Chapter 50 Caleb
I drop the last of my belongings into a cardboard box, dodging the tinsel bomb that seems to have exploded across the office.
"You can't seriously be taking that horrifying garden gnome as a trophy," Jules appears at my cubicle, her hair tangled in the Santa hat she's been forced to wear for the office holiday party. "Though I'm still convinced Karen from accounting picked that for Secret Santa on purpose."
"Hey, he has character! Even if his eyes do follow you around the room."
Xander appears, wearing the most aggressively festive Christmas sweater I've ever seen, complete with actual blinking lights. "Ready to abandon us?"
"You're the one who suggested remote work," I remind him.
"Because you're too good to lose over something as simple as geography." He drops into my spare chair. "Though if being at home gets too boring, your desk will be here. Minus the rubber duck army, which I assume are non-negotiable departing members."
"They're my coding partners," I say with complete seriousness. "Very crucial to the creative process."
"Right." Xander's eyes crinkle. "Nothing to do with a certain someone's backyard duck sanctuary?"
"Does everyone know about that?!"
"Nothing gets past me. Plus, Jules is bad at keeping secrets, should have really warned you about that on your first day." He chuckles.
"Hey, I heard that!" She throws tinsel at his head
"Thanks for taking a chance on me," I say. "Even when I definitely didn't deserve it."
"You always deserved it." Xander stands, clapping my shoulder. "You just needed to believe it yourself."
The walk to Matt's place feels different tonight.
It could be because it's my last night in Boston, or maybe it's the way the lights blur through the floor-to-ceiling windows of their apartment on the forty-second story.
The view still gets me every time—the whole city sprawled out like a jewel box, the Charles River winding silver in the distance.
I let myself in with my spare key, and I'm immediately hit by the smell of . . . burning?
"Don't panic!" Sarah's voice carries from their massive open-concept kitchen. "Everything's under control!"
I round the corner to find, what looks like a flour bomb, has gone off. Sarah stands in the middle of it all, chocolate smeared across one cheek, determinedly stabbing at something smoking in a tray.
"Do I want to know?"
"I was trying to make that chocolate lava cake you like." She blows a strand of hair from her face. "But apparently baking is harder than corporate law."
"You didn't have to—"
"Yes, I did." She abandons the cake massacre to hug me, getting flour all over my shirt. "You're leaving tomorrow. Let me have my emotional baking moment."
The front door clicks, and Matt's voice carries through the apartment. "Why does it smell like someone's committing arson?"
"Your wife's trying to poison me before I leave," I call back.
Matt appears in the doorway, looking every inch the young professional in his tailored suit and loosened tie. But his grin is pure teenage troublemaker as he takes in the chaos. He crosses to Sarah, spinning her around and dipping her into a kiss.
"Jesus Christ, my eyes." I cover my face dramatically. "At least wait until I'm gone."
Matt pulls back enough to smirk at me, his hand sliding down to grab Sarah's ass. "Oh trust me, little bro, we're counting down the hours. Do you know how long it's been since we could have sex in the kitchen without worrying about your trauma?"
Sarah squeaks, smacking his chest even as she laughs. "Matthew!"
"What? I'm just saying, that island's about to see some action—"
"I'm moving back home to escape this," I groan, but I'm fighting a grin. "You two are worse than teenagers."
"Says the guy who once walked in on us in the shower—" Matt starts.
"We agreed never to speak of that!" I throw a handful of flour at him. "I still need therapy."
"Therapy's expensive," Matt says, waggling his eyebrows at his wife. "Know what's free? Kitchen counter—"
"Pizza!" Sarah blurts, her face bright red. "We're ordering pizza. Right now."
An hour later, we're sprawled across the living room, empty boxes forgotten as Matt boots up the Nintendo Switch. Curled up like a content cat, Sarah's already reaching for her controller with laser focus.
"Babe," Matt says gently, "maybe we let someone else win Rainbow Road tonight?"
"Absolutely not." She sits up straighter. "I've been practicing."
I snort, grabbing my controller. "You mean Matt's been letting you win."
"I have not—" He starts, but Sarah's already throwing a pillow at his head.
"He absolutely has," I stage-whisper to her. "You fall off the track at least twelve times per race and somehow still win? That's some serious husband manipulation."
"I'm naturally talented," She sniffs, but fights a grin.
Three races later, and Sarah's character is somehow in first place, despite spending half the time driving backwards.
"This is painful to watch," I groan. "You're embarrassing the Miller name."
"You're jealous of my superior gaming skills," Sarah quips back.
"Superior my ass," I mutter, catching Matt deliberately swerve away from a power-up that would've knocked Sarah off. "He's just trying to get laid later."
"Language!"
"Sorry, Mom." I yelp as Matt's character finally uses a red shell—on me. "Dude! She's the one in first place!"
"Sorry, bro." Matt grins, not looking sorry at all. "All's fair in love and Mario Kart."
"Yeah, except you're playing dirty." I narrow my eyes at him. "You've had like three blue shells, and mysteriously aimed them all at me, when Sarah's been in the lead this whole time."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Matt's character swerves again, somehow not missing the obvious banana peel Sarah left dead center on the track.
"Oh my God." I throw my hands up as she somehow wins again. "You're so whipped."
"I'm getting more drinks," Sarah announces. "Try not to cry too much about losing to a girl."
The moment she's gone, the air shifts. Matt sets down his controller, and I know what's coming before he opens his mouth. I'm surprised he left it this long.
"I should've called more. After I moved here."
I stare at the pause screen, finding Mario's frozen face fascinating. "Yeah, well." I shrug, aiming for casual. "I could've picked up a phone too."
He sits up straighter, and something in his tone makes me look at him. "I was so focused on proving I could make it here, on being what Dad wanted, I forgot what it meant to be your brother."
"Matt—"
"No, listen." He drags a palm down the back of his neck, a gesture so familiar it aches. "I promised you wouldn't be stuck there alone, remember? And then I left you to deal with Dad's expectations and disappointment by yourself."
The truth of it hits like a punch to the gut. Because yeah, that's exactly what happened. What I've been angry about all these years without being able to name it.
"I didn't want to need you," I admit finally, voice rough. "Kept telling myself I was fine on my own. That I didn't miss having someone who got it—got me—you know?"
"But you did need me." It's not a question. "And I wasn't there."
"You're here now." The words surprise me as much as him because they're true.
"So," he says carefully, "want to tell me what's really bringing you home?"
"You know what. Who, actually."
"Ivy." He doesn't phrase it as a question. "You know, you were always different with her. Even in high school."
"What exactly are you implying?"
"Come on." Matt leans back, that knowing big brother look on his face. "With everyone else, you were this total douche—the class clown, the guy who made everything a joke. But with Ivy?" He shakes his head. "Man, you were so soft. Like a completely different person."
"I was not—"
"Remember those mean girls in junior year? The ones who were giving her shit about her blue hair and all her crystal stuff?"
"Anyone would've stood up for her," I mutter, but my cheeks heat.
"Yeah?" Matt's grin turns wicked. "What about learning to dance for prom? Because I distinctly remember you saying dancing was 'for total nerds who peaked in theater club.' But then Ivy mentioned how much she loved it, how she wished someone would ask her to prom . . ." He trails off meaningfully.
I nearly choke on my beer. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Really? So that wasn't you in the kitchen at midnight, counting steps and watching YouTube tutorials?" He laughs at my mortified expression. "The floor creaks, little brother. I heard you practicing every night for weeks."
"Jesus." I cover my face with a hand. "I didn't know anyone knew about that."
"Are you kidding? Mom knew, that's why she forced us to practice together after she found out." His expression softens. "You were painfully obvious. Still are."
I stare at my bottle, a dull weight settling in my chest. "Part of me always thought she'd be there, you know? When I finally grew up and was ready for her."
"And how'd that work out for you?"
"She was always so sure of what she wanted.
" The words come out rough. "Who she was.
While I was just . . . existing. And somewhere along the way, I got so comfortable having her in my life that the thought of risking it .
. . of maybe losing her completely if I fucked up the relationship?
" I shake my head. "Seemed safer to keep her as a friend. "
"And look where you are now."
"Yeah." I laugh, but it's hollow. "I know I'm an idiot. Should've just . . . after the wedding, I shouldn't have pulled back. I could have handled it all better."
Sarah chooses that moment to return, arms full of drinks. She takes one look between us and breaks into a grin. "Oh, thank God, are we finally discussing Ivy? Because I have been dying to talk about this for months."
I groan. "This is exactly why I made her a forbidden topic when I moved here."
"Hey, I like her," Sarah protests, settling next to Matt. "She's my friend."
"So what's the plan?" he cuts in, pulling her closer. "How are you going to win her back?"
What follows is possibly the most ridiculous brainstorming session of my life. Matt suggests everything, from skywriting, to recreating scenes from eighties romance movies. Sarah keeps bringing up grand gestures involving fairy lights and flash mobs.
And me? I'm laughing. Because somehow, without me noticing, I'd built walls around more than just my feelings for Ivy. I shut out family, connection, the chance to be known by people who love me even when I'm being an idiot.
I dumped everything on her, because letting her carry it was safer than opening up to anyone else. Admitting I needed more than just her? That was the hardest part.