Page 16 of The Fix-Up

I heaved a sigh. Sometimes—scratch that, most of the time—guys got weird when they found out this bit of information. One of those men made it to the fourth date before I discovered he was a huge fan. The creepy kind. The kind who had all of Chris’sstats memorized and wore his jersey to bed at night and tried to break into my phone to steal his number.

More than that, I’d lived under the shadow of Chris’s fame for years. Even before he went pro, he was the perfect son, the perfect student, the perfect football player, the perfect everything. He was even a freaking Eagle Scout. I loved him; he’d rescued me at one of the worst moments of my life. But, gah, the pressure to live up to the legend?

“Yes, he’s my brother,” I said wearily. “So what?”

Gil’s head tilted to the side. He set his phone down and stared at me with something like curiosity. He gestured toward me. “What did you find out?”

“I’m still looking.” But every link I clicked that mentioned him, only made him look better. In high school, he’d rescued a dog from a hot car by breaking the window and had been given a hero’s award by the local animal rescue. In college, he started a community peer support program between college students and disabled adults. Last year, he’d been featured in a local magazine for his work with underprivileged youths.

Whatever. Who cared what he looked like online. I didn’t know the guy in real life, and he was not moving into the house. I had Oliver to think about.

“You can’t just uproot your whole life and move here. Don’t you have a job, or something? A girlfriend? A goldfish?” I asked.

“I’m between jobs. We broke up two months ago. And no.”

“How are you going to afford to live then? Electricity, gas, food?”

His eyes darted to the left. “I have some money saved.”

“Don’t you have a lease or a mortgage or something?”

He shrugged. “I have it covered.”

I turned to Doug who was eating what had to be his seventh muffin. “He just has to live on the property, right? It doesn’t have to be in the actual house?”

“I suppose not,” he said slowly.

“What about a tent or a trailer or a sleeping bag on the lawn?” From the corner of my eye, I saw Gil straighten. His eyes drilled into the side of my head.

“As long as it was on the property, I suppose that would work.”

“Good.” I turned back to Gilbert. “You can stay in the backyard.” He opened his mouth, probably to argue with me but I cut him off. “I’m not letting a stranger move into my house.”

I stared at him, willed him to argue. But he just stared back, his big, dumb, National Merit brain working overtime. Finally, his face softened. Just a little. His eyes seemed a touch kinder or at least not as hard and indifferent as they had been. “Fine. I’ll stay in the backyard.”

“Really?”

“I’ve been camping before. I’ll survive.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, but it was kind of a huge deal. He grabbed a backpack he’d brought with him and pushed his chair back.

“I…I…” I tamped down the panic again. Was this really happening? How would Oliver handle a strange man living in a tent in our backyard? Oh, who was I kidding? Oliver would take it in stride. I was the one who would freak out. I didn’t know this guy. I wasn’t even sure I liked him.

Even worse, I didn’t think he much liked me.

Here’s a little bit I’ve learned about myself in therapy—I like to be liked. When I wasn’t liked, I tried harder to get liked. I felt guilty and apologized for things that weren’t my fault. In fact, I felt like it was my responsibility to make things right. Looking back, I understood now it had all led to some pretty questionable choices and relationships where I was the one who did all the work to fix things. In the end, all that came out of it was disaster.

Sunny said my official diagnosis was Grade A, certified People Pleaser.

It had been two long years of learning how not to take on the burden and responsibility of other people. And it was still there. It didn’t matter how much “self-awareness” I obtained. It would always be a struggle.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Doug shuffled more papers around and held out two envelopes, one to each of us. “Here’s what was left over from the estate after funeral expenses. It’s not much.”

Gilbert tucked the envelope in his backpack without opening it. “I’ll move in on Saturday.”

Holy forks, what had just happened?

SIX

Love is something you see and you’re like, “Ooh, I LOVE that.”

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