9. How Are We Related?
“I’m not recording a fucking podcast with you. Why would you even ask me?” My brother Clay’s an asshole, and that’s exactly why I want him on my podcast. My mom always remarks on how different her six kids are, and Clay and I landed on opposite ends of the personality spectrum. He’s the second in birth order, and from how Wesley tells it, he came out with a frown and never lost it.
He’s not the worst guy—that honor goes to my brother Mason, who regularly eats all of dad’s homemade snickerdoodle cookies before anybody has a chance to grab one. But Clay’s the biggest grump I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, and that’s saying something because I work with Meredith. The two of them would probably get along like those two Muppets who do the commentary from the balcony seats. I snort at the thought.
“What’s so funny, dork?” The name rolls off me—it’s probably the first word I ever heard. It’s been Clay’s favorite word since he was little. He even named the family dog Dork when he won the naming rights. My mom protested, but Clay pitched a fit until she finally relented. I remember her muttering “I’m not dying on this hill today.” It became her favorite phrase.
“Nothing, just imagining you as a Muppet.”
“The things that go on inside your brain. Does it hurt to be you?”
“Not even a little bit. Come on, Clay. A couple hours out of a day of your choosing. And you get to talk shit about growing up with me.” I’ll ask Meredith to edit most of it out.
Clay lets out the biggest, saddest, most put-upon sigh that’s ever been sighed. I want to laugh, but I’m afraid he’ll retreat back to absolute refusal. “Fine, I’ll do your stupid fucking podcast.”
“That’s the spirit.” I smack him on the shoulder and quickly step back before he can do the same but harder.
“What’s the spirit?” My sister, Greta, walks into the living room and cracks open a beer. I notice she didn’t offer me one.
“Clay’s going to do an episode with me.” A quiet grumble comes from his end of the couch.
“Why would you want Mr. Sourpuss on your podcast? Do you want to lose listeners before you even have any?”
“Hey,” the grump grumps.
“Doesn’t matter, because I’m the first one you’re interviewing, and that means I’m the first one who gets to meet Meredith.” Greta sings the name like she’s in third grade.
“Who the fuck is Meredith?” Clay asks.
“The producer.” I try to keep my voice even, but I can’t stop the blush that consumes my face. Clay and Greta point at me at the same time.
“What’s going on there?” Clay asks.
“Baby boy has a crush,” Greta laughs. She’s no longer my favorite.
“Do not,” says a very mature, grown-up me in a not at all petulant way.
“Hang on, you’re creeping on your producer? I gotta see this. When do I come in?” Clay cracks a rare smile, and that’s how I know I’m fucked.