Chapter 15 Brandon
brANDON
“Hi, buddy,” I greet my brother and take a seat at his grave. The wind takes that moment to whip around me, and I like to think it’s James’s way of saying hi. “So I need some advice.” The wind whips around me again, and I assume he knows where I’m going.
Sometimes I think the afterlife is a myth.
When we’re gone, we’re just gone. You have no idea what comes next, and you’ll be lucky if people remember you.
But it turns out that’s not entirely true because I’ll see James in my dreams, and it’s like no time has passed.
In my dreams, James is still twenty-six years old and preparing to marry the love of his life.
But when I wake up, two years have gone by, and he’s forever twenty-six years old and not preparing to marry the love of his life.
I think that’s why I hate dreaming.
I’ll wake up missing him more and more and wonder when the constant ache of missing my brother will end.
“I started seeing someone. Which, I’m sure you already know.
” I turn, looking behind me and decide to lay on the ground, looking up at the sky hopefully searching for answers I know I won’t get.
“What do I do? Angie is… She’s the missing piece I didn’t know I needed.
We’ve been going slow-ish, but we’ve also been going at the right speed, which isn’t exactly fast or slow.
For me and for her. Does that make sense?
I think we’re both scared that if we put all our eggs in one basket, someone’s going to come along and cut out a hole, leaving us with no tools to repair it.
And it’s hard to get past the obvious mountain that will always be ahead of us. ”
Overhead, birds fly by, chasing one another while the sun casts weird shadows as it peaks through the tree canopy.
“I took the lead on a new video game.” More wind rustles through the cemetery grounds as I change the subject.
“I don’t know how it works where you’re at, but no playing it early.
Just…let me know if any of what I’m showing you is good, okay?
I’m a ball of nerves that no one will play it.
” I turn my head to look at his headstone and adjust so I’m looking back up at the cloudless, afternoon sky.
“Are you keeping an eye on Emily? We haven’t seen her since your funeral.
The last I heard from her parents, she went back to New York for a while before moving to Cincinnati.
I don’t blame her for leaving. Losing you was hard on all of us.
But it was especially hard on her. But I know you, James.
I know you wouldn’t have prepared her for a life without you unless you knew that one day you two would be apart.
Tell her that she’s… I don’t know—allowed to move on.
I’m sure you told her that. But we need to know that she’s happy. ”
What sounds like a melody of birds chirping, squirrels skittering up the stairs, and the distant sound of geese squawking in the background—it’s like a sign from James that Emily is okay and that she’s managing to find her happiness.
“Thanks, buddy. Now, if you could only tell me how to break it to the family that I’m seeing Angela Taylor.”
I walk off the elevator and through the lobby. I texted Jerry to let him know I’d be in later today after my visit with James. He tried convincing me to take the day off, but I need to stay busy and what other way than to come into work.
“Hey, Donnie,” Carter greets as he joins me in my walk to my office.
“You know I hate that nickname.” I open the door to my office and flick on the lights, before deciding to keep them off and just use the corner lamp along with the natural light from outside.
“Until you give me another name to call you, it’s sticking. Which, at this rate, I’ve been using it for a decade, and you haven’t told me to stop.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a lot to deal with?” I ask lightly as I drop into my chair.
“Yes. Yes, I have heard that.”
I snort and login to see the plethora of emails that have filled up my inbox. Groaning, I start at the bottom, but see Carter out of the corner of my eye, looking incredibly nervous.
“What’s up?” I ask and direct my attention to him instead.
“How are you and Angie?” he asks instead of answering my question, but I see his body move and know he’s shaking his leg.
I narrow my eyes at him and give him my full attention. “We have our challenges, but we’re good. However, that’s not what you wanted to talk about, is it?”
He shakes his head.
“Is it the guy you’re seeing?”
Carter nods.
“Okay, pal. The only way this conversation can work is if you talk.”
“He wants to meet my friends,” Carter blurts out.
“Is that a bad thing?” I ask with a tilt of my head in confusion and try to hold back a smile.
He shrugs and that gesture makes him look like the eighteen-year-old boy I met over a decade ago.
I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen Carter confused and upset.
One time was at James’s funeral, another was during our graphic design seminar our senior year because he was nervous out of his mind, and the last time was when Carter celebrated being a first-generation College graduate amongst his family.
So seeing my friend torn up over his partner wanting to meet his friends makes me want to go to battle for him.
“How about this,” I begin and revel in the way his face lights back up, “let me see what Angie’s schedule is this weekend and we can do dinner at my place.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Plus, it’ll give you another chance to get to know Ang without a bar between you two.”
Carter nods and lets out a deep breath. “Okay. Thanks, Brandon.”
“Of course. So where are we at with the game?” I ask, wanting to get back to work.
“It’s in audio production right now for sound effects and character dialogue, and then we’ll do another round of testing—maybe that’s when you bring in your brothers to do a test,” he pauses and waits for me to nod, “and then we’ll add the background music, followed by another test.”
“And we’ve double checked that quality looks the same on every gaming device, correct?”
“Quadruple checked it. But I’m gonna go and do another check to make sure that it passes every level of inspection,” Carter tells me and stands up.
“Thanks, Carter,” I tell him.
“No problem.”
Once he leaves, I crank out a few responses to emails, and a smile crosses my face when one from Angie pops into my inbox.
When I finally got her all the information for the company’s social media pages, she hit the ground running.
I go through the drive of the fifty attachments for the game launch that she attached, and each one has my jaw slacking more and more.
I pick up my office phone and dial Jerry.
“Hey, Brandon.”
“Hey. Who’s in charge of running the company’s social media pages?”
Jerry swearing on the other end makes me chuckle. “You kids are gonna send me to an early grave. I have no clue. Maybe talk to HR? Why?”
“Angie sent me the graphics for our game and I wanna start getting these posted.”
“Really? Wait, back it up. Who’s Angie?”
Fuck. “A friend,” I lie, and it tastes bitter on my tongue.
“Mm hmm. I’ll let it slide. And I’ll come down to your office in a little to check out what she’s done. Maybe she’ll want a job here.”
“Yeah, maybe. Thanks, Jerry.”
After getting to know and talking with Angie, the last thing she would want is to chain herself to an office desk.
My girl is a creative through and through, and even though a job like this would give that to her, it would mean stunting the other side of her creativity. So, no. I won’t recommend a job here.
For the rest of the day, I work. But I also think about James, my family, my Angie, and I think about how when they find out we’re dating, it will be the end of a family coming back together.
A few days later, I walk into Blue Pint Outpost. Angie and I haven’t seen or talked to each other in a few days because I was wrapping up the finishing touches on our video game and Angie picking up more shifts here, and I’ve missed her.
Plus, after the way she left my condo the last time, I wanted to see where her head was at.
Our conversation over texts alleviated a little bit of that worry, but it’s easier to judge someone’s stance when you’re right in front of them.
I find her shaking a cocktail shaker behind the bar, and when she sees me, the smile that takes over her face makes me want to run over to her and dip her into a kiss.
But I don’t. Although I am itching to hold her.
She angles her head and directs me to a spot in her section of the bar.
In the past few months, I’ve come to pick up on the restaurant lingo that’s slung around.
So when she slips up, I know what she means.
I fiddle with one of the coasters that’s in front of me as I wait for her.
“Hi,” she greets when she finally comes over to me.
“Hey, you,” I say and look up at her with a smile.
She places a ginger ale with some cherries on top in front of me. “You know, you’re really hurting my bartender street cred by not drinking.”
“You never had any street cred,” one of the bartenders says behind her and comes to stand next to her. “I’m Joe.”
I take his outstretched hand and shake it. “Brandon.”
Angie and I watch him head to the other end of the bar, and then it’s just the two of us.
“I haven’t seen you sit at my bar in way too long.”
“I know,” I heave out a sigh. “Work has been busy. On the plus side, the graphics you did for us are already reaching their targets.”
“That’s great,” she exclaims, “but…”
“Jerry offhandedly said something about you working for our marketing team.”
Her forehead scrunches. “What do you mean?”
“He likes what you did for teasing my game and joked about you taking up space in a cubicle.”
She leans forward against the bar and the movement has her shirt gaping open, and my eyes zone in.
Angie taps my hand, and I meet her eyes.
We say a lot with those looks and the smile that breaks free sends me soaring.
“I like you. A lot. And I loved helping you and your game. But the idea of sitting at a desk would send me to more therapy.”
I snort. “That was my thought when he said it. But I thought I’d let you know. What’s your schedule for the rest of the week?”
“Opening on Friday and then I have Saturday and Sunday off. Why are you planning another date?” she asks excitedly.
Romance. That’s what Angie needs. Lots and lots of romance. But I have to romance her in soft ways that don’t overwhelm her. Plus, I get the notion that no one has ever gone above and beyond for her—that includes her parents.
“Yes.”
The smile on her face makes it all worth it.
“Where?”
“At my place. With Carter and his boyfriend. How does Saturday sound?”
Her eyes widen with excitement. “A double date, already? You must really like me. Yes, Saturday works.”
“It’s concerning how much I like you.”
Angie smiles one of my favorite smiles. It’s not a big one, but it lights up her face and transforms her into a completely different person.
“Okay, Casanova,” she says and taps on the bar, but I don’t miss the blush that paints her cheeks a rosy pink. “I need to do my closing things before I clock out. Are you leaving, or—”
“I’ll stay.”
“Okay. Thirty minutes.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I reassure her.
I remember when my family and I would go on road trips and Dad had us pick out CDs to play.
Occasionally, one of the CDs would have a scratch on it, causing the song to skip, or a line would repeat over and over until Dad was fed up and skipped to the next song.
It’s like the skip, or repeat, in the song was allowing the singer to catch their breath–even though the song had long since been recorded.
At my statement, I see Angie skip. Not physically, but metaphorically.
Like a CD. And I hate that she’s had to question whether I’m going to stay or leave.
I’ve already gathered that Angie hasn’t had anyone put her first. She’s been used to smiling and going along with plans that others have set for her, or that have no room for adjustment.
That when someone takes the reins and makes plans that benefit her, she doesn’t know how to react.
Angie isn’t a project. But I do plan to show her that choosing her and putting her first should have been the thing that her family did from the beginning.