Page 74 of The Fireman and the Flirt

“Are you cool with this?” I was compelled to ask.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Just…processing.” Cal was lost deep in thought. I wasn’t used to my loud brother keeping everything in. This was not how I planned for any of this to go, and we hadn’t even gotten to the Cary part yet.

“Cal, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m sorry. I…I’m sorry that you didn’t feel comfortable telling me earlier.” A lash of pain creased his forehead.

“I guess I was worried about upstaging you.”

“Were you?”

“I didn’t want to steal your thunder.” I cracked a smile, but Cal wasn’t laughing. “I’m joking.”

Then, something happened that I definitely did not, under any circumstances, expect. Cal’s eyes watered up, and two fat tears trickled down his face.

“Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?” I gave his hand a playful punch. “Cal, what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry. I’m being such a bitch. This is your big coming out moment, and I’m the one upstaging you. I’m sorry.” He wiped away tears, and fresh ones came. They were tears that wouldn’t listen to logic, that had to come whether we wanted them or not.

I handed him a napkin, then the napkin dispenser.

“Derek, having you back in town has made me realize how much I missed you all these years. You know, when we were younger, we were in two different worlds. And then right after graduation, you left for the other side of the country. I feel like I learned more about you from Mitch and Leo than from living under the same roof as you. And sure, we kept in touch with a call here or an email there, but it wasn’t enough. I see that now. It wasn’t enough. We weren’t there for each other. There’s this twenty-year gap in our relationship, and we can’t get that time back. And the fact that you’ve known you were bisexual this whole time and didn’t feel comfortable talking to me, your gay brother, about it…I’m sorry that we didn’t have the kind of relationship that we should have.”

Cal’s teary face dared to break me. But I was the older brother. I had to stay strong. He was right. Having him nearby, being able to talk with him and joke with him has added richness to my life. I was getting to know my brother for the first time in our lives.

“It’s my fault,” I said. “It’s difficult being the older sibling. Mom and Dad had no idea what the fuck they were doing. They made all their mistakes with me so that they could have their act together for you.” My teenage years were filled with memories of arguing with them, of hearing them argue. I tried shielding Cal from it when we were little kids. While I loved our mom and dad, and they were good parents overall, I got the feeling they didn’t want to be parents, but that was the only path forward for them. That was all they knew. “I wanted to get the hell out of Sourwood and forge my own life. I didn’t mean to leave you behind.”

“I think I was mad that you left, and so I was resolved to be on my own. And…it was hard. I made a lot of mistakes in my twenties. I’m so grateful for Josh and Russ because without them, my life could’ve gone in some really terrible directions.” Cal fiddled with the napkin dispenser. “There were times when I could’ve used my big brother.”

“I’m sorry.” There were times when I could’ve used Cal. Loneliness was like looking up and realizing you were in a hole you couldn’t climb out of. “It’s water under the fucking bridge. I’m here now. We’re still young…ish.” I handed Cal a napkin from the dispenser, but he preferred to use his sleeve, just as he did as a little kid.

Cal nodded, getting himself under control. I reached across the table and squeezed his hand, letting him know I was here and I wasn’t going anywhere. I never realized how much I needed family until I was back. It wasn’t merely being with Cary that had made returning to Sourwood so special.

“And just so I’m clear,” Cal said, sniffling away the last of his tears. “Aside from Cary obviously, I’m the first person you told? Not Leo and Mitch?”

Leave it to Cal to always be clambering for a starring role in something. He made me smile.

“I was going to tell Leo and Mitch when we got to the bar.”

Cal’s face lit up for a moment. “You do you. You come out on your own timetable and to whom.”

“Like I wasn’t going to tell you first.”

“I’ll still pretend to be surprised.” Cal practiced surprised reactions, ranging from complete shock to more of aHuh. Interestingbefore settling on a supportive head nod. “How was that?”

“Perfect, Cal. You were perfect.”

The restof the week was a whirlwind, and Cary and I didn’t get a chance to meet up, which sucked because I could not stop thinking about him. Our texting back and forth was an extended foreplay, even before you added in all the peach and eggplant emojis we wound up sending each other. Cary was working to ensure we closed on the house before the new year. He and Hannah were also scrambling to track down new leads. The hustle never stopped.

With the first substantial snowfall this week came an uptick in car accidents as well as people using their fireplaces for the first time. It kept us at the firehouse busy. When I reached my days off, I relaxed for a little bit before Mitch dragged me to my first hockey practice in decades.

It wasn’t as painful as I feared. We were all too old to be playing competitive hockey, and none of us had the speed or energy of our teenage selves, but it was damn fun being back on the ice. The cold of the rink smelled the same and instantly transported me back to my glory days. It took me a few plays to get into my old grooves, but it came back to me shockingly well. I glided around the rink, skates slicing through the ice, the cold brush of players whooshing by me amping my adrenaline. We shittalked each other, roughed each other up a little. We were all back on our bullshit.

After practice, a few of us went out for drinks at a pub next to the rink. We would’ve gone to Stone’s Throw Tavern, but the space was rented out for a company Christmas party. Bill, Des, Hank, Mitch, and myself crammed ourselves around a high-top table, just as we’d crammed ourselves into a booth at Caroline’s during our lunch period all those years ago.

The pub was crowded with mostly a younger crowd. A big square bar sat in the center. Multiple TVs played ESPN. We were all sore, but a good sore, one that reminded us that our bodies still worked.

“It’s so odd coming here on a weeknight. Different crowd,” said Hank, our goalie. When we were in high school, he would grow out his hair into a wild mane during the season. We used to call him Fabio. Seeing him bald today was a stark reminder of the passage of time.

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