
I’m still nervous, but right now, I’m so happy I could cry.
* * * *
Things don’t really go to shit until much later.
Dinner is great, even though I think I’ve over-salted the potatoes, and even though Greer has stayed relatively quiet, telling us she’s just tired from a long day of classes. Alex has asked about one thousand questions about the house, and Zoe delights in telling him about how I’ve been getting help from the Tuckers in doing some of the finer points of restoration.
“BenTucker, from Beaumont Materials,” she says, with emphasis.“In case you want to google him. He knows Kit’s work. He wants her to move to Texas for some big job.”
“I’m not moving to Texas,” I say quickly, giving a vague sweep of my hand to indicate the house.“Obviously.”
“He’s over here alot,” Zoe continues, as though I haven’t spoken.“I think he’s trying to woo her with all these knobs he brings over.”
Greer stifles a giggle behind her napkin, and Alex says,“What kind of knobs?”
“Just, you know. Hardware. For the cabinets and doors and stuff. His father owns a salvage yard here. They do a lot with the historic homes in the area.”
Alex narrows his eyes at me, then looks toward Zoe.“What’s he like?” This is ridiculous, but somehow, it gives me a warm feeling to see his protectiveness toward me.
Zoe opens her mouth to answer, but Greer speaks before she can.“He’s very nice. Very helpful and professional.”
“Also he’s got biceps like a comic book character,” says Zoe.“You should see him in a t-shirt.”
