Page 13

Chapter 13

Time Pieces

Parker

It takes Brandon 24 hours to make himself at home, 48 to become the talk of the campus and by the end of the week, he’s practically running the place.

I’ve always known him to be popular, but this is something else. It’s like he’s campaigning , I realise, watching him offer to Skype with the daughter of one of the coach’s who’s having a hard time choosing between colleges.

A one-man PR machine. Shake everyone’s hand. Learn everyone’s name. Remember a thoughtful detail about their lives to share with them next time.

It’s the first time I’ve ever noticed how similar he is to his father.

“Brandon’s fitting in well”, Simon remarks. We’re in reception, where I’m back on phone duty. I haven’t called Simon out on what I overheard him say about me. It’s too embarrassing.

I’m rummaging through drawers when something catches my eye. A photograph buried amongst a ton of old pens and paperclips.

“I wish he paid as much attention to his paperwork as he did his social calendar”, Simon slides a folder towards me. I immediately recognise Brandon’s forms. “We’re missing his hospital discharge papers. Can you ask him for them asap?”

“Sorry. I must have forgotten the first time”.

“That’s why the professionals do the inductions”. A light accusation fills the room. “Even if they’re for your friend. It’s important not to cut corners. This is a business, after all”.

“Got it”, I say tightly, closing the drawer on the photograph of Simon and a woman wearing an engagement ring that I’ve never seen before, “I’ll go get them now”.

“You can finish for the day, if you like”, Simon calls, not looking up. I glance at the clock on the wall on my way out. It’s barely lunchtime.

* * * *

The first Monday of every month, Summit hosts a mixer for staff and clients to mingle freely. When I arrive there’s around two dozen people already there. Archie’s busting a move on a one-man dancefloor, whilst Will keeps one eye on him, the other on his phone. There’s music, drinks, some food. Simon’s a no-show.

I spot Carter, wearing a maroon hoodie, standing under the arch that leads to the courtyard. He’s speaking with a couple of girls I don’t recognise. As I get closer, I hear snatches of their conversation.

“Does your father even realise the hypocrisy in calling for a national healthcare system when he’s in the pocket of big pharma?”

A familiar protectiveness trickles through me. This used to happen all the time. People online. People on the street. Even one of our teachers once re-worked a history lesson to try and provoke Brandon into a comment on free trade agreements.

And he just smiles and takes it. Because that’s what he’s been conditioned to do.

“My dad doesn’t tend to run his policies by me, but I know that he rarely takes contributions from any large corporations. There’s a section on his website that’s very clear on the funding that he receives…”

“No, that’s not true”, Jenna, I think her name is, insists, her cheeks turning pink.

Brandon smiles politely. “I’m pretty sure it is. Let me pull it up so you can take a…”.

“No, he’s definitely taking their money. I read it online. Maybe you could call him and bring it to his attention? Like, right now”.

Time to step in.

“Excuse me, sir”. I tap him on the shoulder. “I’m gonna have to ask you and your friends to keep the noise down. We’re getting complaints”.

He turns, brightening immediately. “How dare you. My friends and I are the picture of decorum”.

“In any case, urgent phone call for you”, I press my phone into his hands, and steer him towards the drinks table. He recognises the ruse immediately, loudly mouthing apologies as he picks up a call with nobody on the other end.

Once he’s safely out of earshot, I turn firmly back to the two girls. “Don’t do that again”, I say quietly. “Brandon is a client, and he deserves his privacy. Back off”.

“But I have a problem with how his father…”

“Then go make an appointment with his father’s office. Understand?”

They both nod, and I head back to the party. I find Brandon holding two beers. He hands one to me. “I owe you one”. He gestures towards my housemates. “How many of the same guy can you see?”

“They’re twins, dumbass. And they’re not identical. If you look close enough”.

“Do you think they know how to play pool?”

“Probably not”.

“Sweet. Let’s play them for money”.

Fifty bucks and a hastily scrawled IOU from Will later, the vibe is far more relaxed. People mill around, sharing drinks and swapping stories. It’s a hell of a lot different from the parties I’m used to, but maybe that’s not a bad thing.

“Time to spill”, Archie says, looping an arm over Brandon’s good shoulder, swaying slightly. “You went to high school with our roommate. We want the dirt”.

“Dirt? On Parker? Boys, he was a model student”.

“Really?” Will looks between the two of us, suspiciously. “You’re kidding”.

“In absolutely no way am I offended by the surprise in your tone”.

“I’ll grant you”, Brandon’s face barely moves, “Our boy may have the resting face of someone abandoned by the education system, but don’t let that fool you. Straight A’s. Honour roll. Class Treasurer”.

My eyes begin to narrow.

“…Mathlete. Parker was every…” Brandon’s eyes begin to water, “teacher’s…dream…” Everyone cracks up laughing.

It’s not that funny. Okay, maybe it is.

“Special contribution to lying out your ass”, I say, wondering if he’ll remember the reference. He snorts, sending beer everywhere.

“Special contribution to making me do a spit-take”.

“What’s this?” Archie asks.

It’s an in-joke, back from when we were in tenth grade. We were both pretty hopeless at maths and our teacher, Ms Abraham, knew it. She was super nice but couldn’t bring herself to praise our actual work, so instead, she just gave us special contribution nods to stuff any idiot could do.

“She must have sensed we were starved of positive reinforcement”, I grin, “Special contribution to parking your car within the lines today, Mr Carter. Really great job”.

“Special contribution to a perfectly ironed shirt, Mr Di Rossi”. Brandon rejoins, “Your crease game is truly incomparable”.

“You fellas were trouble”, Archie grins, “I knew I liked you. I told Will you were gonna be a lot of fun. Didn’t I, bro?”

“It’s all he’s talked about”, Will says, with a flicker of brotherly indulgence. “I’m starting to worry my company isn’t exciting enough for him”.

“We made up for our lack of mathematical ability in other ways”. Brandon launches into a story about how we started a car washing business when we were barely into our teens. I borrowed my dad’s power washer and decided to use his car as a test. “It would have worked great, except he didn’t borrow the car washer. He borrowed the tile washer for the outdoor paving”.

“Those things are industrial strength!” Archie splutters. “They’re designed to rip mould off stone. You need like, special training to even operate them”.

“They don’t exactly do wonders for car paint jobs either”, I add. Everyone cracks up, and after a second, I join in.

“Here was me thinking it was just my brother that pulled stunts like this”, Will laughs. “What did your dad say?”

Things suddenly tilt sideways as my dad’s face flashes before my eyes. My answer catches in my throat.

Silence stretches out in-front of me, before Brandon’s voice calmly pulls me back to earth, “ I appreciate the entrepreneurial spirit, boys, but next time why don’t you practice on one of Brandon’s dad’s cars instead ?”

Everyone’s laughing. Quietly, Brandon’s hand squeezes my arm, just for a second.

Once we were old enough, we spent the whole summer washing dishes to pay for the damage. The owner used to smoke blunts out of the back door, and the hostess used to double as the lounge singer. There was an old hammock up out back where we’d read comic books and watch the stars after our shifts finished.

Funny, I’d forgotten about that until now.

I tune back in. Brandon is regaling my new friends with a story of a class trip that was thwarted when one of our classmates got food poisoning.

“Wait, why was his nickname Pineapple?” Will interjects.

“Because one time he opened his lunchbox, and his mom had wrapped him up a full pineapple as a snack”. I shrug. “What can I say? Nicknames aren’t sophisticated”.

“You tell ‘em, Rocky”. Brandon grabs another beer.

“Try and stop me”, I time my response just right for him to choke on his drink, “Artful Dodger”.

“Why were you called the Artful Dodger?” Archie asks. Brandon frowns, like he’s only just wondered that himself.

I could tell him. It was me who came up with it.

Now it’s my turn to save him. “It’s because he used to organise a gang of pickpockets”.

Brandon holds his hands up, grabbing a pool cue. “Guilty as charged. Who wants a rematch?”

Things wrap up a little before ten. Archie sneaks out with a pretty brunette from marketing, and Will pleads exhaustion after helping to move the tables. “Ready to go?” he asks, zipping up his jacket.

Brandon, armed with two huge black bin liners, waves goodbye. I shake my head. “I’ll stick around. Don’t wait up”.

Will looks towards the door that his brother has recently vacated. “Something tells me I will be. I can never relax until I know Archie’s made it back in one piece”. He nods towards Carter. “He’s cool. Different to what I was expecting”.

I follow his gaze. “He gets that a lot”.

Will says goodbye, and I roll up my sleeves. “We do have a cleaning service, you know”.

Brandon looks up in surprise. “I thought you’d be out of here by now”.

“And leave you on self-imposed trash duty? Never. Well”, I concede, “Maybe once upon a time. What can I say? I’m growing as a person”.

“I’m honoured to witness it”. Brandon’s phone chimes, and he fishes it out of his pocket. A second later he’s grinning ear to ear.

“I’d ask what’s put a stupid grin on your face, but a text this late can only mean one thing”. I cough, determined not to trip over unfamiliar terrain. “Who’s the lucky boy?”

“It’s Freddie, dumbass”. He turns the screen around. Dyer’s snapped a selfie in-front of some old movie that I don’t recognise. I can just about make out Brandon’s mom. “Not everything’s about sex. It’s kind of an in-joke”.

“Tell me”, I say, my muscles tightening involuntarily. I thought I was the only one who had in-jokes with Brandon.

“It’s not that funny”.

And I guess that’s the end of the conversation. We continue tidying in silence, before I try again. “So, no boyfriend?”

A beat. “No boyfriend”.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

A longer beat. “No. Not really. It’s not something that’s ever been on the table”.

“Come on. You’re a catch. Have you been looking?”

“Can’t say that I have”. My neck suddenly feels flushed, like I’ve been caught reading someone’s diary. “Why, do you wanna set me up?”

I recognise Brandon in Diversion Mode. The truth is, we—okay, I —used to call him the Artful Dodger because he made ducking questions about his personal life into a goddamn art form.

In school, we all thought it was because he was dating multiple girls and didn’t want to get caught out. Now, it makes a bit more sense.“I date. I hook up. Sometimes things happen. I don’t know”, he gives an embarrassed laugh, “Falling in love is easy”.

“So what’s the problem?”

He doesn’t meet my eyes, as the air suddenly becomes thicker. “It doesn’t happen the same way for everyone”.

“Do your teammates know you’re into guys?” I inject some nonchalance into my tone, conscious that I’m stepping into uncharted territory. “Freddie does, obviously”.

“I came out to him in freshman year. Once he told me his cousin was gay, I figured it was safe to be honest with him”.

I nod, ignoring the sensation of my ribs squeezing together. Freddie was Brandon’s safe place. Not me. I don’t know what’s bugging me more. Brandon feeling unsafe period, or that he never felt safe enough to confide in me. “As for my teammates, I honestly don’t know. I think so. It feels safer not to ask”.

There’s that word again. Safe. “This must sound pretty dumb to you”.

“Pretty dumb, no. Pretty lonely, maybe”.

He shrugs, but I can see the words he’s trying not to say written all over his face. We were best friends. What happened to that? “If I break off from this trip down memory lane to clear the beer pong table, are you going to call me the Artful Dodger again?”

“Only under my breath”.

He smiles. “Enough about me. Did you call Simon out about the other day?” He doesn’t need to elaborate. “Parker. Why not?”

“What’s there to say? He thinks I’m a loser”.

“So prove to him that you’re not”.

“It’s not that simple. Believing that I’m a loser is engrained in the Di Rossi DNA”.

“Bullshit”, Brandon says. “The only person who’s ever thought the worst of you is you. You’re here for a fresh start, right?”

Now it’s my turn to shrug.

“Is there really not something that you could do that would blow his mind?” Brandon wheedles. For some reason, my mind flashes back to the never-gonna-happen-list in the storeroom. All those jobs that never get done. “Or at the very least, change it?”

I could have a go, I suppose. He probably wouldn’t even notice. But it’d be a start, and I guess I’d have something to show for my summer other than not answering phones and screwing up paperwork. “Whatever you’re thinking about, do it”.

I pull a face. “How’d you know?”

“Best friend privilege. Can I say something else?”

“Could I stop you?”

“No evidence of it so far”. He taps his index finger against his hand, “Your family don’t think you’re a loser. And I know for a fact that your dad never did”.

I suddenly feel light-headed. None of my friends from college ever knew my dad. No-one in my life does, really, apart from Simon and my mom. And we’re not exactly on the best of terms. When Brandon says it, he means it.

And that means something.

I gesture to the beer pong table. “Care to end the night on a more entertaining note?” He grins, and starts stacking up half a dozen empty cups on his side of the table, then rolls the pack towards me so I can do the same.

I sink the first one immediately. “Okay, Carter. We’ve got three years of debauchery to catch up on. You’ve been in your fuck-boy era and don’t pretend otherwise”.

He laughs then, a proper Brandon laugh. Half snort, half giggle. Only guy I know who sounds like he’s guilty of finding something funny. “Let’s start with something easy. How’s the family? I heard your cousin got married”.

“ Everyone heard my cousin got married. There was a website”. His tone softens. “She’s happy, though. Her husband’s a good guy. Two kids now. I got godfather duties”.

“No way! So you’re Uncle Brandon?”

“One and the same. Milo and Daphne. They’re pretty cute if I do say so myself”. He slides over his phone, so I can see a picture of two identical blonde kids sitting either side of Brandon, surrounded by a stack of presents. “I can’t believe they’re almost two now”.

“I can’t believe you wore a Christmas jumper”, I hand his phone back, “No wonder you can’t get a boyfriend”.

“Oi!”

“I’ll see your cute godchildren”. I whistle as his ball bounces harmlessly off the table, “And raise you two half siblings”.

I feel ridiculous even saying that, given how infrequently I see them. My mom had my half-brother and half-sister in quick succession after she and Donnie got married. Danny and Drue. They’re five years old. I’m not even sure if they really get who I am.

But that’s a bit deep for tonight. “No matching Christmas jumper for me though”.

“You don’t know what you’re missing”.

We carry on like that for ages, filling in missing time. When it finally turns midnight, we lock up and walk back across the courtyard. Something’s humming in my stomach. He was honest with me earlier, and I want to do the same.

“Stop a second”. He turns to me, the moonlight illuminating the texture of his hair. “Back in high school. We called you the Artful Dodger because anytime anyone ever tried to talk to you about anything personal, you’d change the subject and split”.

He opens his mouth to protest, but I keep going, “Everyone liked you, but nobody really knew you. Because you didn’t let them”. I swallow. “You didn’t let me ”.

He rubs the back of his neck, “I wanted to. But it was hard, and I was scared. I didn’t like not being honest. It wasn’t easy not to tell you stuff. I tell you everything”.

“You still can”, I pause, “You can trust me. If you’re game?”

He inclines his head. Not yes. But not no either.

I’ll take that.

* * * *

Back in my room, I strip down to my boxers, ready for bed. I’m about to close my blinds when I spot a figure outside, illuminated by one of the security lights.

Brandon’s name flashes up on my phone.

“Dyer was watching See You At The Altar ”, he says before I can speak. “It’s one of my mom’s films. Truly, it’s the worst thing she’s ever done. He said it didn’t have a happy ending because she doesn’t get the guy, and ends up dancing with her best friend instead”.

I press my forehead against the cool glass, as he continues. “I always thought there was something pretty cool about going through life with your best friend. Even”, His voice is unrecognisable, “If you can’t have him the way you want to”.

I know what he’s getting at, and he knows that I know too. Everything I want to say in return feels inadequate, so I settle for, “You’re not wrong”.

“Can we note for the record that I just expressed some very non-Artful Dodger like behaviour?”

“Duly noted. Since you’re on a roll, can I ask you a question?” His silhouette is so perfectly framed in shadow that I can see him nod. “Back at the Rosebud. Why’d you make out with that girl?”

There’s a silence so long that I wonder if he’s hung up, and then suddenly, into the darkness he replies softly. “Because I wanted you to see”.

“You knew I was there?”

I can just about see him nod. “Did it bother you?”

“It did”, I say, surprising myself. “I don’t know why”.

The pause hangs comfortably between us. Finally, I wave.

“Goodnight, Dodger”.

“Goodnight, Rocky”.

I watch as he turns and strolls back towards his cabin. A warm feeling flutters in my stomach. I’ve got my boy back. At least for now, and because of it, my world feels a little more brighter.

That’s why I lied when I told him I didn’t remember what happened that night on the beach. What he said to me.

Or what I said back.