Page 24 of The Other Brother
He grins. And luckily doesn’t point out that actually he was the one doing most of the cryptic crosswords tonight. Which I realize I haven’t acknowledged yet.
I clear my throat. “Uh… thanks for helping me out earlier.”
“No problem. It’s worth it to see Mel’s face.” His smile grows even wider.
“Yeah, I wish I’d taken a picture,” I say. “It would’ve made an awesome screensaver.”
He chuckles. “Yeah.”
He rinses out his glass and puts it into the dishwasher.
There’s something about the dim light and the silence that lulls me into asking the next question.
“Why did you help me?”
The amusement fades from his face. He holds my gaze for a few seconds before he speaks. “I don’t know. I just thought it might be good to surprise Mel.”
I squint at him. “Why?”
He shrugs, looking down at the sink. He reaches out to adjust the dishcloth, so it’s sitting completely square. “Families are… weird,” he says finally. “It’s like, sometimes you get locked into these positions, and it’s hard to change people’s minds.”
I swallow. The noise is audible in the quiet. “Yeah, I get what you mean.”
He tugs at the collar of his pajamas as he heads to the bottom of the stairs. He raises his gaze to mine.
“I’ll see you in the morning. Six thirty again for surfing?”
“Yeah, see you then.”
Chapter7
It takes the painters two weeks to paint the upper story of the house.
In those two weeks, Cody learns to surf, and I manage to progress from "Three Little Birds" to "American Pie" on the guitar.
And we become friends.
It happens so slowly I almost miss it. Like that old story about how if you put a frog in a pot of boiling water it will jump straight out, but if you slowly heat it, then the frog will stay there until it boils to death.
By the time I realize that any hostility I have toward Cody has completely faded and now I’m boiling in a pot of friendship, I don’t care. I’m definitely staying in the pot.
Because as much as I don’t want to like the guy, I can’t help it.
It turns out the Cody I’ve observed in the past was just the performer.
Real Cody is an intoxicating mixture of capable brilliance and shyness with a sprinkle of dry humor that somehow ties the whole thing together.
Real Cody chews his bottom lip when he’s concentrating. His real smile is a slow burn that starts with just a lift of his upper lip then dances its way across his mouth to the opposite corner. His real laugh is unexpectedly deep, and when he finds something especially funny, he throws his head back and shares it with the world.
Okay, okay, so I’m attracted to him. But I’ve been attracted to assumed-straight guys before, so I know how to handle it. The key is to put those feelings in a box and solder a steel lid on top to keep it shut. Make sure my attraction doesn’t ruin our friendship.
And with Cody, it’s easy to kill my libido. I just imagine my mum and dad, Frank and Heather, all staring in judgement at us. And that always does the trick.
Mel’s away at her course most afternoons, so I fall into the habit of cooking, because that’s when Cody practices. I cook and fry and stir and strain all to the background of soaring music that floats down the stairs.
Mel arrives home one day just as Cody comes down.
“Perfect timing,” I say as I hand them a plate of nachos each.
