One
Relationships Aren’t My Thing
April 2025
YOU’RE PROBABLY GOING TO THINKI’m an asshole.
Look, I’m not going to hold it against you. Pretty much everybody does. I’m not exactly what you’d call apeople person, I’m notfun at parties, and knowing the right thing to say — well, I never do. I can’t think if my socks are too tight and I hope the person who invented fluorescent lighting is in hell. I’m a prickly bastard through and through and you’d really be better off if you left me alone. Just take a look at my student evaluations:
Professor Callahan is a good teacher, but you’re not goingto like him.
Ouch, right? But I’m sure I deserved it. And I’m not actually aprofessor, either — I’m not on the tenure track and I probably never will be. I teach four sections of introductory United States and world history at three different schools a semester, along with two sections of online freshman composition, and every once in a while I get to swap one of those out for an upper-level course where I can dig into something in a little more depth. Meanwhile, I haven’t written a word of the book on the Spanish-American War that was supposed to be my ticket out of this mess in three years, and I’m up until one in the morning every day, grading pile after pile of shitty papers written by students who don’t want to be in my classes any more than I do.
I’m not exactly living the dream.
Which is why I’m sitting on the train with a chip on my shoulder one Saturday afternoon in April, skimming the pages of a textbook on ancient Greece and scrawling notes for my Tuesday lecture while trying not to think about the mountain of student essays waiting for me back in New York. I don’t have the time to be heading home overnight for my brother’s engagement party, not two weeks before the start of finals, trying to keep track of everything I have to do. But it wouldn’t have looked good if the best man hadn’t shown up, even if the best man is the last person who should ever be allowed anywhere near theHeterosexual Marriage Industrial Complex. And I do care about my brother Seth, even though I have no idea why the fuck he would want me to stand up with him.
Okay, maybe I havesomeidea. We’re not close, exactly — we never have been. We’re three years apart, and we always had different friends, different interests. But it’s just the two of us — well, the two of us and Dad, and Dad isn’t exactly my biggest fan. Mom died when we were teenagers, and she always pushed us together, even as it became clear that we were going in opposite directions. And I guess maybe Seth felt some kind of way about that. He’s always been loyal, even if we don’t really get each other. He texts me on my birthday and on major holidays. I guess I can give him this.
We’re just a few minutes away from the station in Middletown, where I know Seth will be waiting for me, so I pull out my phone to let him know.
Me: Almost there
Seth: Yeah I’m watching the time on the train app
Seth: I’m in the parking lot across the street
Me: Fair enough
Me: See you in a few
I slip my book back into my backpack and reach up into the overhead rack for my overnight bag. I don’tknow why I packed a suit for tonight. It just seemed like the thing to do, even if we’re planning on going to the same seafood restaurant that we’ve visited for pretty much every major occasion I can remember — from eighth grade graduation to Mom’s funeral. I guess Dad just likes what he likes.
I make my way down the aisle, reaching the door just as the train slows, creaking to a halt in front of the platform. And as I step across the gap, I spot my older brother leaning against the fence, his arms crossed across his chest, a half-smile lifting one corner of his mouth.
“Ezra!You look good.” He steps forward, giving me an awkward hug and taking the bag off my shoulder.
“Do I? Huh.” We fall into step, making our way down the platform. “Can’t say I’ve been working out or anything.”
Seth snorts. “Me, neither.”
The truth is, I don’t think either one of us are the kind of guys who would make you look twice if you passed us on the street. We both have curly brown hair and light brown eyes, with pale skin that burns the second we step out in the sun (which is a problem, considering that we grew up in a beach town). Seth has that sort of reedy, indoor, hunched-over look that you get from spending too many hours slouched in front of the computer in the dark. He comes by it honestly, as a video game developer with his own company up inBoston. I’m a little taller than he is, but we’re both pretty average height. And I’ve always been on the thicker side, more interested in books than sports. I’ve worn glasses since I was eight years old, and the kids in high school used to call me Samwise Gamgee because… well, you get the idea. It’s possible that living in New York has agreed with me over the past few years, because I’m always walking or taking the subway, carrying my heavy bag, and sometimes I’m so busy I forget to eat. But I wouldn’t exactly call it a self-care regimen.
Seth is looking over at me, trying to be polite. “So, uh — how was the ride down?”
“Fine,” I grunt, but then I feel bad, because I know he’s trying. “You know, it’s a good place to get work done. Quiet and all that. No problems.”
Eesh. Good job, Ezra. You’re doing a great job of convincing everyone you’re an actual human with feelings.
Thankfully, the walk to the car is short. We stow my bags in the trunk of Seth’s crossover SUV, and then we’re climbing into our seats, pulling out onto the road. And it’s quiet for a little bit, the houses and trees of suburban New Jersey flitting by as we both stew in our own thoughts. But then, I open my big mouth.
“So, uh —” I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and drum my fingers on my knee. “This whole wedding thing —”
Seth shoots me a look out of the corner of his eye. “What about it?”
“Isn’t it, I dunno — fast?” I blurt. “I mean, it’s been less than a year, right? We just met Sabrina at Christmas. She’s not knocked up, is she?”
“Dude, this is 2025, not 1945,” Seth groans. “Besides, her father would kill me. I would already be dead.”
