Page 20 of Came the Closest
My brother’s scowl is interrupted by a yawn when he drops tiredly into the chair across from mine. His hair is mussed, and his cheek is pillow creased. He says nothing.
I tap my thumb against the creased will. “All you’ve got to do is go out in the rain, spin in three circles with your arms out, and yell, ‘Colton is my favorite person in the whole wide world!’”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why,” I tease, “because you don’t want to get your matching silk pajama set wet?”
He’s wearing cotton shorts without a shirt just like I am. It seems like a minor detail.
“No. Because if I were to pick, you wouldn’t be my favorite person in the whole wide world.”
I gasp and clutch my heart. “Medic, medic! We’ve got an emergency!”
Graham rolls his eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Thanks. You should try it sometime.”
I pretend his silence means he’ll consider the idea, but it’s unlikely. Graham is nothing if not the stoic businessman my quiet little brother grew up into. The notion that he could break into song and dance just because is so funny I almost smile. Emphasis on almost.
“So.” He nods at the will in front of me as thunder rattles the windows. “Doing some light reading because you couldn’t sleep?”
“If that’s your attempt at a joke, it was sad.”
“It’s two in the morning, Colton. I’m not in a joking mood.”
“Are you ready for the wedding?” It’s a complete one-eighty in conversation, but I don’t want to talk about my tornadic thoughts, and the will makes up ninety percent of them. “We’re, what, a little under two months out now?”
Graham narrows his eyes. “I know what you’re doing.”
“You can’t. It’s impossible because you’re not in my head.”
Shuddering lightly, he eases to his feet and pulls a scratched glass from the cupboard. He fills it half full with drinking water, and I’m worried he’s going to try and “glass half full” me, but then he drinks it in three easy swallows.
He disappears down the hallway into the guest room that he refuses to let me call my room. It’s kind of ridiculous because, other than a brief stint when Jordan and Jolene moved back last fall, I’m the only person who ever stays in it. You’d think that kind of exclusivity would come with squatter’s rights and the green light to upgrade the bed frame.
Think again. I’m stuck in the guest room, sleeping on a bed frame that squeaks every time I so much as breathe.
Did I mention that I sleep under a mushroom print quilt? Which wouldn’t be so bad if Graham found my jokes about being a fun-gi amusing, but as it is, my younger brother mostly has the personality of a rock.
“Good talk,” I holler over my shoulder. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite, Grammy!”
“I’m not going back to bed yet.” Graham sets—no, plunks—a box in front of me on the table and drops back into his chair. His empty glass is still in his hands. “You know, it just dawned on me why you chose the sport you did instead of, oh, let’s say golf.”
I lean forward conspiratorially. “Oh? Please, enlighten me.”
His expression remains blander than plain cheese pizza. “It only requires eight seconds to qualify, so it’s highly conducive to your short attention span.”
“Have you ever ridden a bull for those eight seconds?”
Graham nudges the box closer to me with his glass. “We both know the answer to that question. Dad found this when he was cleaning a few weeks ago. It’s yours.”
“Mine?” I frown and untuck the top flaps. “What is it?” I pause and gasp. “Ohmygosh, is it my t-shirts that you hid last year in your freezer?”
“Do I strike you as the type to snoop through other people’s things to know what it is?”
Fair point. I lean over the box, and then I swallow. It doesn’t take one look past the Babe Ruth baseball card to know what this is. For the memories to come flooding in with the force of a high tide.
My Dad Box. In other words, a catchall for everything I thought would make my father notice me. If I had things he liked, and I pretended I liked them too, he’d have a reason to see me.