—
BRIAN SENDS MEa text just before 5:00P.M. I hear the ping on my phone, wondering what’s going to make him late for dinner this time; forcing myself to not assume the worst.
Thinking of you, so I thought I’d tell you.
When he comes home, he brings me flowers: peonies and roses.
The smell takes me back to the perfume on his clothes, to Gita. But he looks so proud of himself, as if he’s slayed dragons and reached through thickets to bring this to me.
Even though I’ve eaten, I sit at the table while he does. I put the bouquet in a vase. I tell him it’s beautiful.
—
THAT NIGHT, WHENBrian goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth, I roll to his side of the bed to turn out the light and accidentally upset the book he is reading.
With a groan, I lever myself down so that I can grab the spine. It’s some god-awful tome about the mathematics of uncertainty. But when I pick it up, a piece of paper tucked inside it flutters to the floor.
It is a printout from a women’s magazine. In the photo, a woman leans back in the circle of a man’s arms, laughing. Then I notice the headline:19 Ways to Tell Your S.O. You Care!
My heart squeezes as I try to imagine Brian searching for an article like this. I glance down at the bullet points:1. Don’t talk, listen! 2. Say thank you. 3. A few blooms brighten anyone’s day. 4. Text when you’re thinking of them. 5. Hold hands…
Next to the first four items are methodical little check marks.
With a smile, I slip the article back into the book and set it on his dresser. I reach for my phone and text him.
I can hear the ding in the bathroom; a moment later, he comes out in a towel, holding up the screen.
Hi.
“Hi,” he says.
“I missed you,” I tell him.
“I was twenty feet away.”
I grab the edge of the towel and pull. “Too far,” I say.
—
MY BROTHER GETSa day off maybe once a month, so when he asks to meet me for lunch, I immediately say yes. I pack chicken salad sandwiches and meet him in the Public Garden—his only requirement was that we eat somewhere outside. We sit underneath the arms of a gnarled tree, watching the ducks at the water’s edge. “Are ducks the ones that mate for life?” Kieran asks.
“Pretty sure that’s geese,” I tell him.
He nods at a mallard. “You go, buddy.”
“Speaking of which. Are you dating anyone?”
Kieran rolls his eyes. “Youcouldjust ease into it.”
“Then I wouldn’t be your big sister.”
“I spend a lot of time with my right hand—” he says.
“Ew.” I grimace.
“—doing surgery,” he finishes, grinning.
“I’m scarred. You could have put that a different way.”
