Page 59 of Outcast
Not when I got to live and my brother didn’t.
“It’s not just the cobbler, though,” Grandpa said. “Because all I see you do is try to mold yourself into Adam’s shape. To make up for his absence. But when you do that, when you try to be your brother, you lose yourself.”
“I don’t do that,” I said.
But it felt like a lie.
The block party dragged on, and I painted half a dozen more faces—but I couldn’t really enjoy it. Grandpa’s words kept circling my brain.
Was I living Adam’s life instead of my own?
Yes, I’d gone into banking primarily because it was the family business and I was the only son my dad had to follow in his footsteps. But that didn’t mean I was losingmyself, did it?
I was just being a good son, wasn’t I?
I lived forme. I’d hooked up with a man. My parents wouldn’t want that, given all the hopes they’d pinned on Allison, but I’d done it, anyway.
I wasn’t trying to turn myself into my brother.
Iwasn’t.
Maybe I hated disappointing them. Maybe I hated that Adam’s absence was a void in our family, a void that I had a duty to fill because he wouldn’t have died if not for me.
But…
Shit.
Was Grandpa right?
The pit in my stomach grew so large it was like a black hole, threatening to suck me in.
It grew dark outside. The party started breaking up.
Dad came by the tent as I packed away my supplies.
“We’ve got a lot of leftovers. Your mom wants you to come over so she can pack up some more cherry cobbler for you.”
My throat closed up.
“Emory?” Dad asked. “You hear me?”
I drew a breath. “Sorry, Dad. I’ve got plans.”
“Oh? With Allison?”
I tensed as I finished closing up the box of painting supplies. “No, something else.” I flashed a smile at him. “Raincheck?”
“Okay, I’ll let her know. I’m sure she can save the cobbler.”
Tell him you don’t want it. Just say the words.
“Okay, great.” No. Not great. I forced out a few more words. “But if you and Grandpa polish it off, it’s okay.”
There. That was closer to being honest, right? I really didn’t care. In fact, please eat it without me.
“Ah, son, we’d never do you dirty like that,” he joked as he slapped my shoulder. “Your favorite dessert is safe with us.”
“Right,” I said. “My favorite.”
