20. Isaac
20
ISAAC
My truck rattles over a patch of uneven road, and I tighten my grip on Tyler's hand where it rests on the center console. He smiles a little shyly at me and squeezes my hand back. He returns his gaze to watch the passing landscape through the window.
Every few minutes, I glance over at him, watching for any reaction as the back country road gives way to chain-link fences, sun-faded trailers, and yards that resemble scrap yards. His expression is unreadable, and my stomach knots.
"Not exactly a gated community," I joke. It comes out sharper than I meant it to, losing the edge of humor I was going for.
He turns to me, eyes looking greener today. "I didn't expect it to be."
My smile is tight, but I nod. I knew he wasn't expecting anything grand. He knows about my background. I just know what this place looks like, and I know what he's used to. I know what kind of house he grew up in, the kind of life he left behind. And this? This is the kind of place people work their whole lives to escape.
I pull into the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires. Our double-wide is the same as always: old and kind of dingy, in need of a pressure wash or new coat of paint, but otherwise neat and well-kept. The small porch has a happy-looking welcome mat and two planters on either side. Mom's flowers are looking a bit rough, considering its winter, and she's had a lot of hard days recently, but the little pop of purple and yellow flowers cheer the place up. This place has seen better days, but the small yard is mowed and the sidewalk swept.
Before I can kill the engine and warn Tyler to brace himself, the front door swings open and Mom steps out onto the porch. The dish towel over her shoulder and bright smile let me know she's having one of her good days, the second in a row according to Chels. There's a bounce in her step as she makes her way down the three steps and hurries down the sidewalk, and I can almost pretend this isn't going to catch up with her tomorrow, or the next day. The more she does, the worse it'll be, but she just can't help herself. I can understand why, though.
"Well, there's my favorite son," she says, pulling me in for a tight hug. She only comes up to my chest. I'm always struck by how small and frail she is.
Mom lifts her head and smiles up at me. Then she lays eyes on Tyler, who is standing quietly a few steps behind me. "And look at this one."
Her gaze takes Tyler in from head to toe, her smile warm and assessing. "Aren't you just the prettiest thing to ever step foot on this lot?"
Tyler's ears go red. "Um. Thank you?"
I groan, despite loving seeing him flustered. "Ma?—"
"Oh, hush." She waves a hand at me before reaching to pull Tyler into a hug. He stiffens for a half a second, then melts into it. Something in my chest twists at the gleam in his eyes when he smiles down at her. "Well, you come on inside, sweetie. I've got dinner cooking, but I've got some snacks ready if you're hungry."
"Here she goes," I sing-song as I pull my duffel bag and Tyler's small suitcase out of the bed of my truck. I'd warned Tyler that my mother is overly concerned with feeding people. I think it's a byproduct of worrying that we wouldn't have enough growing up, especially with my monstrous teenage appetite, but I didn't tell him that.
Inside, the house is neat and clean. The smell of lemon cleaner tinges the air, a surefire sign that Mom is overdoing it. The closer we get to the kitchen, the more the house smells like heaven. The rich, warm scents of what I know are going to be my favorite foods. It smells like the holidays, despite it being mid-February. My stomach grumbles, and Tyler laughs. I nudge his hip with mine as we make our way into the kitchen.
Chelsey emerges from the hallway, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Her hair's a mess, and she's still wearing her scrub pants. She probably crashed the second she got home this morning.
"I figured you were here. Mr. J's dogs are going nuts. I think Buckwheat can smell you from here. Haven't you grown out of your Axe spray era yet?"
I snort. "Better than your morning breath."
"Punk."
"Bitch."
She grins, moving forward to snuggle her cheek against my chest and wrap her arms around my waist. "Good to see you, big brother."
I kiss the top of her head. "You too, baby sis."
"Mom, please tell me there's coffee?" she whines as she pulls away from me, yawning. She pauses mid-stretch and blinks at Tyler, who's standing next to the small, round dinner table holding a stack of plates and napkins. He stops what he's doing and stares back, eyes wide and unsure.
Chelsey gapes, looking from him, to me, and then back several times. "Hoe-lee fuck."
"Language," Mom calls, as if she doesn't throw around more f-bombs than both of us combined.
"I'm not gonna lie. I thought you were going to be a Lars and the Real Girl type situation." She walks over to him and pokes his cheek gently. Then she looks at me, a wide grin overtaking her face. "He's real!" She looks back at Tyler. "You're real!"
"I… Think so?"
Chelsey, completely unbothered by her own unhinged behavior, turns to me, speaking in a dramatically loud hushed tone. "He's cute."
"I know, right?" I say, because it's better to just go with it.
Finally, Chelsey turns around and holds her hand out to Tyler. "Hi. I'm Chelsey. This jackass' sister."
Tyler shakes his head and her hand. "Tyler."
"Tyler," she repeats, staring at him with wide, interested eyes. "I want to know everything. Starting with, why the fuck you're with my brother."
An hour later, Chels has brought Tyler over to the dark side. He’s entirely entertained by her. Smitten, even. And it's reciprocated. I feel like I should be worried that they've already exchanged numbers. He even laughed when she said she was putting him in her phone as, and I quote, "the cutest little nerd twink” to ever exist. Clint for short.
"Can I change your name in my phone to that, too?"
"Absolutely not," he deadpans.
"Aww, come on kitten…" I murmur so only he can hear. Or so I thought.
"Oh my God, did you just call him 'kitten'?" she squeals. "I can't decide if that's gross or not. I love it for you," she says to Tyler, "but I hate it for me. Gross. You have terrible taste in men."
"I hate you," I tell her.
Mom claps her hands. "Children! Behave in front of the company, please. Let's pretend we aren't feral."
"It's too late, Ma. He knows."
Chelsey scrunches her nose, and I almost shoot iced tea out of my nose at the implication. I mean, it checks, but I don't need my mom and little sister knowing that I ate Tyler's ass for breakfast because I am one hundred percent feral for him.
The rest of dinner is loud, full of teasing and laughter. Despite not being as boisterous as the rest of us, Tyler fits in seamlessly, as though he's always been here. Mom makes him tell the story of how we met. He skips over the assault and tells them about bumping into each other and how he avoided me afterwards because I seemed angry. Mom and Chelsey howl in laughter about that.
"We're always telling him that his resting bitch face is going to get him in trouble someday."
"Well, thank goodness for meddling cafe owners," I say, wrapping my arm around Tyler's shoulders. He's finished most of his food, all but the mac and cheese that mom automatically piled on his plate. I reach over with my fork and eat a bite from his plate, not thinking anything of it. Chelsey makes a ridiculous cooing sound, then gags.
Mom sighs happily. "I want to meet these guys, Mac and Anders, is it? Interesting name."
"He's first generation American. His parents are originally from Denmark, I think. And Mac is actually Julien Maclan. He's from Queens."
"Well, they seem wonderful."
"They are. And you'd like their daughter Brenna," Tyler says to Chelsey. "I think she's only a year or so younger than you."
I shake my head emphatically. "No. You absolutely cannot be friends with Brenna. I'd never have a moment's peace." That girl teases me almost as much as my sister does. It's probably why I find her so endearing, but I'd never admit it.
Chelsey side-eyes Tyler, and he gives her a signal that he'll take care of it. Brats.
Mom tries to steer the conversation back to learning more about Tyler, but he deflects a lot of her questions to get her talking about me. That earns a few stories about my dumbass teenage years and the trouble I used to get in.
"He was a good boy, though. Always so responsible." She reaches over to pat my hand, eyes welling up with tears. "He took care of us, you know. After his father died. I was a mess, and Chelsey was still so young. Isaac sacrificed everything to take care of us, to keep our family together."
I give her a sympathetic look, trying to think of a way to divert the conversation. I know she's thinking about how child protective services had checked in on us, because one of Chelsey's teachers thought Mom was a drunk and not caring for her. I was keeping us fed, but that was about it. That's when I started noticing the state of Chelsey's hair and clothes, and whether she was in extracurricular activities. That was about the time I quit school, too.
"My boy will always take care of the people he loves, even to his own detriment. I'm so happy he's finally following his dreams. And I'm even happier that he's found you."
Tyler ducks his head, smiling and giving my knee a comforting bump with his.
"But I want to know more about you. I know you're a grad student and you used your genius to help design Isaac's layout. Your parents must be so proud." She's clearly not caught on to the way Tyler has been avoiding talking about his home or childhood.
Tyler clears his throat awkwardly, and I make a cutting gesture under my neck.
Mom looks bewildered. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to touch on a sore subject."
"It's okay. My father and I don't see eye to eye," he says simply. "And it's just him. No other parent."
Mom furrows her brow, looking thoughtful, then determined. I'm not sure exactly what she thinks the story is, but she understands well enough to know that Tyler doesn't have a family like ours. She doesn't hesitate to reach over and take Tyler’s hands. "Sweetie, if you'll have me, you've got a mama now. You're part of this family. No matter what happens between you and my grump of a son, you're welcome here. Always."
Tyler looks stunned, his eyes darkening to a watery blue. He swallows thickly and takes a breath, relaxing into my side. "Thank you. That means a lot."
After a long moment of tense, emotional silence, Chelsey speaks up, "Okay, so I need to know. Who's more annoying, Isaac when he's in a bad mood, or Isaac when he's trying to act all tough?"
The rest of the night goes off without a hitch. We stay up talking and laughing until it's obvious Mom is starting to fade. I shoo her off to bed, and the three of us clean up the kitchen. When it's just pots and pans left to wash, I show Tyler where the bathroom is so he can get ready for bed.
"Everything going okay here?" I ask Chelsey, because I know she won’t say anything unless she's prodded. Can't imagine where she'd get that from.
She tries to wave me off, but I know her tells. "What is it?"
Chels sighs. "The roof is sagging. It's bad in the back corner in mama's room."
Oof . That's not good. "How bad is it?"
"I had a roofer come out, and he said we need a whole new roof. It's stupid expensive though." No kidding, a new roof would probably cost more than this place is worth.
"I'll figure something out," I tell her.
"Isaac–"
"I'll handle it," I assure her. Her shoulders sag. I know she doesn't like bringing me into things like this, but no matter how far away I live, this is my family. They're my responsibility, and I love them. "I'll see what I can do short term, and we'll come up with a plan," I tell her, knowing that making it a we issue and not a just me issue will get her to accept my help more willingly. Not that she has a choice, but there's less feelings on the matter this way.
Dishes done, we head to our respective bedrooms.
"Goodnight, Tyler!" she calls into my room.
"Goodnight Chels," he returns. He sounds like he's halfway to sleep already.
"And just so you know, these walls are paper thin. I've already been subjected to years of hearing my brother jerk off. So if y'all are gonna fuck, bite a pillow or somethin’. I'll probably still hear everything though, and I'll comment on your form and stamina tomorrow over breakfast."
I consider at least rocking the bed to pretend we're screwing around, but Tyler looks mortified at the mere mention of my sister knowing we're fooling around. Rolling my eyes, I change into some sleep pants and brush my teeth. When I crawl into my childhood bed and pull Tyler against me, everything feels right in the world.
* * *
The next morning, Tyler gets up early with me. He's gotten used to my early bird schedule and has started working out with me before we do his self-defense lessons. Today we grab coffee, or tea, in Tyler's case, before heading out. We find most of what we need at the local Habitat Restore , but the rest costs more than I’d like. I tally everything up in my head as I load the lumber and other supplies into the back of my truck. Tyler watches me with concern, but doesn't say anything.
Back at the house, he acts as my well-trained assistant. We've gotten used to working with each other when he helps me with projects around the gym. He helps me haul the materials in, measures behind me, and always seems to know where I need him to support the structure while I install the beams. The worst of it is installing waterproof material over the top of the roof. It's cold outside, but the sun still beats down on us. We're sweat slicked and tired, but we push through and get it done.
Mom isn't in too much pain today. It’s manageable at least, but she is fatigued. Once we're done with the roof, we clear everything out so she can nap.
I'm just considering trying to get Tyler to take a shower with me when he pins me with a look. "This isn't a long-term fix, is it?"
I shake my head. "We're buying time for now."
"I figured. Do you have a plan, or?—?"
"I'll figure it out. I always do."
He smiles softly, then looks down at his feet and back up at me. "I don't know how much you need, but–"
"No," I say quickly. It comes out more forcefully than I intended, and Tyler balks.
"I have some money set aside. Not a ton, less than ten thousand dollars." Jesus, does he not consider that a lot of money? "If you let me help, I can–"
"No, Tyler," I say more softly this time. "I don't want your money. This is my responsibility and I'll take care of it the way I always have."
"By giving up something important to you? By cutting corners? By going out and letting people hit you?"
I look away, jaw clenched. He's not wrong, but I don't know how to do anything else. This has always been my life.
I'm not sure how I'm going to come up with the money. There have been a lot of unexpected expenses, more than I planned for, which I thought was a lot. With the skyrocketing cost of materials and manufacturing, it's already going to be a miracle if I pull this off as I've envisioned it. If I need to make some concessions, so be it. I can always add on more to the gym later, if I decide to forgo the cardio equipment like I've been considering.
"Just think about it?" Tyler says, rubbing my arm.
I nod, but I think we both know it's never going to happen.
The good thing is that the renovations are moving along faster than I’d anticipated. I've got a plumber coming this week to finish modifying the plumbing for the new shower fittings, then I can install the privacy screens and lockers. After that, it's just a matter of getting the equipment delivered and setting it all up. A few inspections, and we could be up and running this spring instead of the summer. If I can make that happen, I'll at least be able to stop hemorrhaging money the way I am. I don't expect to be profitable for the first six months, and most of the profits will go towards expenditures for another six months after that. But if I can get us to spring, then a year of being extra frugal, I have a chance at making this work.
Failure is not an option.