Page 12 of When I Come Back
“Ugh. Fuck you!” I scream and slam his door shut behind me. That’s what I get for trying to give a shit about that asshole. I make my way downstairs, figuring I’ll let Mom and Dad deal with the mess he made and whatever’s going on with him when they get back from the diner. His music starts back up again, the walls pulsing with the beat, making me roll my eyes.
It’s not until a bit later when I’m eating the reheated diner leftovers that fill our fridge, that my anger dissipates, and I’m filled with a gnawing guilt. Brooks was crying. The quick look I got of his face when he turned with the book in his hand is burned into my mind. His face was red and splotchy, tears streaming down, eyelashes clumping together. Brooksnevercries. I’m very familiar with his anger and smoldering fury but never the utter heartbreak that was etched into his features.
Present
Something about that night always felt off to me because of the way Brooks had acted; his storming rage was bigger than I’d ever seen it. It’s not until this very moment I realize how catastrophic that night had been for him. That must have been the night he decided to give up on all his dreams. He wasn’t a top student, and the only thing he was actually passionate about was art. His grades and attitude slipped further right aroundthen. Our almost non-existent relationship crumbled to nothing entirely.
He had no interest in college. And despite his devil-may-care attitude, he needed his family’s support. My sixteen-year old self couldn't pick up on that change in him at the time. I was too preoccupied with a new girlfriend, finishing the school year, and making summer plans. I don’t think I saw Brooks ever drawing again from that day on.
“God, I wanted to get the fuck out of here so bad after high school. But I thought staying and throwing myself into the diner—and then RED—would make themfinallytake me seriously.” His resigned words pull me back from my memories. “Guess the joke’s on me.” He huffs out a small, broken laugh then pauses, fingers absently playing with the condensation on his glass. “I know I don’t have the business brain like Thea, and I would be no use in the kitchen like you. But I thought if they saw me stepping up and working hard to keep things going in the background, putting in the time helping Ripley with whatever he needs with barreling and what-not, they’d think I’m worth… something.” He runs his hand down his face and then up over his short hair a few times. “I don’t know. It’s just a shit time.”
A few beats pass as we’re both lost in our own heads.
“Are you pissed they left it to Thea?” Brooks’ eyes shoot to mine when I speak, and he scoffs.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m pissed they left it toyou.”
After a few moments he continues, “She’s worked her ass off there. She’s the reason that place is anything right now. Mom and Dad struggled after you guys left. The diner never did well, and they refused to change anything. When you left it got even worse—they couldn’t find reliable help. When they did finally find someone who stuck around for longer than a few weeks, we found out he had been skimming after he skipped town. I thinkthey were ready to throw in the towel when Thea showed up on our doorstep unannounced asking for her job back. With her mom sick, Thea needed the money, and Mom and Dad didn’t have the heart to tell her the job might only be there for a short time.
“I don’t know if it was because they felt guilty about how things had been left with you or the things they said about Thea, but pretty much as soon as she managed to get her head out of her ass about you, she started changing things. Didn’t even ask if it was okay. It was small at first, just putting together social media accounts for the diner and printing new menus that look like they came from this millennium. I think it pissed Dad off at first, but Mom didn’t let him say anything for once.”
Suddenly, a small smile breaks out on his face, and his eyes are unfocused on the space between us, like he’s reliving a memory.
“Then one morning we got there to start opening the diner, and we found her sleeping in one of the booths with craft shit all over the place. She had stayed up half the night to put together a fucking… what do people call it? Like, a wall you take pictures in front of?” He looks at me expectantly.
“A selfie wall?” I provide.
“Yes! A fucking selfie wall. The town went crazy—fucking morons. The kids were suddenly there every day taking photos and posting on their social media, tagging the diner. She’d change the wall randomly, and they’d all flock again. The changes eventually started bringing in people from out of town. She organized live music nights and mom group meet-ups. I don’t know how she got away with all of it, but Mom and Dad just let her have at it.”
I smile imagining what Brooks describes. “Yeah, she has the ability to get her way and make you think it was your idea all along.”
“She’s a force, for sure. I don’t know what you were thinking running her off.” He shakes his head while taking another long pull from his glass, emptying it, and holding it up. “Another?”
I nod and drain my glass as well. Brooks stands and goes to the bar. He comes back with fresh drinks a minute later—this time instead of beer, he places two tumblers of dark brown liquor on the table.
“Indigo Hill’s finest,” he says. He takes a long sniff of the bourbon and follows it up with a small sip, which he rolls around in his mouth. “Fuck, that’s good. Ripley’s a damn genius.”
“What’s the story there? With Ripley, I mean. How’d he get involved… in the business?” I say as I sip my own drink. Brooks is right, the bourbon is fantastic, with deep vanilla notes and a crisp cherry finish. I swirl it around the glass, something about the flavor profile is familiar.
Brooks’ lips tip up on one side, and there’s a teasing glint in his eyes. “All your life you’ve been a man of few words, always to the point. Why don’t you ask me what you really want to know?”
I imagine my face looks sheepish now that he’s caught on to me. “How long has it been going on?” I know I don’t have to expand on whatitis.
“I’m not really sure exactly. They grew close quickly when she came back, but I don’t think anything really happened until about a year ago. The little biddies that met every morning at the diner kept pestering her about ‘getting over the Grant boy’ and ‘settling down,’” he says in a high-pitched, shaky voice. “She used to go on dates here and there, and then one day it was just him. I know he helped her a lot with her mom.”
“How is her mom?” I saw her briefly at the funeral but didn’t get a chance to talk to her. A woman, who I assume is her nurse, wheeled her away before the service even finished.
“She’s at Saint Stephen’s, the assisted living home here in Southbury. Thea’s entire paycheck goes to cover the cost, butshe’s well taken care of.” I guess the MS must have gotten worse if Thea put her in a facility. I can’t imagine that was an easy decision for her.
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this? I called you and asked about everything. About her. You told me nothing.”
“What did you want me to say? Huh?” he says. “You wanted me to tell you how Mom and Dad almost lost the house… twice? How I’d hear them fight over money almost every night for years? How I considered setting that damn diner on fire just for the insurance payout?” His voice is steadily rising. “Or maybe I should have given you a play-by-play about how that fucking angel of a woman you managed to convince to love your sorry ass came back so destroyed I don’t think I saw her smile for a year? How she had to work two jobs to pay for her mom’s nurse?” He’s breathing hard now. “You didn’t want anything to do with it. You left and didn’t look back. You have a whole new life, a woman you’re crazy about on the other side of the country. You moved on, she moved on. Why would I bother telling you about her love life and how she’s happy for the first time in years? Why are you even still here?”
With each word he says, my chest constricts a little more.I didn’t know.I can keep repeating that to myself, and maybe I’ll believe it one day. But the truth is, I didn’t want to know, not really at least. I was happy living in my new life; I escaped the clutches this small town tried to get into me. I got out. Was there a trade off? As much as I’d like to deny it, I have regrets. I lost my family by chasing my dreams, and I lost my heart trying to keep them.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to have the life you wanted,” I say quietly.
“Don’t be sorry for me. I’ve made peace with my lot in life. It looks different from what I had envisioned fifteen years ago, but I’m not entirely miserable. I just thought Mom and Dad saw meas more than a disappointment they didn’t trust to carry on their life’s work. I just hope you figure out what you’re doing fast and do right by Thea and what she built here.”
