A pause. Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
How are you, Arch?
Arch.
He hasn’t called me Arch in years.
My eyes are burning. This is ridiculous. I’m a grown man sitting in a pub in Peckham, getting emotional over a squirrel and a nickname. And if anyone could see inside my head right now, they’d have me committed.
Though it appears Jaymee can see inside my head, or close enough. She’s watching me with the careful attention of someone who knows better than to interrupt.
I’m good. I’m currently sporting a walking boot. Very space age.
What happened?
Long story. Broke my ankle a while back. It’s healing.
Shit. Sorry to hear that. You okay?
Yeah. I’m fine. Healing ahead of schedule, which I’m attributing to superior Mansley genetics.
Bold claim from the kid who couldn’t ride a bike until he was nine.
I was a CAUTIOUS CHILD. I had a healthy respect for gravity.
You fell off twelve times in your first attempt.
Eleven. One of those was a controlled dismount.
A controlled dismount. Into a bush.
I’m laughing. Actually laughing, in a pub booth, tears threatening at the corners of my eyes.
How are you?
There’s a longer gap before he replies.
I’m okay. Listen, I know it’s been a while. And I know I’ve been shit. But I was thinking maybe we could really talk sometime. I’m coming to London for a few weeks for work. Do you want to catch up then?
I read the message three times.
If you wantis implied in every word. Like I might not want to. Like there’s a universe in which I wouldn’t want my brother back.
I’d like that.
Yeah?
Yeah.
I put my phone down. Jaymee hasn’t said a word. She puts her hand on mine and squeezes once.
One of the things I love about Jaymee is that while she’ll poke at anything most of the time, she also knows when to leave things alone.
We walk out into the cold night air. The street is quiet except for the distant sound of a bus and my walking boot clunking against the pavement.
My broken ankle has almost healed.
My broken heart is still broken though.
