Chapter 3
At night, Danny goes back to his father’s house alone. The floorboards creak and the windows rattle in their frames. The spirit has gone out of it—as if no one has lived here in a long time.
There are the basic human things to attend to: bathroom, dinner, shower, laundry.
He also has messages from Eve, which he cannot find a way to respond to.
He wishes she were here; resents her for being in New York; would be terrified to let her see him this way; does not want his ever-present anxieties about their relationship to usurp the brain space he is devoting to his father.
There’s no winning—he knows that. He also knows, if things were reversed, he would want to be by her side.
But he has always had the sneaking suspicion he loves her more.
That, if things ended, she would be doing the leaving.
He has already been left by his mom and is now being left by his dad.
As much as he does not want to leave Eve, he considers it for a moment.
Break up with her. So that once, he can choose the ending.
He sits on the edge of his childhood bed and puts on his running shoes. It’s already dark out. He stays there, staring at the laces, and feels a tightness rising from his stomach into his chest.
His phone rings. It’s Julian. Danny stares at the phone for a long time before he answers the call.
“Hey,” Danny says.
“Hey,” Julian says. “You missed our meeting today.”
Danny shuts his eyes. “It’s Tuesday.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
Julian inhales, like he’s going to say something sharp, and then gives up: “It’s fine.”
“It doesn’t sound fine. Look, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Danny says. “I shouldn’t have missed the meeting.”
“It’s not about the meeting.” For a long time, Julian says nothing. Then: “You told Eve our dad was having an affair?”
“I—I wasn’t looking on purpose. It was an accident. But then I knew, and I—”
“Told Eve,” Julian says. “Danny, that’s a huge fucking privacy breach.”
Danny stands. He walks to the far side of his room, the one with all the concert paraphernalia, and runs his thumb across the corner of a ticket stub that’s peeling off the wood. The tape just crinkles; it’s lost its glue.
“Sorry,” Danny says finally.
“I mean,” Julian says, “she already hates our parents. And no, they’re not perfect. God. I just—why didn’t you tell me?”
Danny pauses. “Is that why you’re mad?”
“I mean! Kind of! Also because it’s a privacy breach. But yeah. I know she’s your girlfriend, but it’s our company. And I just—I don’t even know what’s going on anymore. Are you done with Pattern? Is that what’s going on?”
“My dad’s about to die,” Danny says.
On the other end, there’s a very long pause.
“You said he was just sick,” Julian says. “You said you were just helping him out.”
“Yeah,” Danny says.
“How long does he have?”
“A day or two.”
“Danny. Why the fuck— Okay, I’m coming out there. I’m getting a flight.”
“Please don’t.”
“Too bad.”
Danny leans his head against the cool wall. To his left, his childhood bookshelf, with Cal’s hand-me-down fantasy tomes and Danny’s cross-country ribbons and a hideous ceramic vase he hates but can’t part with. He squeezes his eyes shut. “It’s not your job.”
“You’re my brother.”
“I’m not your brother. I am categorically not your brother. Your dad is not my dad. My dad is the opposite of your dad, and my family is the opposite of your family, and I don’t want you to come here and see that we’re—”
“That we’re what?”
“We’re different, Julian. It’s the same reason Eve can’t be here. You two wouldn’t fit. The same way I will never, ever fit in your family.”
“You do fit in our family. You’re my brother.”
Danny turns back to the bed, which is mussed.
The house creaks and settles. How long has Danny wished for a brother?
His whole life. Someone who could be his ally both against Cal and in support of Cal.
But that’s not Julian. As much as Danny wishes it was.
He’s exhausted from how long he has wished for this.
Tiredly, Danny says, “I don’t have a brother. ”