Say Never (10 page)

“Please tell me you have some booze in this house.”

“I think there’re some wine coolers in the fridge,” he says. His tie is absent and the sleeves of his shirt have been rolled up for cleaning. The kitchen and dining room are spotless. It’s hard to believe that my brother has a single housekeeping bone in his body, but then, I’ve been away for a while.

“Wine coolers? Since when do you drink wine coolers?” I ask, trying to mask my horror. “Did you turn gay?”

“There might be some beer in the fridge in the garage,” he adds.

A sigh escapes me. “I was looking for something stronger,” I tell him. “You know. Like absinthe.”

He gives me a weary smile, then walks over to the pantry. He spends a minute fiddling with the safety lock, unclasps it and pulls open the door. He disappears into the pantry, then returns brandishing a bottle of Smirnoff. I wrinkle my nose—I hate Smirnoff—but say nothing. Desperate times, and all.

“You should keep your vodka in the freezer,” I comment, taking the bottle from him.

“Important tip.” His tone is laced with sarcasm.

I set the bottle on the counter, then grab a glass from the dish drain—not a glass, actually, an acrylic cup decorated with SpongeBob SquarePants, but whatever. I load the cup with ice, pour myself a healthy shot, then carry the cup and the Smirnoff to the kitchen table and take a seat. After taking a long swallow, I look up to find Danny staring at me from his perch at the counter.

“What?” I ask, suddenly defensive.

“What?” he returns, his lips parting in a grin.

“What are you looking at?”

His grin turns into a full-fledged smile. “What the hell, sis? I’m not looking at anything.”

I shrug. “Fine.” I take another sip and feel myself relax a skosh. “So, how did it go with Scotty?”

“Spencer. And it was okay. He made it through three dozen wings and a pitcher of Harp’s before Caroline called me.”

Oh shit.

“She was a little bit…upset. Requested that I get my ass home before she started divorce proceedings.”

I slam the cup down on the table, but because it’s acrylic it doesn’t make quite the strident sound I was hoping for. “She didn’t have to call you. Things were a little crazed around here. But I had it under control.”

“Oh, sure. You looked like you were totally in control.” Danny is smiling again.

“Screw you, Danny. You came in at a bad time, that’s all. I might point out that all of the little darlings are still alive and accounted for. That has to count for something, right? By the way, did you manage to get the ink off before their mommies came?”

“Mostly,” he says. He walks over to the table and collapses into the seat across from me. “It’s my fault, Meg. I should never have left you tonight. Or I should have cancelled the playdate. It wasn’t fair to throw you to the wolves like that. You’re just not equipped.”

“So you said.” I drain the SpongeBob cup and sigh.

“Yeah. That Melanie comment was kind of uncalled for. Sorry.”

“My whole life Buddy told me I was just like her. At least I have the good sense not to have kids.”

“True. But then, Melanie wouldn’t have had them either, if she could have helped it. I think you’d probably be a better mother than her, though.”

“Lizzie Borden would have been a better mother than her, so that’s not really saying much. Can we talk about something else?”

I don’t want to discuss my mother, or think about her, or compare myself with her. Not tonight. I’ve spent a lot of time, both in the safety of my own bedroom in the wee hours of the night, and on the couch in my bi-weekly therapy sessions, comparing myself with that woman. No amount of psychoanalysis or introspection has resolved the issue, nor will an impromptu rap session in my brother’s kitchen do the job. Good old fashioned denial and escape by way of Smirnoff is what I need. I pour myself another stiff shot.

“Do you always drink this much?” my brother asks.

“Two shots of vodka and I’m ready for AA, huh?”

Danny chuckles, and for a few seconds, I let myself enjoy the familiar sound. “I’m just saying.”

“Danny, you’re a married man with two little kids. You can’t drink recklessly. But I’m single and unencumbered. So I can pretty much drink myself into a coma every night if I want. That’s the beauty of being me.”

“But while you’re here, and taking care of my kids…” He stops and stares at me thoughtfully. I’m not used to the look on his face, one of quiet contemplation, and it makes me uncomfortable. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Danny, of course I’m not going to drink all day and all night. I am a responsible person, you know that. I promise not to get shit-faced while I’m on duty, okay?”

He sighs heavily. “I know, Meg. I’m just, you know, I’m really stressed out right now.”

“You have every right to be,” I say, because it’s true and because I know it’s what my brother wants to hear. But as I gaze upon my sibling, I can’t help but think that this incarnation of my brother is a total stranger to me. The Danny I know is a young, slightly immature, laid-back surfer with an indefatigable sense of calm whose theme song is “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” The man before me is pushing middle age and has a deeply etched furrow between his eyebrows, worry lines around his eyes and a grim set to his mouth. I didn’t notice these things when I first arrived this afternoon, but possibly I wasn’t looking too closely.

He takes a deep breath and starts to rub his finger along the table top. “When the police came to tell me about the accident…” He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “I didn’t know…I thought they were dead. Caroline. And the baby. I thought they were both gone. For that thirty seconds before they told me she was alive, you know, I just, I thought, ‘What the hell am I going to do?’ Two little kids, no wife. The love of my life gone.”

I flinch when he refers to Caroline as the love of his life, but cover it by taking a sip of vodka. A big sip.

“And the baby. Of course, the baby. We decided not to find out the sex, to be surprised. But in that instant, when I thought they were both dead, I wondered if I would be able to see him. Or her.”

“It must have been horrible for you,” I say. And I mean it. But the thing is, while I
understand
the idea of what he went through in those moments of uncertainty, I can’t
conceive
of it. Because I don’t have anyone in my life that I care enough about to grieve for. And, if truth be told, no one would grieve too much for me if I got t-boned by an eighty-three year old woman with cataracts. I take another sip to stave off the melancholy that suddenly threatens.

He cocks his head to the side and raises his eyebrows. “Yeah. I love my family, Meg. I know it’s a hard concept for you to understand, but family life doesn’t totally suck the big one.”

“I never said it did, Danny.”

My brother smiles then, that big goofy grin that confirms he hasn’t been abducted by aliens. “How about you? How are you doing?”

A pat answer comes to mind,
Fine, Danny. Just terrific.
But I tamp it down and spend a full thirty seconds contemplating my answer. “Fine, Danny. Just terrific,” I finally say.

“Really?” He gives me a doubtful look and I frown at him.

“I seem to remember you commenting earlier on how great I look.”

“I did,” he agrees. “And you do. But looking great and
being
great are two different things.”

“Since when have you been so freaking philosophical, Danny? ‘Looking great and being great are two different things.’ Jesus. You sound like Dr. Phil.”

“Yeah, but I have a lot more hair.” He taps his index finger on the table. “I just worry about you sometimes, that’s all.”

My posture stiffens reflexively. I’ve always hated to be on the receiving end of someone’s concern. To be viewed as weak or incapable or unequipped. I am an independent woman. I pay all my bills on time. I am responsible for my own orgasms. I kill cockroaches and spiders all by myself.

“Why the hell do you worry about me? In case you hadn’t noticed, I pretty much have the life I always wanted.”

He shrugs. “Then why do you seem so unhappy?”

If I weren’t so shocked by his statement, I’d laugh. “Well, for starters, I got puked on tonight. And don’t even ask me about the diaper debacle. What do you feed that kid anyway? And being surrounded by a bunch of five-year-olds running around the house like freaking three-foot lunatics? Forgive me if I’m not whistling a happy tune right at this moment.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not talking about tonight, sis. It’s been going on for a while. It’s like…you’re totally disconnected. You haven’t been home in what, five years?”

“My home is New York.”

“Right. Sorry. We go months without speaking to each other, and when we do, you try to get off the phone as fast as possible. You refuse to talk about your life except in the broadest terms. ‘Work’s fine. I’m fine. My boyfriend’s fine—’”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Exactly. Because a boyfriend would be someone you’d actually have to connect with. And you never ask about what’s going on with me. You never ask about the kids or Caroline—”

“Caroline hates me!”

“The kids don’t hate you. The kids don’t even know you.”

“I send presents,” I say, and I resent the defensiveness in my voice. “Birthday cards.”

“That you forget to sign half the time.”

I throw up my hands in surrender. “At least I send the cards. What do you want from me, Danny?”

“I just want to know that my big sister is okay. That’s all. Life’s short, Meg. I don’t want you to wake up one morning and look at your life and see all these things missing from it.”

The legs of my chair screech across the floor as I jerk to my feet. “You don’t know anything about my life, Danny.”

“Because you never tell me anything,” he interjects, which makes me even angrier.

“There’s nothing to tell. I live my life, I do my thing, and I’m just fucking fine. I’m not like you, Danny. I don’t want all of this…this…” I make a wide-sweeping gesture at the kitchen around me. “This. It’s not for me. I’m just like Mom, remember? I accept that. I’m not trying to be someone I’m not. And you know what? No matter what you think. No matter how much you’re brainwashed to think your world has meaning because you have a wife and a couple of kids, the bottom line is that we’re all, every one of us on the planet, we’re all alone. Everybody’s in it for themselves, Danny. At least I’m aware of it.”

My brother sits silently for a moment, staring at his hands which are folded on the table in front of him. Then he looks up at me. “Then why are you here?”

I blink a couple of times, my thoughts racing, my anger causing my head to pound. Telling him about my whole midlife crisis thing and the menopause/baby thing will open up a can of worms that I’d rather stay sealed. And it will validate his fears that I’m unhappy. And, damn it, I’m not unhappy. I’m
not
.

“I have a job offer. Here. In Los Angeles. I couldn’t very well tell my boss about it, so when you called and needed my help, I figured this gave me a good excuse.”

He nods his head slowly, then smiles at me, but there is a hint of disappointment in his eyes.

“Did you get the birthday present I sent?” Apparently, the former subject of Meg’s happiness and fulfillment is closed.

“Yes, I got it.
How to Stay Fabulous in Your Forties?
Very funny, bro.”

“Have you read it yet?”

“You’re kidding, right? I don’t even admit to
myself
that I’m forty, so why would I read a book like that?” In truth, I’d dumped it down the garbage chute, only after wiping it for fingerprints.

Danny pushes to his feet and we stare at each other over the kitchen table.

“Well, I’m gonna hit the hay.”

I glance at the digital clock over the microwave. 9:10. My brother, who used to stay up all night jamming in the garage of my childhood home, drinking Coors Light and Pepsi alternately, is going to bed. I’m on New York time, which means it’s after midnight to my body. But even though I’m exhausted beyond words, there’s no way I’m crashing at nine-fifteen. It’s a matter of principle.

“Okay. Good night.”

“Good night, sis. Don’t party all night, okay? I leave for work at eight-thirty.”

“I’ll be ready,” I assure him, although inwardly I’m groaning.

He starts to turn away, then stops and narrows his eyes at me. “Did the airline bring your luggage?”

I shake my head. “No. I had to borrow this from your wife.”

He smiles sheepishly. “I thought that sweater looked familiar. Caroline was wearing it the night Tebow was conceived.”

Oh. My. God.

The only thing that keeps me from howling in horror is that fact that I will wake the little monsters. So I scream on the inside, where it counts.

“Jesus, Danny! Did you have to tell me that?” I scramble from the kitchen, my brother’s chuckles echoing through the hall behind me. As soon as I reach the guest room, I yank the sweater over my head and toss it into a heap at the foot of the bed. For good measure, I pull off the jeans, because fuck knows what Caroline did while she was wearing
them.