“I had a conversation with Rosie a few weeks ago. Discussing Dad, how things were in life… that sort of stuff. She threw out an idea. It was probably a random thought, but it made me think things. Until today, it was all just wishful thinking.”
My voice trails off. I readjust my glasses.
Like he’s inside my brain, Grant continues for me. “But right now it feels like it’s possible, and you’d like our input?”
“Yes.” I gulp. “I don’t want to run VK. I don’t want anything to do in e-commerce. I love video games, and I don’t have the perfect degree for it but I want to try breaking into that industry. If I can, and I get some experience, and I really like it, I think I might want to start game studio in the future.”
Somehow, it’s both scary and relieving to say the words aloud. I’d been so afraid to speak of a life this far removed from what’s been set out for me. My father would probably keel overif he knew I wanted this. Doing something like this would detach myself from being Keller McCarthy’s son permanently.
I let the silence stretch. I wait for the ground to fall beneath me and the world to crumble, just from being someone else for once. Neither happen.
The only thing that sets me off balance is Grant’s elbow in my side again.
“That sounds great, Locke. You should go for it.”
The sentences are small, but they hold a weight not even I can comprehend.
I look at Billie. I wait for her to say some smartass comment or to throw a tease at me.
She grins—but it’s not tilted and playful. It’s soft.
“You’d be amazing at something like that. I think you should do it too.”
Neither of them say anything else. They don’t have to. I can feel the overwhelming warmth of family, and support, and a safe space that isn’t necessarily a physical location. It’s my siblings, encouraging me to chase everything I want, and not everything I know.
It’s the culmination of unconditional love that has me blurting out, “We should do it together. If I end up wanting to start a game studio, it should be the three of us. Billie, we’d need some social media presence. And Grant, I don’t know much about digital art in the gaming industry, but I’ll make a position catered to you if I have to. I want all of us to be involved.”
We’ve stalled again. The November wind whips past my ears and across my skin, but I’m unfazed. Billie isn’t shivering anymore, either.
“Dad would be so fucking pissed if all three of his kids worked on a company together, and completely reinvented the McCarthy legacy,” my sister says.
“Yeah,” I add. “He would.”
“Then let’s fucking do it.”
Grant wraps an arm around both our shoulders. Brings us in for our first sibling group hug, and I wonder how many of these are in my future.
There’s a bond between siblings that can’t be explained. Some of it manifests during childhood fights and generational trauma, sure—but the core of it doesn’t have an end or a beginning. It’s unspoken.
I have faith that a bond like ours wouldn’t be bent or broken by a last name, or a company legacy it holds. For the second, jarring time, I pity my father. Maybe if he received love like this in his life, he’d know how to give it, too.
We spent another fifteen minutes discussing the concept of a McCarthy game studio. Every idea becomes more outlandish. Starting with a support position for Ghost, and ending with propositions to make our fictional office mine and Rosie’s wedding venue.
Billie, in particular, is insistent on the last one.
“If you’re not going to ask her to be your girlfriend, you might as well start planning the next step now.”
It’s one of her wisecrack comments. Usually I would let it pass, but this one sticks. It rolls around in my head and tucks itself with the other thoughts and memories I have of Rosie. I can’t say I hate the idea of skipping the social expectations and going straight to wife.
My siblings are tossing their half-serious ideas of a studio while I ponder over every hour, every minute, every second I’ve spent with my girl. Wondering if she’d want me to pull a grand gesture and ask her to be my girlfriend, or if she understands my heart the way I try to understand hers. Does she need our relationship to be so starkly defined, or does she agree that what we have feels more whole than just two halves of a relationship?
I remember things about Rosalie. Her bright eyes, the comfort of her embrace.
The cute blush she had on her cheeks the night we confessed to each other.
I remember Rosie and I are often on the same page, then not.
Grant is taking pictures of the horizon, talking about good reference shots, when the dying sunlight catches onto the metal of my watch. I check the time and glance at my siblings.
