19. Best Buds
19
BEST BUDS
brOOKS
I didn’t remember walking out of Orion. Not really. One minute, Maisy was telling me to leave—with that same desperate fire in her voice I’d heard years ago on the island—and the next I was pounding on Archer’s front door like a man trying to break down the fiery gates of eternal hell.
The echo of my fist against the steel of his loft next door to mine reverberated in the still of the hour, but I didn’t care if I woke the whole damn building. My chest hurt, my throat burned, and somewhere inside me, that fragile thread of hope for Maisy and I had just snapped.
Finally, the door creaked open.
Archer blinked at me, bleary-eyed, his hair an absolute disaster, wearing nothing but pajama pants and a t-shirt that said Hire someone else to design your kitchen.
“Jesus, Brooks,” he rasped, scratching his head. “You look like you got thrown from a train because your the very definition of heartbreak and poor decision-making.”
“Must. Have. Tequila.”
"Let me guess. Maisy did this to you?"
I nodded, inhaling shakily through my nose, trying not to cry.
He opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Come on in. Let’s drink our feelings through this heartbreak like the Bellamy men we are.”
He flipped on a single lamp in the living room and shuffled to the bar cart, pulling out a bottle of Don Julio 1942 and two short tumblers. I collapsed onto the couch like my body had given up supporting my my sad sack of bones and muscles.
Archer poured without asking how much I wanted, slid a glass to me, and sank onto the couch across from mine.
“So,” he said, swirling the liquid. “What happened? Did Maisy kick you out after finding your secret collection of 1970 soft rock records?”
I gave him a look.
“Too soon?”
“Way too soon.”
“Okay, my bad. Less sarcasm. Got it.”
I took a long sip, reveling in the sweet burn going down. I stared into the glass like a magic eight ball.
Me: I let her go like she asked. Will she really come back to me?
8Ball: Fuck no. Are you crazy?
“She told me to leave her alone," I said.
“Maisy? Science goddess? That Maisy?”
I nodded slowly.
“Shit.”
“She’s killing herself for this Orion Symposium. I brought her dinner, tried to convince her to go home and rest for the night. But she was all fired up on caffeine, ready to fight unfairly and rehash old wounds. Said I didn’t understand her needs right now and told me to leave her alone.”
Archer winced. “Ouch.”
“I tried to help. I did everything I could think of. The scents, the hoodie, the stargazing. Hell, I read every research study she wrote, and also listened to her talk on and on about cortisol levels. I understood every word she said.”
“You hate cortisol.”
“Not anymore. See, it turns out you just have to know the key to getting around cortisol.”
"Which is?" He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, my super twin, my captive audience. Always there for me. Such a great guy.
"Stress management," I announced like a great prophecy.
“Right," he draw out that one word. "How much did you have to drink before pounding on my door at two in the morning?"
"I can't remember. More please."
He complied, grabbing my glass."So what next?" he asked.
I looked up at him. “I don’t know. She said if I loved her, I’d let her go. And I did. I walked away.”
“Again,” Archer said.
“Again,” I echoed.
A heavy, pitiful pause landed.
“Like you’re stuck in our own version of Groundhog Day, " he muttered.
“Different year, same heartbreak. I thought for sure this time we’d choose each other.”
“But instead,” Archer said, refilling our glasses, “she chooses the ship. The lab. The ambition. And you choose to walk away.”
“I don’t want to walk away,” I snapped. “But what am I supposed to do? Force her to choose me? Be the guy who gets in the way of everything she’s worked for? That’s not love. That’s control. That's Julian. And I'll be damned if I'm going to be anything like him.”
He raised his glass. “Well, here's to not being Julian.”
“I’ll drink to that. The fucker."
"Yeah, fuck Julian."
The tequila went down easier this time. Or maybe I was just numb enough now.
"Let me tell you something, Arch. You are the best brother a guy could ever want."
Archer scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Speak of... maybe we should call Tucker. He’s the only one of us who managed to marry and have kids. Surely he must have some answers.”
“Good idea,” I said, pulling out my phone.
"Ten bucks says he doesn't answer," Archer muttered.
A moment later, I had Tucker on FaceTime, bleary-eyed and naked, at least from the chest up.
"You owe me ten," I whispered to Archer.
“This better be good,” Tucker grumbled. “Do you know what time it is?”
"Yeah. So why are you answering?" I shot back.
“Because one of the kids woke up and projectile vomited allover his bed and needed it changed," he explained. Arch and I winced. "How's your life going?"
"Brooks is in crisis,” Archer said cheerfully, coming to sit by me so we'd both be in the frame. “We need your wisdom, oh Bellamy-god-of-marriage and all things to do with relationships.”
“God help us all,” Tucker muttered, and propped the phone against something. We could hear kids noises in the background. “Talk to me. What's going on?”
I gave him the rundown, and when I was done, Tucker exhaled hard.
“You found yourself stuck in a loop, and you're scared this will keep happening over and over again," he summed up.
“Exactly," I confirmed.
“The only way out is if you’re both ready to break the pattern. See the key is to figure out what matters more than being right, or being first, or being in control.”
“Then what, Mr. Happily Ever After?” Archer snickered.
Tucker smiled, soft and tired. “You don’t marry the perfect woman, only the one who makes you want to be better. But it takes hard work to be better.”
I let his advice settle into my soul.
“Dad didn’t teach us that,” I said quietly.
Archer agree. “Nope. He taught us how to design dreams for other people, but never how to build a real one of our own.”
“He modeled money, ambition, and how to make an exit when things got too real.”
Tucker nodded. “Jesus. Would you stop blaming him? I did, long ago. He didn't deserve anymore of my precious time. And I show up now every single day choosing to be a better dad to my kids. You two need to break that damn cycle. You want Maisy? Show up for her when she least expects it. Not to fix it. Not to lecture her. Just to be there.”
I stared at him. My throat thick.“Thanks, Tuck.”
"Yep. Is there anything else?"
I glanced between my two brothers, my compadres for life. Settling on Archer's face, I figured what the hell? I might as well rip off the band-aid.
"Arch, I don't want to work in the business full-time anymore. I want to pick and choose my projects and I want to teach at a university. Sorry. I've loved every minute of being in business with you. You're my man. My best buddy. My twin. But my heart isn't in Bellamy Brothers anymore."
Archer chewed his cheek, nodding. "I didn't know when, but I figured this was coming. It's okay. I'll miss you. But you'll always have an office with me for those occasional projects."
"I love you, man," I cried, grateful for getting that off my chest. And he took so well, better than expected.
"Love you, too." He slapped my knee. We looked at Tucker.
"You guys know I love you, fuckers." He nodded once, yawned, and signed off.
Archer sunk back to his original seat, sipping his tequila. “How did our youngest brother get so wise.”
“Wives, kids, and diapers changes everything, I guess.”
We sat in silence a little longer.
“Despite it all, do you still love Maisy?” Archer asked.
My heart stuttered at her name. “More than anything in the world..”
“Then you have to fix this. But not tonight. You gotta sit here and let it suck for a while. And I'm not going to lie. It's going to hurt. Been there, done that." Archer raised it glass.“So here's to feeling all the feelings and letting it suck anyway.”
“Yeah. It hurts." I drank to that, while my soul screamed her name.
Maisy...