Page 53

“Because. It’s clear that when you think about me, you only think one thing.” He looks at me. “You could do anything you want with your life. And when you think about me, I don’t want it to feel shitty.”

I want to tell him it doesn’t feel shitty, but that would be a lie. I nod, and when he doesn’t say anything else, I add, “Well, thanks for the refreshments. You want to stick around? We could grab food.”

For a minute he stares out into the street, his mouth set in a straight line. “There’s one more thing.”

“Okay.”

He stares a few seconds longer before rubbing a hand through his hair and turning to me like it hurts. “Your parents never mentioned anything to you about ... us? Our family?”

I’m lost. “Our family? I don’t know where you’re going with this.”

“Is that a no?”

“No, man! What does that even mean?”

He shakes his head disapprovingly, his gaze dropping to the can of soda between his feet. “This isn’t supposed to be my job.”

“Dude, I’m going to strangle you if you don’t start making sense.”

A wry smile crosses his face. “You and me are not cousins.”

His eyes meet mine, a finality in his gaze that I know is supposed to have some kind of dramatic effect, but I don’t understand. “What?”

“My parents adopted me.”

I pull back, watching for a flash of humor on his face, because he has to be joking. When his expression remains serious, I find myself stumbling over thoughts. “But—I mean, you look exactly like us.” I laugh awkwardly.

Now he does smile a little bit, but there’s no humor behind it. “Yeah.” He nods. “They adopted me from your parents.”

The words don’t make sense. It’s a full sentence, but my brain finds no meaning in it.

Anthony blinks and his expression turns solemn. “We’re brothers, Lorenzo.”

We stare at each other for what feels like minutes but probably isn’t. Suddenly I’m aware of how hard my heart is beating. “If you’re fucking with me?—”

“Do you think I’m fucking with you?” He stares at me with dark brown eyes that look exactly like mine.

“Your parents are ... my parents?” I ask quietly.

He nods.

I remember to breathe, and out of nowhere I’m breathing like I just came off a sprint.

“I don’t get this.” I look out at the street, at the cars whizzing by way too fast, the students walking by on their way to dinner or coming home from class.

My mind races. “Why would they do that? Parents don’t just give their babies away to their sister.

And why do you know about this and I don’t? ”

“I found out by accident a couple years ago, around the time you went away to school. Believe me, I wish I never did.”

“Why would they do that?”

“There’s a whole story. A sob story, really, to hear them tell it. Actually,” he adds, “to hear them tell it, it was fate. Fucking bullshit.”

I stand and start pacing the sidewalk in front of the steps. “What’s the story?”

“Let them tell it. That’s not my job.”

“Fucking CliffsNotes version, Anthony? Jesus Christ, can you help me out?”

“All right. Your parents were dirt poor and already struggling with you. Your mom—our mom?—had that depression thing women sometimes get after they have a baby, I guess. And you were still new and a shitty baby by all accounts, and then suddenly they’ve got a second kid on the way.

And my parents couldn’t get pregnant and boom—they saw the solution. ”

“That’s fucked up. That’s really fucked up.”

He nods. “Yeah.”

We’re brothers. I hear the words again. And even though it’s obvious he’s not messing with me, it can’t be true. Families don’t get any more boring and average than ours. We don’t have secrets like this.

“Can we get out of here, please?” I feel like I’m suffocating. “Go for a drive?”

Ant shrugs and stands up. “Let’s go.”

Anthony does the driving. It reminds me of all the nights when there was nothing to do except get in trouble or drive Lakeside aimlessly and, thinking about our football teams, we opted to drive.

“Were they ever going to tell us?” I ask, staring out the window.

“They said they planned to when we were in elementary school. Just didn’t happen.”

“So you’ve talked to them about this. All four of them?”

“Just a couple times. You weren’t being left out.”

“Pretty sure that’s exactly what I was.”

“Fair. But I wish I’d been too.”

“Fair.”

Is it possible to be absolutely spinning with confusion and completely calm at the same time? Because that’s what I am. Blindsided, dizzy with questions, and somehow totally accepting it. Like maybe some tiny sleeping part of me already knew this.

“Why are you telling me this today?”

He smirks. “Because if I have to know, so do you.”

“Ant.”

The smile disappears. “Because it’s the best way I know how to explain what went wrong between us.” His brows pull together. “Everything changed when I found out.”

“You’ve been pissed at me longer than that. We all know the night things changed.”

“No. This was bigger.”

“How?” I demand.

“It’s stupid . . .” He sighs.

“I’m sure it is. Go on.”

He gives a brief smile, but his hands tighten around the steering wheel. “We have the same parents. Which makes you the successful son and me the loser. I can’t see it any other way now.”

I stare at him, and the way he sets his jaw reminds me of my father.

It’s only then the meaning of it all sinks in: This is my brother.

It’s not at all like having a cousin who’s like a brother.

I was an only child and now I’m not. I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like, but it feels incomprehensible.

And way too deep for me to handle right now.

I push it away and dig for some humor. “Huh.” I clear my throat.

“Yeah, I guess I could see that—you’re taller, funnier, you’ve got a better arm, and you lost your virginity first. Yeah, I can see how you come up short. ”

His scowl has turned into a reluctant, lopsided smile.

“So I guess what you’re saying is I’m going to spend the rest of my life comparing myself to you?” I ask.

“Probably, if you’re anything like me. Which it turns out, you totally are.”

We drive for what feels like hours, but we don’t talk about it anymore. We talk about football and high school and his job and, in between, we’re quiet.

It’s dark when he drops me at home. The first thing I do when I’m alone is pull out my phone to text Ruby, exactly like I have a thousand times.

She’s always been the one. The girl I go to.

But I look at the last text she sent me from before we broke up, and I just can’t.

For the first time, I don’t have someone to run to.

That fact doesn’t stop me from walking over to her apartment and standing on the corner.

Her lights are off, but that doesn’t mean she’s not home.

It’s past midnight. Maybe she’s asleep under that window, her arm slung over her eyes because she hates the streetlights but loves being able to glance up at the stars as she falls asleep.

I still have her house key. Is this what she did the night she sneaked into my bed and started everything that followed?

Did she stare at my dark bedroom window wondering whether I was asleep or awake, alone or tangled up with someone else, her body buzzing with anticipation and the energy of needing to be next to me?

I’ve wished to go back in time and change things so many times, but tonight I wish I could go back and live that night exactly the way it was.

Or any night she was part of.

I’d take when we were just friends or when we were fighting or even when I was burning with jealousy, watching her and Brad across the room. I’d take anything at all if she were in it.

How different would it all have turned out if I hadn’t tried so hard to keep a death grip on everything?

What if I let myself love Ruby the way I wanted to four years ago and let her love me back?

If I’d accepted what she told me and gave her the truth right back instead of treating her words like a deep, dark secret I had to hide from both of us?

If I never cared about the timing, maybe she’d be next to me right now instead of the farthest from me I’ve ever felt.