Page 29 of Maybe (Mis-shapes #1)

“And the stupid thing is,” he carried on, watery-eyed, “I was never the target of any of his crap. Not like you. You bore the brunt of it. I just had to suck up the nagging and the pressure to perform, and the perennial feeling I wasn’t quite good enough.

And yet,” his voice cracked, “here’s me, the one that got the money, the flat, and the safe, secure medical career, and I’m barely holding it together. ”

“Yeah.” I should have contradicted him, told him he was doing just fine.

But everything he said rang true. Somewhere along the way—perhaps the unexpected gift of Jonty and the joy he instilled in me—I’d escaped.

Carly once pointed out, in her own inimitable blunt fashion, I didn’t need to ever look back again.

I already knew what was behind, so I should concentrate on the future.

On Jonty, mainly. She’d been right. I hadn’t looked back in years, not until our father’s death brought it all bubbling to the surface.

“Hey.” Isaac had fallen quiet, unchecked tears trickled down his cheeks.

“Isaac, babe. Listen. When Henry Fitz-Henry died, we sold our entire childhood as a job lot, okay? And that wretched past you’re talking about?

We don’t live there anymore, and we never have to go back. And you need to believe it.”

In the ensuing silence, I looked around.

An uninvited guest, an anachronism in Isaac’s smart flat surrounded by his smart things.

I should have left after dinner, perhaps, but he hadn’t kicked me out.

And somehow, I didn’t feel I was supposed to go.

This conversation needed to happen before either of us could properly move forwards.

“Hey.” I fished out a tissue. “Take this. Dry your eyes. He’s not worth your tears, none of that crap is.”

Isaac’s bland, tan-coloured sofa wouldn’t have looked out of place in an advert for a retirement village. Jonty and Freya would destroy its pristine fabric within about five minutes of bouncing around on it. And then make inroads into ruining the cream hearth rug.

Whereas Isaac barely made an impression on them—on anything in the entire room, except for me. I drank him in. My brother, my soulmate. A man I knew I’d never stopped loving and, with the exception of my own son, would love more than I would ever love anyone else. And he was miserable.

Sometimes, only a brotherly hug would do.

I made myself comfy next to him and wrapped my arm around his shoulders. “I’ll go back to my own side of the room if this isn't okay. Or I’ll leave. I’m not trying to make a move on you or anything.”

“It’s fine.”

I pretended to be affronted. “Just fine?”

“Obviously not.” He elbowed me hard.

“Listen, I want you to be happy, Isaac. If that requires my absence from your life, then so be it.” Even saying the words was like stabbing red hot pokers in my eyes. “I hope you could still like me, though.”

His response was a sigh and a softening of his limbs.

His hand left his lap to find one of mine.

“Of course I don’t want you to go. I’ve only just got you back.

I want to get to know you. Jonty, too. I want to be an uncle to him.

But…” He brushed away a tear. “The other night, when you… you kissed me, it’s not that I didn’t like it—though I never in a million years expected it.

You’re, like, smart and funny and… and everything.

But all I could think was that I would lose you.

As my brother. Because I don’t know if someone can still be a brother and…

date or whatever. Or whether I could live with being someone you once fucked on your night off from childcare.

If I recall correctly, that is the extent of your relationships. ”

“Not with you. It wouldn’t be that way with you.” What had I been thinking, telling him that? Trying to impress him or shock him. Anything to mask the raw jumble of feelings seeing him again had on me. “I couldn’t, wouldn’t ever do that with you, Isaac.”

He side-eyed me, suspiciously. “How do I know you don’t trot that line out to everyone?”

“I don’t, I swear.”

“But can you see how I’d have a hard time believing that? Even if I manage to get my head around the whole ‘ you’re my brother’ thing, don’t you think it might ruin the whole ‘ but you’re still my brother’ thing if our non-brotherly dating fell apart?”

Short of picking up my guitar and becoming the Rick Astley of lovers—I hated that bloody ubiquitous song, even though the irksome lyrics encapsulated everything I wanted to impress upon him—how else could I sway him to give us a shot? To take a chance on us?

I’m never gonna give you up. I began humming the opening bars. At least he laughed when he clocked what it was.

Unfortunately, even Rick’s cheesy declarations of love couldn’t convince him. “Okay then. How about this scenario? What if we, I dunno, have a… a sexual relationship and then, for whatever reason, you decide it’s not for you? You move onto someone better?”

“What if you move onto someone better?” I countered. “Do I need to remind you I’m a busker with about ten quid to his name? And responsible for a small child?”

Isaac pursed his lips. “I’m not going to even justify that with a response, Ez.

But that sort of thing doesn’t have an undo button.

Once— if —we travel down that road, there’s no turning back.

And if it does go tits up, where would it leave us?

And, more importantly, Jonty, too? What if I got to know him and love him properly, and then I just disappeared one day?

I know how that feels, Ez, and, trust me, it’s fucking miserable and confusing.

He’s your boy. I wouldn’t ever want that for him. ”

Did I mention my man had a beautiful soul?

I squeezed Isaac’s hand tight. “I can’t promise, because none of us wield a crystal ball, but I don’t think any of that will happen.

We’re still the same people we always were, we still have something more than brotherly love for each other, and I’m prepared to give us a chance.

” I pulled him in closer. “Trust me, Isaac. I’m a sucker for hairy baked potatoes. ”

Who knew hairy baked potatoes were the magic words to make Isaac close the gap between our mouths and kiss me?

If I’d known, I’d have spoken them a hell of a lot sooner.

Obviously, it was a kiss that started with a laugh, because…

hairy baked potatoes. But Isaac’s obliviousness towards his own attractiveness, how he had no idea he filled the four corners of my being, was also fucking hilarious.

My laugh, however, stopped as abruptly as it begun, because Isaac’s dear face was cradled between my palms—soberly this time—and his tongue was in my mouth, startling a gasp from my lips.

Was it the greatest kiss I’d ever received? The most passionate? Probably not. Our teeth clashed and the angle was awkward, and it was almost over before I’d got my head around it.

But, with the right person, even an ordinary, short kiss feels better than the most exhilarating of protracted, overindulgent guitar solos.

“What did I do to deserve that?”

Isaac’s eyes combed my face as if the answer was written across it.

“I’m not sure. I’ve been telling you in a variety of ways how all would be such a bad idea, and how terrible I am at, you know, this kind of stuff.

” He shook his head. “I might as well be saying it in Zulu for all the attention you’re paying.

” Disentangling himself, he shuffled down the sofa and out of my arms. “But we’re not doing it again. ”

“We’re not?”

“No,” he said firmly. “Not yet.”

“But you want to.” I clung onto that yet . “I’ll be able to persuade you.”

“Probably.” Half-smiling, he toyed with my fingers.

“But I need some time to get my head around everything. I still wish my feelings for you were along similar lines of my feelings for Ed and Saffy. To add to the pile labelled normal and brotherly .” His gaze flicked across to mine.

“But they’re not. Looking back, they never have been.

And God knows I’ve tried to reroute them. But they won't play ball.”

“You can’t pin feelings like a moth, Isaac. For what it’s worth, I’ve tried too.”

We both knew feelings was a euphemism for love.

But in this context, that little word was too big, too special, too much to lay out on the table right now.

And anyhow, we already knew we loved each other.

It was merely the how I needed to nail down.

With a little coaxing, by the end of the week, he’d be in my arms.

“So I won’t see you next week, if that’s okay,” he continued.

My optimistic vibes juddered to a standstill. “Not really, no.”

He shrugged. “I’m working long days followed by a set of nights. But when I do see you afterward, I want to get to know you again. As my brother first. I want… I think I want us to take it slow?”

“Brothers, then lovers.” I nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. I could work with that. “Got it.”

“And I’m texting you Gerald’s phone number. I expect you to have got in touch with him before I next see you.”

I chuckled. “I’ll pass if it’s all the same to you. He’s not my type. Have you seen the size of his nose?” I tested my luck by pecking Isaac on his much smaller, slightly upturned one. “I bet Gerry can sniff out a Sunday roast by Wednesday with that thing.”

My type wrinkled his now wet nose. “Good,” he murmured, staring at me like a very light touch feels, so soft it almost tickled. “I’m not one of life’s sharers either. An apology to him will do.”