Page 7 of The Other Brother
After what felt like hours but was only 20 minutes, the torture ended and I beelined for the after-concert supper.
The food is always fussy and pretentious at these things, but they serve alcohol. I toss up whether the bar staff will ID me but realize even if I get past that particular hurdle, I’ll still have to dodge my parents and Mel. Not worth it. So, I order a Coke instead.
As I’m sipping on it, Cody walks up to the other end of the bar. He’s dressed in a light blue button-down shirt with tidy black pants and polished dress shoes.
I think back to the party and the momentary sizzle of attraction I had for him.
He does have incredible eyes. And based on the experience of having him pressed against me, he also has an incredible body.
But I can’t lust after him. He’s my nemesis. Okay, maybe not quite nemesis, because that would imply we’re an equal matchup.
Cody and I were born two months apart. So, I guess it’s natural we’ve always been compared to each other. Natural that our parents, who despise each other, would look to one-up the other when it comes to their nonshared offspring.
Unfortunately for my parents, Cody has always blown me out of the ballpark. He was reading by age four. Identified as a musical prodigy at age six. Not content to be simply intelligent and a brilliant musician, he also turned out to be exceptional at tennis.
Why can’t you be more like Cody?Although my parents have never uttered those words, Mel and Kate have, plenty of times. Every time I pulled a normal little brother stunt like putting food coloring on their toothbrushes or balancing plastic cups filled with water over doors. Because apparently, Cody wasn’t that kind of little brother. Apparently, Cody was the type of brother who volunteered to take their turn loading the dishwasher if they had assignments they needed to finish. Me? Not so much.
I sidle over to the perfect brother now. “So, not getting into the beer then?”
He scowls, grabbing his glass of orange juice from the bartender. “Are you going to give me grief about that?”
“Dude, I had to wash splashes of your vomit off my jeans. I think I deserve some mileage out of it.”
The scowl fades from his face, and he shifts onto the other foot. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
“No problem. We’ve all got to let loose now and again.” I lean against the bar. “So, were you grounded?”
“Oh, yeah. A month.”
“That’s shit,” I sympathize.
“It’s okay.” His voice is soft, his gaze on the ground. “There are worse things than being grounded.”
Here’s the thing. I’ve always been envious of Cody’s focus. Not just for his talents, but for the fact he’s so focused, so sure of his path in life. He plans to study at the New Zealand School of Music and become a professional pianist.
Meanwhile, my parents give me crap about being directionless. I’m about to go into my last year of high school and I still have no idea what I want to do with my life. Bumming around surfing every day isn’t a legitimate career option according to both my parents and my career counsellor.
But as Cody looks at the floor, his eyebrows draw together and his mouth pinches, and I realize maybe being Cody isn’t as easy as it looks from the outside.
“Hey…” I begin, hesitant.
“What?” Those otherworldly blue eyes lift and skewer me. My heart speeds up.
“You were pretty cut up at Jamie’s party. And both Mel and Kate said you don’t normally drink. Everything okay?”
He swallows, looking away. “Just some shit I’m dealing with.”
“Well, everyone’s always telling me how smart you are, so I’m sure you’ve figured out drinking isn’t the best solution for dealing with shit.”
“Yeah, consider that lesson well learned.”
We share a wry smile, and for some reason I don’t want to move away. We stand in silence for a few minutes. Cody’s watching the crowd, an expression sliding onto his face that is both cynical and sad.
I follow his gaze and discover the reason. There’s drama unfolding. Awesome. Our family always picks the best time to have their little histrionics.
Mum is having an intense discussion with Mel, who then has an intense discussion with Frank and Heather. Annoyed faces are sprouting like poisonous toadstools.
I know from experience that it’s best to steer well clear of these types of conversations, so I stay put. Cody meets my eyes, and I know I have an identical look of resignation on my face. Should I say something to acknowledge how fucked up it is that our parents continue to haul their past into the present?
