Page 79 of Playing the Field
“So…why’d you make me come here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
I look at Bogie, who is pure joy in a fluffy golden body. “Because Bogie needed exercise?”
He makes a jarring buzzer sound. “Wrong.”
I blink longer than necessary. Or maybe it is necessary tostem the sudden prick of tears and swallow back emotions I didn’t plan on feeling.
“BecauseIneed a mental health day.” I barely get the words out before my voice cracks.
“Bingo.”
He doesn’t ask what happened between Hunter and me. The two of them are lifelong friends, and I imagine Hunter told him his version. No place for me in the middle of that. It’s enough that he brought me up here to look at this view and maybe start to pull myself back together. We stare over the city, each in our own space.
“Do you need one too?” I ask. “Not saying you need to spill your guts if you don’t want to, but if you were looking for an opening…”
My brother smiles. “I’m good. I have what I need, and I’m happy you’re living in my city for once. You think you’ll stay?”
“I’ll see this job through. I’m not going to let my dating life get in the way, if that’s what you’re asking. Eyes on the prize, right? I know how to stay focused.”
“D’you…think this could be home?”
The question startles me, and my mouth pops open. Kyler waits, but it takes me a minute to sort my thoughts.
“Hunter asked me the same thing once.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“I said that, yeah, maybe it could. But that was?—”
Kyler holds up a hand. “Just leave it there. I’d like it if this was home for you.”
Bogie comes back and circles our legs, panting and making little jumps in the air. Ky takes out a water bowl from his backpack and fills it with water. The dog slurps with such gusto that I can’t help but laugh. When he’s finished and brings his head up, a trail of water pours from the sides of his mouth. Then he sees a white dog with a curled tail and takes off again at a run.
Kyler stands in front of me, so I have no choice but to look athim. “You never talk to me about stuff—your job, relationships, whatever’s happening in your life—and you should. I’m your biggest fan.”
I take in this image of my brother, his rumpled hair blowing in the light breeze, his fierce blue eyes riveted on me. He’s twenty-eight. He’s traveled the world and runs an impressive business. He’s lived life. For maybe the first time, I see him as an adult who knows more than I give him credit for, and I feel like a jerk.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He blows out a laugh. “I’m not asking you to be sorry. I’m asking you to be a little less absolute in your thinking. Less black and white. Come to LA for the job, leave LA when you have what you need to get the other job… Fall for the guy, give up on the guy when he gets in his own way… Don’t tell me about any of it, and make me read the tea leaves. Maybe something to be said for the gray. While we’re not talking about our hair, anyway.”
My response starts as something between a gasp and a laugh, but the sound of it is more like a sob, which leads me to a full-on crying outburst I didn’t see coming.
I feel the urge to walk. Standing here with my brother feels too heavy, so I start following where Bogie is running. That leads me in a zigzagging line, which frustrates me, and by the time I give up, I’m standing in front of a bust of James Dean on a concrete pillar. It seems like as good a place as any to stop and let myself have the cry I’ve been holding in since Hunter walked away.
My brother comes over gingerly because this is still a new kind of moment for us. He reaches over and gives me that awkward sibling hug from the side, but I turn into him and dampen his shirt as the tears stream forth. He leaves his arm in place and lightly pats my hair while I lose my shit.
Seeming to sense he’s needed, Bogie ambles over and nuzzles the backs of my legs. It forces enough levity for me to stopsobbing. The tears still dribble from my eyes, but I wipe them away and dare a look at Kyler. I expect him to be freaked out. I’m his older sister, after all. I’ve always kept it together in front of him.
But he actually looks relieved.
“Finally,” he says kindly.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You let me in. Finally. Thank you.”
