Chapter 6
Marty
“How you getting along with that jerk?” Dad asks as we plant peas in a box in the garden. I’ve been complaining about Ryan the last few times we talked.
“Jerk is such a nice word for what he is,” I say, making Dad chuckle.
My Advanced Risk Modeling teacher canceled class this afternoon, so spring break started earlier than expected. My family’s only forty minutes from campus, so it’ll be nice to spend the time with them, catching up with everyone, especially Aiden.
“He’s trying to annoy the crap out of me. Been listening to stuff on his phone or laptop without earbuds and leaving protein bar wrappers and clothes around the place.” Anything to grate on my nerves.
“Anything you can do about it?”
“I’m documenting everything. He thinks he’s outsmarting me, but he’s become a nuisance, so as soon as I have enough, I’m taking it to the guys and getting him hauled out.”
Dad cringes. “Maybe you should get his friends to talk to him. They might be able to convince him he needs to do better if he wants to continue living at your frat.”
“It’s hard to imagine Ryan stepping in line for anyone. He does whatever the hell he wants.”
“Mart…”
I roll my eyes. “The heck he wants. Wait, am I not old enough to say that?”
“Sorry, Aiden’s been getting too loose with it recently, and there are a lot of F-bombs, so your mom and I have been trying to stay on top of it.”
The mention of Aiden reminds me how excited I am to spend the next week with my bro. “Speaking of, I haven’t heard much from him. Everything okay?”
Dad focuses on smoothing out soil around a few of the pea plants he’s positioned in his freshly dug holes. “He’s been busy with school and friends. You know how he can be.”
“It’s been worse this year.”
Aiden and I did everything together as kids, and after his accident, for a couple of years, we were inseparable. Even once he started getting back into the swing of things, we would talk on the phone all the time. But since he’s become a senior, it’s like he doesn’t have time to talk to me anymore.
Dad studies my face, surely sensing my uneasiness. “He loves his big brother as much as ever. I know you have a lot of worries floating around in that smart head of yours, but that’s not one you need to have.”
My parents have always known I was prone to anxiety.
They noticed it from early on, since pretty much anything would make me cry as a baby.
They assumed I’d grow out of it, but after I learned to talk, it only seemed to help me communicate my fears of the world.
It’s interesting because, given how young I was when I exhibited this behavior, one might’ve expected Mom or Dad to be that way too, but they’re pretty chill.
Grandad on Dad’s side is like this, though, so maybe it skipped a generation.
“I just miss him, ya know?” I tell Dad. “Feels like not talking to my best friend.”
“Aiden’s been busier than he used to be, which is a good thing. And you’re both attending the same school next year, so I’m sure you’ll be spending too much time together once that happens.”
He’s right. I’ve already been accepted to the grad program for risk management, and Aiden’s received his acceptance letter to Peach State. It’s not like we won’t have time to hang, yet how he’s acting makes me think he might not even want to be around me when he’s on campus.
I use the garden shovel to create another hole and place another plant before checking the time on my phone. “Well, if I want to get to Aiden’s rec game, I better go.”
“I appreciate the help while you’re here,” Dad says before I head out.
At the rec center, I find Aiden on the basketball court with several kids I recognize as his friends from school.
I came at a good time because he’s flying down the court, the guys on his tail.
He spins his wheelchair, faking a move, but his opponent recovers quickly, blocking the shot.
Aiden tosses the ball to a teammate, who dribbles toward the goal.
The opposing players abandon Aiden and swarm their new target, leaving my bro wide open.
Aiden’s teammate takes full advantage of the opportunity, returning the ball, and Aiden sinks one into the net.
His team cheers him on before he spins around, and when he sees me, he gives a dramatic bow before receiving high fives and fist bumps.
Reminds me what a social guy he’s always been.
That’s one of the many differences between Aiden and me.
Not that I avoid people, but part of what I enjoy about the frat is that it forces me to push myself into talking to people, making friends, because if I were on my own, I would just squirrel myself away.
I sit in the bleachers and watch the rest of the game, noticing how effortlessly he soars across the court.
Easy as he makes it seem, I know life is so much harder for him than it’s ever been for most of the other kids he plays with, or me.
But he makes the adjustments he’s had to make since the accident look like second nature.
Proud as I am of him, it’s still difficult when I know it shouldn’t be this way.
It’s the sort of thought that—like so many of my thoughts—I try to push away, but it sits there, always in the back of my mind.
Survivor’s guilt, my therapist calls it.
Aiden’s team wins the game, and he’s sweaty as hell after he finishes up, the dark brown bangs we both get from Dad soaked through.
“Did you see me kicking their asses?”
“I did. You shouldn’t have hogged the ball like that, though.”
He laughs as he slips past me toward the car.
“How’s stuff going?” I ask.
“Pretty good. Did Mom and Dad tell you I got into the play?”
“Wait, what? They definitely did not.” I’m kind of pissed at them for not mentioning it as soon as I got home.
“I told them I wanted to tell you,” he clarifies, but I still don’t know that I give them a pass.
“What is it?”
“It’s a Canadian play. You know the story of that axe murderer, Lizzie Borden. Alleged, I guess.”
“I’m pretty sure she can’t sue you for defamation from the grave.”
“It takes place after she’s acquitted. She becomes an acting teacher, and her student winds up going through an exercise where she tries to get into what really happened the night of her parents’ murder.”
“The hell?”
“I’m the love interest Lizzie Borden kills her parents over. Well, or not. You’ll have to see to find out.”
“Um…”
“Yeah, weird shit, but it’s cool.”
“I was thinking you were gonna say My Fair Lady or something.”
“Dude, have you heard me sing?”
“I haven’t seen you act either.” I glare at him, and I know him well enough to read the guilt in his wavering gaze.
“I was taking theater as an elective, and the teacher does the play. He encouraged me to audition.”
“And you didn’t even mention this to me?” I try to keep my cool, but I can’t help but sound hurt. I like knowing what’s going on in his life.
“It was an audition. I could have been shit and not gotten the part.”
“And what’s your excuse for after that?”
“I wanted to make sure they didn’t get rid of me after the first few rehearsals.”
“Oh, so you were planning to tell me on opening night?”
He rolls his eyes. “I was gonna tell you today. Once I had a better idea if I’d be any good at it.”
“I don’t know what you were worried about. Anything you put your mind to, you do fine with.”
He makes a retching sound. “This is not the whole it’s a miracle, everything you do, because you poor wounded bird.”
He couldn’t sound more sarcastic if he tried. Aiden hates when people make a big deal out of anything he does. I get it, but I also think sometimes he downplays the shit he does that is genuinely awesome.
“You know that’s not how I meant it.”
“I’m only giving you hell, bro,” he says as he rushes, slipping the wheel in front of my leg so I have to halt in place—one of his favorite games.
“You little shit. I can still kick your ass.”
“Kick away,” he says, pivoting so he’s in front of me. “Come on. Get around me. Try.”
We run through the game for a minute before I manage to psyche him out and get in front. When I reach his car, I have to stop myself from offering help, since Aiden hates that.
Right after the accident, he had a rough time coping and needed extra help.
It was about two years before he started refusing a lot of the help Mom, Dad, or I would offer.
But it can be hard to watch when something I take for granted takes him much longer, like even getting the door open.
And I could easily help him into his seat instead of him climbing up.
“Okay, I don’t have to be a hero today. You wanna put the chair in the passenger’s seat?”
A rush of adrenaline rushes through me as my bro asks me for help I’m eager to give. “I got you.” I place it in the seat, then head to my car, and we meet back at our parents’ place, catching up before dinner.
I notice he keeps texting someone before Mom asks, “How was Amy today?”
“Amy?” I ask. “That’s a name I haven’t heard before.” Once again, the knot in my chest twists up. Like when he brought up the play.
Aiden shoots Mom a look.
“Was I not supposed to say anything?” she asks.
“The hell, Aiden? I mean heck. First the play and now you have a girlfriend?”
“Whoa, whoa. She’s not my girlfriend,” he says before smiling.
“Yet.” He’s trying to downplay it, but his lips are tight together, his eyes wide in the way he gets when he has a secret.
“And speaking of surprises…” he drags out, “Steven and Roger are going to Tybee Island for the week and asked if I wanted to come with them.”
“Wait, what?” I ask, disappointment coursing through me.
“I thought we’d get to spend time together.
” Aiden wears a guilty expression as Mom and Dad exchange an uncomfortable look, but as frustrated as I am, I know I’m being selfish.
“Sorry, I wanted to see you, but that sounds fun.” I can tell I already made it awkward for him, though.
“Please, Mom and Dad,” he asks.
And of course, it isn’t much of a discussion since he’s been on vacations with his crew before. I just wish I would’ve had a heads-up.
He must sense how disappointed I am because after they agree, he says, “It’s fine, man. It’s all good. You’re still my amazing big bro.”
I notice the sympathy in Mom’s and Dad’s expressions, like they know this is not the way we are, but I try to remind myself he’s growing up. He’s always been his own guy and done whatever the hell he’s wanted to. And I’ve tried to support him at every turn. Still, it’s a tough blow.
“You want to throw the ball around after dinner?” he asks. “You got a better arm than Dad, and I need to keep my throw in good shape for the team next year.”
I can tell he’s trying to cheer me up, and I manage to get in a better mood as we play around in the backyard, but there’s still this lingering discomfort because, even though I know my bro’s got his own life, I don’t like him pulling away from me.