“I’ll pass,” says Alex, and I start picking up plates because I can feel my face getting hot. But he’s watching me with curiosity.
For dessert I’ve made a double-chocolate cake with a chocolate-mint frosting, and it’s so good it almost makes me dizzy to eat my whole slice. We’ve relocated back to the living room, where the conversation slows, but comfortably, no one seeming to mind the little silences that pass while we digest and grow tired.
“All right, Kit,” says Zoe.“Let’s do the dishes so I can go. Obviously I need to get up early tomorrow so I can run the ten miles that will be required to get rid of the cake I just ate.”
“No cleanup.I’ll take care of it. I want to show Alex around before he collapses totally.” I know he’s probably tired from travel, and now with a big help of sugar coursing through his system, he’s probably due for a crash.
We say our goodbyes, Alex offering to walk Greer to her faraway parking spot, but she demurs, insisting that Zoe will drive her over. She’s so adorably flustered at my brother that I have to hold in a laugh. Alex, predictably, has no idea of the effect he has on her, and when he goes in for a hug, Zoe and I share a speaking glance, both of us half-expecting Greer to faint with nerves and embarrassment.
Once they’re gone, I exhale loudly and smile at my brother.“Thanks. For spending time with them, I mean. They’re my people here. I never would have made it without them.”
“They’re great.” I beam under his approval. This is part of my dynamic with Alex—he’s always been the one I took my report cards to, the one I called whenever I had a paper accepted at a conference.
As we clear plates, I tell him more about the plans for the kitchen, figuring it makes the most sense to start the tour here. He’s interested, but I can tell he’s grown distracted now that we’re on our own, as though he’s anticipating what’s coming. After what’s probably about one hundred consecutive“uh-huhs,” I finally break, leaning back against the counter and crossing my arms.“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath,“I was going to wait until breakfast tomorrow, but I can see you’re tense, so let’s do this now.”
“Kit, come on. Let’s not get into it.”
“It’s happening, Alex. It’s not something I want to argue about.”
He goes back out into the dining room, clearing more plates. But I can still see him, so I press on.“I’ve already met with my finance guy. Gifting the money gets expensive for both of us, with taxes and everything, but if I set up a trust—”
“No,” he says, his movements growing more hurried before bringing back in the stack of plates he’s collected. I try to barrel ahead, explaining what I’ve worked out for the trust, what paperwork he’ll have to be a part of, but he interrupts me.“I told you, Kit.I don’t want it. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it’s not what I want.”
“It’s whatIwant. You raised me, Alex. I want you to have half of this money. You took care of Dad on your own when I couldn’t, and I owe you this.”
“You don’t owe me anything. We both take care of Dad now, and I already know you’ve been sending him more in the last few months.”
“Right, but there were years when you were doing that by yourself,” I say, already frustrated. This has been a sticking point between me and Alex for years. In college, I tried to send some of the money from my part-time jobs to Dad, and Alex found out and sent it back to me.
“You were in school. I didn’t mind doing it.” His voice is gruff, impatient. But Iknowhe minded. Alex’s whole life had been about taking care of our family. He’d worked full-time since he graduated high school, only leaving home to start photography seriously when I’d settled into my first year of college. He’d missed so many opportunities, sacrificed so much for me. I owed him everything—my safety, my education, what little stability I’d had growing up.
“Okay, you didn’t mind. But now I can do something for you. This money—it would make your life better. You could get a place, be a bit more stable.”
I’ve been too direct there—I can see it. Alex does not like to be mother-henned, probably on account of his not having a mother to have done it. But I hate that Alex travels all the time, that I don’t get to see him except for every once in a while. I hate that he sometimes goes to dangerous places, and I hate that he never seems to talk about anyone he’s close to—no friends, no girlfriends, no one except Dad, and that’s less about closeness than it is about obligation.
He clenches his jaw and inhales, turning toward the sink to start rinsing. I know he’s trying to stay calm, and I decide to give him a minute to cool off, so I go to collect more from the table. When I come back to the kitchen, he shuts off the water and turns to me, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I’m happy for you, Kit. I’m really happy you have this house, and your friends here, and that things are good for you. I know that’s what you’ve always wanted. But stability isn’t my dream. It’s yours.”
“But how do youknowit’s not your dream? How do you know you couldn’t be happy if you settled down a little—”
He laughs, a snarky, clipped laugh, shaking his head as though he can’t believe what I’ve said.“I just know,” he says, and turns back to the sink.
“Okay, but what if I bought a place for you, something small and manageable, something you could come back to in between your trips? And then the trust could be used to maintain it, and—”
“Uh-huh,” he says, his tone still laced with sarcasm.“And where would this place be?”
I’m wringing my hands back and forth over a dish towel now, feeling childish in the way only my big brother makes me feel. But he’s pressing up right against the things inside me that are most soft and vulnerable, the things I’m always waiting for an opportunity to say, to make a reality.“Well, I guess it could be anywhere, but I mean, I don’t see whynothere, if you think about it, because, you know, we’re family, and—”
“Kit, Jesus,” he breathes, setting down a plate too firmly in the drying rack.“No.No.”
“No, we’re not family?” I tease, trying to lighten his mood, trying to get us back to a place where we can talk without me touching every single one of his nerves. But he doesn’t respond, so I say,“Come on, Alex. Please. Please let me do this for you.”
“You don’t get it. I don’t want you to do anything for me, except to keep being okay, keep living your life. That’s what I want. I’m glad you have the money, because you can do that, and it’ll be so easy now, Kit. It’ll be so much easier for you with the money.”
“But I want it to be easy for both of us. We both deserve that, to be able to settle into a place and not worry about the next job, the next bill—”
“I don’t worry about that. I do fine, better than fine. Maybe you don’t understand that.”
