Page 5 of The Other Brother
“I don’t know. He was wasted before I got to the party. I’m not even a friend of his.” I hold up my arms in a gesture of innocence, one hand still clutching Cody’s shoe.
She fixes me with a suspicious glare. “If you’re not one of his friends, then who are you?”
It’s the million-dollar question. Who exactly am I in relation to Cody?
I take a deep breath before I answer her the simplest way I know how.
“Uh… I’m Ryan. Mel and Kate’s other brother.”
Chapter2
I watch as the knowledge of who I am sinks in and recognition takes over Heather’s face. I’m guessing she wasn’t expecting to see the child of her husband’s ex-wife tonight.
“I saw him at the party. I tried calling Mel, but she didn’t answer. And I couldn’t just leave him there…”
“Thank you.” Her voice, now drained of anger, sounds tired. I get that tiredness. Families are complicated, especially broken ones like ours.
“He probably needs some water.” I try to fill the awkward space. “He threw up before, he’ll need to be rehydrated.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
She looks down at Cody then glances at me.
“How are you getting home?”
That’s my dismissal. It feels abrupt. I don’t know what I expected. It’s not like I wanted to sit by Cody’s bedside for the night making sure he’s okay.
“I’ll grab an Uber,” I reply.
“Don’t be silly. Frank will drive you.”
“Seriously, it’s no problem.”
“Frank will drive you.” Her words have a parental finality about them which I know not to fight. She heads for the door. I place Cody’s shoe carefully on the floor before following her, sending one last glance back at Cody as I leave the room.
A few minutes later, I’m stuck in the world’s most awkward car ride. Seriously, a dinner party with the ghosts of Hugh Hefner and Mother Teresa would be less awkward than this.
What do you say to someone who used to be married to your mum and had two kids with her before they split up? Who has then been engaged in bitter warfare with her for twenty years over the way to parent your two half-sisters?
If his relationship with Mum hadn’t soured, she wouldn’t have met my dad, and then I wouldn’t have been born. So, I guess I owe Frank for being a first-class jerk.
I glance at his profile as he drives. I’ve only ever witnessed Frank looking immaculate, so it’s mildly amusing to see his rumpled midnight look. He’s pulled a sweater over his pajama top, but I notice the flannel bunched at the neckline, and his blond hair looks like it has been roughly finger-combed to hide his bald patch.
Frank’s forehead is furrowed. I’m guessing he’s trying hard to find something to say to break the silence.
“How’s soccer going?” he finally asks.
“Good. We’re in the semifinals.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
He switches on the indicator to turn right. We’re leaving behind the sprawling lawns and shiny, large houses and venturing into my neighborhood, where the houses are stacked closer together and have a stale look about them.
My life has always been a slightly crumpled version of Cody’s.
“Do your parents know you were at a party tonight?” Frank asks before the next silence can settle.
