You Gonna Man Up? #2
"No, I do." His voice is so genuine. So grateful. "You made it… good. Easy. Not weird. And now I feel like I can actually put myself out there, you know? Try dating for real. Meet people without that whole virgin anxiety hanging over me."
Every word is a knife. Oh god, Max is trying to make things normal again.
"That's… that's great, Max."
"Yeah." He grins. That full-face grin that makes my chest hurt. "Couldn't have done it without you, man. Seriously."
Isaac's coming back with three more bottles.
Couldn't have done it without me. He's going to date other people.
Oh god. I want to bury my face in my arms or, better yet, disappear completely.
Max turns away. Already talking about something else while I stare at my beer. All because I helped him… Fuck.
Isaac sets down the fresh beers. Slides one to Max, one to me. Max is telling some story about JP's color-coded study schedule. Laughing. Animated. His hands are doing that thing where they flap around, and he nearly knocks over his drink twice.
I'm not really listening. I'm watching him be happy, be Max, be completely oblivious to the fact that I'm falling apart across from him."Max," Isaac says suddenly. "Go get us some more napkins."
"There's napkins right—"
"Go order some fries, please. Carole is crazy busy tonight."
Max blinks. Looks around at the crowd, then at the napkin dispenser. Back at Isaac. "Are you—"
"Go."
"Okay, okay." Max slides out of the booth. "Bossy." He heads to the bar, and the second he's out of earshot, Isaac leans forward.
"So," he says quietly. "You gonna man up about my brother, or what?"
My brain short-circuits. "What?"
"Leo." Isaac's face is serious now. No smile. No teasing. "I've watched you watch him all night. Hell, I've watched you watch him for two Christmases now. But tonight? Tonight, you look like someone kicked your dog."
"I don't—"
"He thanked you. For helping him. And you looked like you wanted to die."
Shit. He heard that? Shit shit shit. "Isaac—"
"I'm not mad." He sits back. Arms crossed. "I'm saying. If you want something, maybe stop waiting for permission and actually go after it."
"Max wants to date other people."
"Does he?"
"He just said—"
"He said a lot of things." Isaac studies me. "Question is, does he actually know what he wants? Or is he saying what he thinks he's supposed to want?"
I open my mouth. Close it. I probably look like a fish, bobbing my mouth open and closed, but I’m frozen, and I don’t know what to say.
Isaac sighs. "Look. I love my brother. He's brilliant. But he's also an idiot when it comes to people. Always has been. He misses the obvious things, and needs everything spelled out."
"He wants to date—"
"He wants to be happy. Hell, we all want Max happy." Isaac leans forward again. "But are you sure that's not with you?"
The question hangs there. Part of me wants to tell him to mind his own business. That he doesn't know what he's talking about. Max made his feelings pretty clear when he started talking to JP about dating more guys as soon as we get back home.
But Isaac's watching me with that steady, patient look that says he has all night and he's not buying whatever I'm about to say. The worst part is he's not wrong. And I hate that he can see how I feel when Max can't.
Max is heading back. Napkins in hand. That bounce in his step he always has when he's excited about something. "I—" My voice cracks. "Max wants to try dating. I want him to be happy. That's all."
"That's all." Isaac doesn't look convinced. He stares at me for a long moment, then gives me a slow nod. I'm not sure exactly what it means, but it feels like something close to approval.
Max drops back into his seat and slaps a pile of napkins on the table. "Happy now?"
"Thrilled." Isaac finally looks away from me. Max picks up his beer. "What'd I miss?"
"Nothing. Leo was just telling me more about your housing situation next year." He wasn't asking me that, but I nod anyway.
Max launches into the whole story: Sebastian falling in love with a frat guy, how they moved to Switzerland together, the house rebalancing, and why they're keeping the same setup next year because it works. "And Leo's staying, obviously," he adds, like it's a given. "Right?"
"Right," I manage.
"Good." Max grins and takes a drink. "Wouldn't be the same without you." Isaac catches my eye over Max's head and raises one eyebrow. I look away first.
We stay for another hour. Isaac has switched to water, but Max is relaxing more with each beer.
Starts telling embarrassing stories about his second freshman year.
The time he accidentally set off the fire alarm in the engineering building.
The time he took apart our RA's vacuum cleaner to "improve" it.
Isaac adds his own stories. Max as a kid. The time he built a robot that chased their chickens. The time he reprogrammed the new sprinkler system, and their dad couldn't figure out how to turn it on for days.
I laugh at the right moments, make the right responses, but I'm somewhere else entirely. Stuck on Isaac's question. On Max's smile when he said, I couldn't have done it without you. Running numbers in my head the way I always do when I don't know what else to do with a feeling.
The probability that Max could want me the way I want him: two percent, probably less. The probability that I'm about to spend a week in close quarters pretending otherwise is 100%. The math is definitely not in my favor.
I try to shake it off and listen to the stories I hear every time we visit, but I don't think I'm fooling Isaac at all. Max is adorably clueless.
"Alright." Isaac drops cash on the table. "Let's head out. Early morning tomorrow. Max, you're helping me fix the north fence."
"What? Why?"
"Because I said so. And because you need to work off those cheese curds if you wanna keep your twinky figure.
" Max grumbles and smacks at his brother.
But he's smiling as we head outside. The cold hits immediately.
It's a whole new level of frigid, and it has a sobering effect.
The drive back to the farm is quiet. Max is in the back seat, already half-asleep.
Isaac is driving with one hand, the radio playing low.
I stare out the window. Watch the dark fields pass.
Isaac's hand lands on my shoulder. Brief.
A squeeze. I look at him. He doesn't say anything.
Just meets my eyes, steady and unhurried, then lets me go.
His hand is gone, back on the wheel, but I can still feel the heat of it. Max snores softly in the back seat.
And I sit there, thinking about approval and permission and the 2% chance that maybe, possibly, this doesn't have to be hopeless. If I can figure out how to tell Max what I want.