I stepped on the gas, as if I could outrun the pity party that was dead-set on chasing me, but the sinking feeling in my gut stayed as I pulled out of the lot.
Just once, I wanted them to put a little effort in. Was that too much to ask? They used to try. We used to be a sitcom friend group like the one fromFriendsorThe Big Bang Theory.We worked together, ate together, and hung out after hours, shooting the shit. We were thick as thieves. Nothing had changed except that, at some point, I had become the glue instead of one of the pieces of the collage.
No one saw me, but I was the one holding it all together.
The thought stung enough to make me grip the steering wheel tighter as I snaked through New Haven on the way home.
Maybe Joel will be home tonight. We could order a pizza and watch the game.
The thought of stuffed crust with onions, pepperoni, and sausage lifted my spirits and made my mouth water.
Hell, it even put a skip in my step as I jogged up the stairs to the apartment I shared with my brother.
My momentary good mood vanished the second I unlocked the door and stepped inside.
Well, the moment Itriedto step inside.
Joel’s socks were jammed under the door. I grunted as I pushed my shoulder into the door, trying to get it open just enough to slip inside.
No dice.
I dropped to my knees and shoved my fingers in the gap beneath the door to dislodge the socks.
Gross.My hope that his socks would smell better in his thirties than when we were teenagers was delusional.
The door swung free as I dislodged the socks, and I scrambled off my hands and knees.
“Joel?” I called out as I set my bags by the door and began to pick up his trail of dirty laundry and put it into the hamper I had bought just for him.
Of course, the hamper was overflowing because he couldn’t be bothered to do his own laundry.
“This is the last time I’m washing your clothes,” I called out as I opened the closet that stored the washer and dryer, popped the lid to the Tide canister, and dropped one of the detergent pods into the machine. I hoisted the laundry basket and dumped his clothes in, filling the washing machine to the brim.
“Joel?” I called out.
No answer.
I slammed the door to the washing machine, started the cycle, and poked my head into his room. Well, the second bedroom that used to be my home office for teaching remotely. It had turned into Joel’s room when he got rid of his apartment and asked to move in with me.
. . . Without so much as a heads-up.
At the time, I had been excited. Thrilled even. As much as I loved having an apartment where candles were for the cozy aesthetic and not for the necessity of hiding odors, I loved the idea of getting to spend more time with my twin.
That excitement had all but vanished. Joel was never here to hang out, but his mess sure was.
I shot him a text, asking when he was going to be home and if he was cool with our regular pizza order, before turning on the TV and scrolling through the channels until I landed on ESPN.
I let the commentator’s voice break the melancholy in my head as I tidied up and loaded the dishes Joel left in the sink into the dishwasher.
My phone lit up as I dried my hands, and I glanced at the screen.
Joel
Working late. Don’t wait up for me.
2
JUDAH
