Page 50 of The Marriage Narrative
Dressing in all black was an unintentional family tradition. His brother had noticeably started following in his footsteps about a year ago.
Jordan had done it since he was twelve. No real reason other than it made things simple. He slept in longer when he didn’t have to worry about what to wear. Shopping only took as long as trying things on did. Creating his store brand and uniforms was a five-minute conversation.
He sat next to Wylie, supervising as his brother marked out an evenly spaced five-block grid. Each square was twice the length and the exact depth of one pot.
“So, what’s new?” Jordan asked.
“Nothing.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“Why are you bothering me if you already know?”
“Because I want you to tell me.”
The writing was on the wall. Everyone was holding their breath and praying they were wrong. Wylie was at the start of a well-trodden path to coasting at best and ruination at worst. Therapy wasn’t working. He fought with Sadie and their dad more often than not. The entire family had pinned their hopes on Jordan getting through to him because he was the only person Wylie still listened to.
“There’snothingto tell. They need to mind their own fucking business.”
Jordan exhaled and squinted up at the sky. He was already sweating. “You are their business.”
Wylie turned his head, very slowly, very deliberately. “Shut. Up.”
“Or what?”
His challenge went unanswered—Wylie began arranging the pots in alternating color order instead.
“Realistically, you’ve made enough money to last you formaybe ten years. Then what are you going to do? You think Dad won’t cut you off to teach you a lesson? Gonna rely on secret handouts from Mom for the rest of your life?”
Wylie picked up the first white flower plant. He tapped the bottom until the whole thing slid loose into his hands and he began massaging the root ball to loosen it.
“You could literally do whatever you wanted. Why waste your life when you don’t have to?”
Wylie scoffed and gently placed the plant in the ground. “No, Iliterallycan’t. You think I canliterallygo to college? You think Iliterallywant to be a music producer?”
It was a rare day when a pair of headphones wasn’t around his neck or ears. The show implied that it was because he loved music and wanted to be a rapper and producer. Never mind that he’d never been seen anywhere near a studio or making music on his own.
Their mom had been planning to expand the Zaffre brand into traditional entertainment for years now. Lulie declaring herself an actress unprompted was the catalyst to jump-start the project, but Plan Bea would have been the opening move.
Because Bea was also a singer, primed and tiptoeing toward superstardom. The season finale was supposed to be their very public wedding and the launch of her debut single.
“Then what do you want to do? Let me help you.”
“What I want doesn’t matter,” Wylie muttered. “It never has. I’m not like you.”
“Do you want to leave the show? Say the word and I’ll fight them for you. Don’t think I won’t.”
Wylie completed the tap, massage, and placement of the remaining plants, and sat back on his haunches. “Lu wants to stay until her career takes off.”
“You don’t have to do everything together.”
“I don’t think Sadie is coming back. Dad wants to retire. I’m not leaving her alone. It’s…too much for one person.”
Their camera pods suddenly switched angles. Production salivated over conflicts stemmingfromthe show existing.
“But you’re not doing anything in the meantime. Lulie has goals. I get it, you want to protect her. I feel the same. Right now, though, we’re talking about you.”
“I have goals,” Wylie sneered and began backfilling the soil. “I wanna be a writer.”
