A Promise to my Stepbrother (2 page)

K
atie
and I were closer than any brother or sister by blood could possibly be. When we first met there was the barest moment of awkwardness, but then we realized that we both loved the show Dexter (which neither of us were supposed to be allowed to watch), so we retreated to my dad’s media room and talked for hours. Sure, it started with Dexter, but then we talked about school and life and before we knew it, Katie’s mom had come up to get her, and I felt a sadness, like a part of me that I never knew existed was being taken away. And that was only our first day together.

I’ll never forget our first Summer. Everything we did we did together. We went to movies and spent hours discussing them. We played sports together. We were constantly playing practical jokes on each other. She was funny, devious, smart, amazing, crazy, and my best friend.

We were going through puberty, so it was natural that we just asked each other questions. I asked her about her period, and she asked me about how weird it must feel to walk around with a penis, and then I would say the same thing about breasts, and as time went on we asked more and more personal questions.

Not because we were trying to shock each other, but because we were curious and want to learn, and we trusted each other. Who else was I going to ask about breasts? Katie’s mom? Can you say yuck? Look it up on the Internet? Sure, but that’s not the same as hearing it directly from someone who has them.

The thing is we didn’t even realize we were moving into dangerous ground until it was almost too late. We asked, and we answered. It was unemotional. At least I thought it was until the one day we kissed.

It built up slowly and then suddenly we crossed the line. It was like when we first visited our boat house in the summer. Every time it would be as hot as an oven on the inside, and dad would turn the air conditioning up to max. Katie and I would be in shorts and t-shirts, sweating in the heat, trying to ignore it by watching TV or talking or playing a game. And then, with no warning, I’d shiver and suddenly realize it was ice cold inside. The gradual became the sudden.

For a year, Katie and I became closer and closer, and then we decided to see what it was like to kiss. It was a practical, normal question that we trusted each other to answer. So we kissed. I leaned in, and as our lips touched, I shivered and became aware that without my realizing it the temperature had changed.

I was nervous and felt my stomach flutter. Suddenly my clinical analysis of what a kiss felt like turned into wanting nothing more than to keep feeling Katie’s lips against mine. I didn’t know what to do. We now knew what a kiss was like, but this was so much more, and I didn’t want it to stop.

I realized I was at a point-of-no-return, and it scared me. She was my sister. My best friend. I shouldn’t have been thinking that way. I didn’t know how I missed that I was feeling that way. It shouldn’t have seemed so natural to me. It was wrong.

But it
wasn’t
wrong. I knew that.

So I trusted my feelings, and I trusted Katie, and I gave in. I touched her face to let her know that this wasn’t an experiment any more, and then I decided to kiss her deeply, with the passion that I saw in the porn videos I snuck glances at while I had my online time alone.

Katie pulled back, and as I opened my eyes I realized what a horrific mistake I had made. She didn’t feel the same way. I had betrayed her. I was her brother, and I did something gross. She said we were going too fast, but I knew what she meant. I went down a forbidden path.

But then she surprised me.

She made a promise that if we hadn’t French kissed each other by the time we were eighteen, we would French kiss then. I knew it was a stupid promise meant to make me feel better. Eighteen was like ages away, and she still seemed horrified at me. But she was my best friend, and I trusted her. The fact that she didn’t say to me that going further than a kiss wasn’t out-of-bounds left me with a little bit of hope. It was all I had, and I clung to it.

I
t was Saturday
, and I was having lunch with my mom. Max and dad were out getting some swimming stuff. We were laughing and chatting, and I felt it was time to raise some important questions with her since we were alone and having a real connection. “So, Mom, I have some questions.”

“Fire away. Hopefully, I have the answers.”

I took a long drink of orange juice and then blurted out, “Do you think Dad is angry that I call Bruce ‘Dad?’” When Mom and Bruce got married, the unilateral decision from the both of them was that we would be “a family,” and that meant calling ourselves mom, dad, brother, and sister. It was easy—meaningful, actually—to call Max my brother. We both seemed to love that extra connection. But the parent thing was more difficult for me. Max didn’t have a problem calling my mom “Mom,” as his mother had abandoned him and his Dad and wasn’t in the picture. But my Dad still saw me once a month or so, and I had a pretty good relationship with him.

Mom placed her sandwich down and looked at me, concern and love in her eyes. “Does he seem angry?”

“No! I mean he knows, and he hasn’t said anything, but he just keeps getting more and more distant. I used to see him a couple times a month, and now it’s every month, and—” The conversation was not going the way I wanted it to, and I started to cry. “I’m sorry.” I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand, while my mom pushed her chair back and rushed over to sit next to me.

She put her arms around me and said, “He loves you, dear. He does. He just… needs to find himself.”

I felt like an idiot. I liked my dad, but I didn’t think just asking about him getting more distant would be so difficult. Maybe it affected me more than I thought. “I guess I was worried that he felt like he was being pushed aside, and so he was giving up on me.”

“Katie, you dad will
never
give up on you. He loves you.”

I took another breath and decided to turn the conversation into a better place. “I like calling Bruce ‘Dad.’ He is really like that to me, and I guess that’s what’s so confusing. He’s my ‘dad’”—I made air quotes with my fingers—“but he’s not really my dad.”

“Look, honey, Bruce loves you very much. We are a family that’s been tossed together for all the best reasons—love.” She sat back and turned her chair to face me, taking my hands in hers. “You love Max, right?”

The question made my breath catch in my chest. I didn’t know how to answer. Max was my best friend. We spent practically every moment together. We still talked about practically everything. The one thing we didn’t talk about was love. I knew I loved him, and I knew he loved me, but what kind of love? I was confused, and that was one of the things I wanted to ask my mom about, but her springing the question on me made me confused and defensive. “Yeah. I love Max. He’s my best friend.” The words came out in a stammer.

“He’s your
brother
,” Mom corrected. “And Bruce is your father and my husband. I love Bruce, and I know you love Bruce. Isn’t it the most beautiful thing? We are mother, father, brother, sister.” She leaned back and smiled. “So don’t ever worry about calling Bruce ‘Dad.’ He
is
your dad.”

At that moment I knew, with absolute certainty, that I couldn’t ask my mom about dating Max or kissing Max or treating him as anything other than a brother. She saw us as a family brought together in love, and that was the most beautiful thing in the world. The idea of Max and I actually being
in love
would destroy that. Would destroy her.

The thing was I couldn’t disagree with her, and that’s what scared me. I didn’t want our wonderful family to be destroyed. I loved her, Dad, and Max. That I was confused about Max was just something I would need to deal with. I had hoped to talk to Mom about it, but now I knew I was on my own.

“Did you have another question, dear?”

“No,” I replied quickly. “I’m good.”

I
got suspended
in school for punching Jack Colby when he said that Mom was a MILF and asked if I’d seen her naked yet. Lisa was the only real mom I’d ever known, and that’s how I saw her—Mom. Of course everyone knew that she was my stepmom, and that led to all kinds of assumptions that weren’t true. Punching Jack kind of drew a line that clarified things for a lot of people.

Two things happened after that. The first was that Katie ran up and hugged me tight. She kept whispering “thank you” while not letting go. I didn’t want her to let go, because while she and I were as close as a boy and girl could be, we weren’t
physically
close, and I so badly wanted that. We would even fall asleep in each other’s beds while watching movies, but there was always an awkward gap between us, as if the space was a shield protecting us from… what? I didn’t know.

Eventually Katie let go, and I said to her, “No one messes with my mom.” The smile on her face was not only real, it filled me with the kind of joy that only she could make me feel.

The second thing that happened was that when Dad picked me up, he scowled to the principal and everyone in the school. There was this vibe of impending violence that scared even me, although my father had never hit me once. When we got to the car, Dad was completely silent. He turned the key, and we drove out. I was afraid to say anything until we turned down the road in the opposite direction of our house.

“Aren’t you taking me home.”

“No.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“TCBY.”

“TCBY? I Love TCBY!”

My dad smiled. “I know.” We pulled into the drive-thru, and as the car slowed to a stop, he held up his hand palm out. It took me a moment before I realized he was giving me a high five. I slapped his hand, and he added, “Family first, Max. Never forget that. Family first.”

When we got home Mom waved her finger and noted that violence was never the answer. She seemed entirely sincere in her unhappiness with my having punched someone, although I was positive that she knew why I did it. She ended up not grounding me or giving me any punishment more than what the school doled out, but she definitely made me feel like I got off easy.

And that was something that made me appreciate her even more. She didn’t care what people called her. She didn’t care what people said about her. She was above those things. All she cared about was that I acted with the level of maturity that she expected of me. I looked at her and realized that she
was
pretty, but she was pretty in the subjective and innocent sense that you feel about family.

In the glow of Dad’s high five and Mom’s high expectations, Katie and I spent the night talking about how the school thought of our family, which led directly to us talking about what
we
thought of our family.

“Do you think of me as your brother?” I asked. I didn’t know what the question meant, but it seemed important.

“Well, you’re the only brother I’ve ever had, so yeah. You are definitely my brother.” She looked into my eyes, and added, “Do you think of me as your sister?”

“I think of you as the most wonderful, amazing, person I’ve ever met in my life. You are kind, funny, crazy, beautiful, and while I’m always thinking through everything, you just charge right in. You make me better than I could ever be on my own. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be with me. I don’t know if that’s what a sister is, but if it is, you are the best sister in the world.”

Katie lay her head on my shoulder. I didn’t know where our lives would lead, but knowing she would always be part of it filled me with happiness.

I
t felt
like we grew apart, but we really didn’t. At least I liked to think we didn’t. We were still best friends and spent a ton of time together, but high school pulled us in different directions. So it was different.

I hung out with the swim team more and more, and while Katie came to every one of my meets, she didn’t share the same friendships that I did with my teammates. She was an extraordinary artist, and the artist types that she hung out with weren’t my friends. I don’t know; it didn’t feel strange. I guess we became comfortable in not having to constantly be near each other.

It was fine until Jeremy Adkins asked Katie to the prom. He was a senior swimmer, so he was used to seeing her at the meets, but she was a sophomore. It just didn’t seem right to me. She said yes and suddenly Jeremy was buddies with me, even though I was JV, and the seniors had nothing to do with the JV team. I should have liked my newfound prestige, but I hated it.

About a week before the prom, Katie had come to say goodbye to me after a meet and hung around a bit to talk to Jeremy. He kissed her on the lips, and I felt my knees go weak. The image was seared in my brain. He was in his swim trunks, and Katie was in her tight jeans and a t-shirt. Jeremy was about my height, six feet or so, and Katie was only about five four. She had her head back and was on her tip toes as they kissed.

The worst part of all was that unlike my kiss, she smiled after Jeremy kissed her.

She left and Jeremy wandered over. “Dude, your sister is so fucking hot.” I glared at him, and he raised his hands. “Sorry, man, I can’t help it. Come on, you have to have seen her naked. You know what I’m talking about.”

“She’s my sister, Jeremy.” I said, gritting my teeth. The truth was that I did think she was hot. I fantasized about her constantly, but I wasn’t going to share that with anyone, least of all the meathead standing next to me.

Jeremy shrugged. “Man, just calling it like I see it. Besides, she’s your stepsister, that doesn’t even count as a real sister.”

“It counts to me,” I whispered to Jeremy’s back as he sauntered off to the showers.

I
was pathetic
. Jeremy wasn’t a bad guy, but the night of the prom I was only worried about one thing: He’d French kiss Katie. I was sixteen and had seen every possible variation of sex online and here I was worried about a French kiss. And why? Because I so badly wanted to kiss her. Oh, shit, who was I kidding. I wanted to do more than kiss her, but she had only promised me a kiss, a French kiss, and I was banking my pathetic future on that promise. It was stupid.

Mom and Dad let Katie stay out until one o’clock, which I thought was ridiculous. The prom was over at eleven. Did they want to practically invite Jeremy to take advantage of Katie? So I tried to play video games and pass the time while she was out dancing and whatever else she was doing. At points I would pace the floor picturing what Jeremy was doing to her, wishing with all my soul that it was me doing those things instead.

At midnight the front door opened. I walked out to see her. She stood in the doorway talking to Mom and Dad. Her long blond hair was up, and she had this beautiful royal blue dress that made her look like a princess. No, not a princess--the light from the porch was behind her, and she looked like an angel, shrouded in diffused light.

I walked over. “So how did it go?” I asked, interrupting Mom. Katie gave me a look and shook her head slightly.
Something was up
. My heart fell. I just knew she not only French kissed Jeremy but that they had sex, too.

“Max, please don’t interrupt,” Mom said.

“Sorry. Katie, I’ll be in my room. When you’re done getting grilled by these two, come let me know what really happened.”

“Max!” Dad looked at me sternly. I smiled and wandered away, the bravado of my facade covering the devastation that I felt in my heart.

Katie walked into my room a few minutes later and closed the door behind her. She had her high heels in her hand. She looked exhausted. She fell back on my bed, and I couldn’t tell if she was happy, sad, or what. I figured I’d rip the bandage off. It was for the best.

“Okay, so what is sex like?”

She shoved herself to a sitting position and looked at me. “What?” She was angry.

My words came out in a rush. “Come on, Jeremy is a senior and handsome and we’ve talked about how we were curious what sex felt like and you’ve been kissing him and, I mean, look at how you’re dressed and he said you were hot and I just figured the planets were all aligned.”

She stared at me for a moment, and then said, in a whisper, “You think I went to the prom just to have sex with Jeremy?” The hurt in her words was like a knife.

“Uh, no!” I backpedaled. I didn’t know what I thought.

“That’s what you said, Max. You didn’t ask if he was a gentleman or if I had fun or if I saw anything interesting.
You just asked if we had sex
.”

Shit. “Sorry, I just assumed. It’s a prom and all.” I shrugged from my seat at my desk. I hoped that my nonchalance would cover my fear and nervousness and embarrassment.

“After all these years, this is the kind of person you think I am, Max?” She started to cry, and I had to turn away as I was on the verge of tears, too. “You think I would just get naked with some hot guy to see what sex is all about?”

“No—” She stood up.

“Look, sharing and caring obviously mean something different to you. Glad to know it’s all about analyzing the replay. I get it.” She walked toward the door. “Tell you what, Max, don’t worry. If you want play-by-play of my first time and what it all feels like I’ll call you from my cell phone the minute we’re done.”

“Katie, I’m sorry!” I tried to catch her eye, but her hand was on the doorknob.

She didn’t even look at me as she spoke again. “If you need to know, Jeremy was a perfect gentleman. He kissed me after one slow dance, and then we kissed longer as he said goodbye. He asked me if I would be comfortable dating a senior. I said yes.”

And with that she turned the knob, walked through the door, and slammed it behind her.