Letter Twenty-Seven #4
My dad thought an admission like that would make things worse for you, and I could tell right then that Nic was right about this, too. It would make Michael angrier, colder, less open to accepting you as his brother.
“Just say it,” Michael said, softer, less guarded. And here was the other problem: it would crush him. It would break his heart. It would change the whole dynamic of our friendship. He might never look at me the same way again.
I fumbled with the scarf in my lap. “It’s just—it’s complicated.”
“Yeah. It’s complicated by your feelings for him.”
“No.” A huge, monstrous lie. “Look, it’s just—he’s going through a lot.”
“Going through what?”
“Just—stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“His friend being a total dick to him, for starters.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “What else? Secret stuff he shared with you while you wrapped your body around his?”
I closed my eyes. “It wasn’t like that.”
“It was like that. Did you pull his hair, too?”
“No.” Not that particular night, at least. “I need you to forgive him for not telling you he was adopted. I need you to stop letting your feelings for me dictate how you treat him. I need you to make things right again.”
“You need me to do these things? Why?”
“Because he needs you to, and I can’t be responsible if you don’t. I can’t get in the middle.”
“In the middle of what?” he demanded. “A dying friendship? I can assure you—he and I will both be fine if this one doesn’t work out.”
A dying friendship? I didn’t like the sound of that.
“No, you won’t! And Casey sure as hell won’t! You don’t understand!”
“What’s to understand? Friendships fall apart. It happens.”
My stomach dropped. How could Michael be so cavalier about this? How could he give up so easily? How could he just…let you go?
“This one can’t. Not ever. It’s too important.”
“Jesus, Elliot. I can make new friends. This one guy, I can live without.”
“What’s wrong with you? A month ago, you hated how distant he was being, and now you’re throwing in the towel? Like he means nothing to you?”
“He’s just some guy I randomly met through Sienna a couple of years ago. We had a good run, but it’s over now.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s. Over. If he’s proven anything, it’s that he doesn’t give a shit about me, either. So it’s done. I’m done with him.”
“No! He does care about you! It’s not that simple!”
“It is that simple. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?”
“Because you’re being stupid!”
“More stupid than you letting some random guy come between us? Letting some random guy ruin this? A lifetime of friendship? Why are you letting him do that, Elliot? What makes him so fucking special?”
“Because he isn’t some random guy, Michael! He’s your brother!”
I clapped both hands over my mouth, my eyes flung open wide and stinging with tears.
Michael cocked his head to the side, caught off guard by the outburst. “My what?”
My heart slammed against my ribcage. Ohshitohshitohshit, I thought. What have I done?
“Nothing,” I said, dropping my hands. Maybe I could take it back. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
Oh my God. What the hell had I done?
“You said Casey’s my brother.” Michael’s eyes narrowed as he searched my face.
“No, I didn’t.” Maybe if I played it super cool and slipped my hands underneath the scarf in my lap, he wouldn’t notice how badly they were shaking.
“Yes,” Michael said, drawing the word out, “you did. Why would you say that?”
He waited. And waited. And kept waiting, never taking his eyes off me. Sweat trickled down the small of my back.
“Because,” I said quietly, pausing to clear my throat. No use denying it now. He wouldn’t let me leave that apartment without an explanation—or, worse, he’d follow me to the house and demand one there. In front of you. “He is your brother. He’s been trying to tell you for over a year now.”
Michael leaned back, a small laugh huffing out of him. “Casey’s not my brother.”
I nodded. “He is your brother. You’re half-siblings.”
Michael gave me this look that said, You’re joking, right? “Elliot, I know you like to fuck with people, but come on. This is too far—even for you.”
Pressing my lips together, I took a deep breath. “He’s your brother.”
“Stop saying that,” said Michael.
“It’s true. You have the same dad.”
“No.” Michael shook his head. “No way my dad got two girls pregnant in college.”
I winced. “Except—um—he did, actually.”
“No. Not possible. Casey’s from England. He grew up there. In case you haven’t noticed, he has a fucking accent.”
“But he was born here—in Boston. I’ve seen the paternity test. Your dad is his biological father.
” I went on to tell Michael about Eleanor’s letter, how you initially believed Nic was your father, and when it turned out he wasn’t, my dad took DNA samples from him and John and ordered another paternity test without John’s knowledge.
When I finished telling him that, I told him about the conversation I’d had with my dad on the beach—the one I’d had with Eleanor on election night—and how they’d both confirmed the whole thing.
Michael sat very still as he absorbed all this information, Casey. He stared at me, barely blinking, never moving a single muscle in his face. The truth had rendered him speechless.
After five whole minutes of silence, I wondered if I’d need to do something—snap my fingers, wave my hand, pinch him real hard—to pull him out of it. “Are you…okay?”
“So much about that trip makes sense now,” he said, jolting back to life.
“Him getting shit-faced and insisting I was his brother. Claire hugging me when we first met—she cried. She treated me like some long-lost relative of his, and Casey got onto her for it—more than once. He didn’t want her to show me their photo albums, either, and now I know why.
He knew I’d see the resemblance between us when we were kids.
” Michael’s jaw hardened. “How could Casey keep this from me?”
“Well, to be fair, he did try to tell you over the summer. It’s just—he was drunk at the time.”
Michael cast me a hard look. Then he sat for a minute, pinching at his lips like you often did.
“What are the odds he and I would randomly become friends in the first place? If he thought Nic was his dad because of Eleanor’s letter, then he must’ve known who Nic was before I ever introduced them. ” His gaze drifted back to me. “Right?”
I’d really hoped to avoid telling him this part, Casey, but how could I not? “Yeah. About that…”
So I told him: how you’d watched him for weeks at Harvard, how Sienna had helped you get close to our family by asking him out, how befriending him had been part of your plan all along. Part of your plan to meet my dad.
Michael went silent again. “Wow,” he said finally, voice strained as he stared down at his hands. “So it was all a lie? He was just using me?”
“No,” I rushed to say. “That connection you feel with him? That’s never been a lie. That’s always been real.”
When Michael lifted his gaze back to mine, I saw the deep betrayal he felt—exactly the kind you feared—writ large upon his face.
“But he tricked me in the beginning—him and Sienna both. Do you know how humiliating that is? To know how easily I fell for their bullshit? I fell for both of them, and I’m usually so careful with people—for this very reason.
He charmed his way in, and I never even stopped to question whether he was being sincere or not. That’s how good he was at pretending.”
“You have no idea how horrible he feels. He wishes he could go back and start over—do it all differently. It’s his biggest regret.”
Michael sprang up, hands flexing by his side. “Oh, yeah? I’m about to make him regret it even more.”
He tried slipping past me, and I latched onto his hand with both of mine. “No! Don’t! You can’t confront him.”
“The hell I can’t,” Michael said, glaring down at me.
“You can’t tell him I told you,” I begged, stomach churning with fear. I felt sick. “Oh my God.”
“How can I not tell him?”
“I’m not sure, but he’ll be so pissed at me for telling you.” I sounded close to hysterical.
“I’m pissed at you,” Michael said, jerking his hand free. “How long have you known about this? The whole time?”
I winced. “Over a year now—right after his first summer here.”
He gave me that cold, hard look again. “So he told you, and not me.”
“He didn’t—Michael, he didn’t tell me—I mean, he did—obviously. But only because he and my dad were acting strange, so I snooped around in my dad’s office and found the paternity test for myself. You know me—no boundaries. I thought he was my brother at first. I freaked out.”
“And you kept it from me,” Michael said, his voice coming out soft but strained. He was hurt. “You thought that was best.”
“I wanted to tell you. I swear I did.”
“You listened to the story about him touching my scars—the story about what happened in England—and you never said a word.”
“It wasn’t my place. It wasn’t my secret to tell—and he asked me not to. He wanted to tell you himself.”
“Except months ticked by—a whole year, Elliot—and you still didn’t say anything. You helped him lie”—he jabbed a finger at his chest—“to me.”
I swallowed, guilty as hell. “I know.”
“What about my dad? Nic’s okay keeping something this huge from him? From my mom, too?”
“No. We’ve been trying to get Casey to tell everyone.
My dad has him in therapy over it, but Casey’s worried about what it’ll do to your family.
He doesn’t want to cause problems—not for you or anyone—because his adoptive dad made him think he’d ruin John’s life by coming over here in the first place. ”
Michael slowly lowered himself back down to the couch.
Desperate to keep him there, I hopped over and sat next to him.
As he stared at the blacked-out TV on the wall, I hoped he was thinking about your adoptive dad.
All the horrible things that asshole had said to you over the summer—the verbal and mental abuse.
I hoped Michael was taking your feelings into consideration.
Hoped some small, protective part of him still cared about you, after all.