Page 47

Basically a Maple Tree

Charlie

The best part about being Charlie McManus is that I rarely give a crap about anything, but right now I’m about two seconds away from barfing all over Mom’s good tablecloth.

My hands won’t stop twitching, and my knee bounces under the table hard enough to rattle the salt and pepper shakers. Roy sits across from us with the same expression he wore the day he told us he wasn’t going to pursue baseball after high school.

“Just spit it out already,” I blurt, because the waiting is killing me. Mom shoots me a glare that could peel paint, but I can’t help it. My heart’s doing Olympic-level gymnastics.

Roy’s dark eyes sweep over each of us—Mom, Dad, then me. His jaw works like he’s chewing on words that taste bitter. The kitchen feels smaller than usual, the walls pressing in as the ceiling fan makes its lazy rotations overhead, clicking with each turn.

I grip the edge of the table until my knuckles turn white. Whatever Roy’s about to say, it’s big. Bigger than giving up baseball big. Maybe moving away big. Or getting-married-to-a-cow big. Christ, what if he knocked someone up? What if?—

“I have a drinking problem,” Roy says, his voice flat and matter-of-fact, as if he’s reading the weather report.

The words hang in the air between us, and for a second, nobody moves. Nobody breathes. Even the ceiling fan seems to pause its eternal clicking.

I stare at Roy, unblinking. My brother—my rock-solid, never-falters, always-has-his-shit-together brother—has a drinking problem?

“I’ve been using it to cope,” Roy continues, his voice still eerily calm. “The stress of running the hardware store with no full-time help…” His eyes flick to me. “Dealing with Charlie’s complicated love life.”

My stomach drops. “Roy, I?—”

He holds up a hand. “It’s not your fault. None of this is anyone’s fault but mine. I thought I could handle it all—the store, helping out here at the farm, everything. But somewhere along the way, having a beer after work turned into three. Then six. Then I lost count.”

Mom’s chair scrapes against the linoleum as she shoots to her feet. Before Roy can react, she’s around the table and wrapping him in the kind of hug that could probably cure cancer if she squeezed hard enough.

“Oh, honey,” she whispers into his hair, and I see Roy’s shoulders sag like someone cut his strings.

Dad leans back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. He’s got that look—the one where he’s running calculations in his head, already three steps ahead of everyone else. Planning. Strategizing. Being Dad.

And me? I’m sitting here with my mouth hanging open, trying to reconcile this version of Roy with the superhero I’ve built up in my head. The guy who taught me how to throw a curveball. Who stayed up all night helping me with algebra homework. Who never, ever showed weakness.

“I know I need help,” Roy says, his voice muffled against Mom’s shoulder. “That’s why I’m telling you all this. I can’t do it alone anymore.”

The ceiling fan clicks overhead, marking time in this new reality where my big brother isn’t invincible. Where heroes can stumble and fall and need someone to catch them.

“We’re going to get through this together,” Mom says firmly, pulling back to cup Roy’s face in her hands. “As a family.”

Dad nods slowly. “There’s a program in Harrisburg. Good people. Discreet.”

“I’ll go,” Roy says without hesitation. “Whatever it takes.”

I should say something. Anything. But my throat feels like someone poured concrete down it.

All I can do is stare at my brother—really look at him for the first time in months.

The shadows under his eyes. The way his hands shake slightly when he reaches for his water glass.

Even the slump in his shoulders speaks of carrying too much weight for too long.

How did I miss this? How did I get so wrapped up in my life with Daniel and Harrison that I didn’t notice my brother drowning right in front of me?

“Charlie.” Roy’s voice cuts through my spiral. “Say something.”

I clear my throat five times. “I’m sorry.”

His brow furrows. “For what?”

“For not seeing it. For being so self-absorbed that I didn’t notice you were struggling.”

Roy shakes his head. “That’s not your job, little brother. It never was.”

“But—”

“No buts.” His voice is firm now, more like the Roy I know. “This is my responsibility. My problem to fix.”

Mom returns to her seat but keeps one hand stretched across the table, gripping Roy’s fingers. “When did it start getting bad?”

Roy considers this, his jaw working again. “A few months ago, maybe? I was pulling twelve-hour days, coming home to help with the farm work, then going back to sleep, just to do it all over again the next morning.”

“You should have asked for help,” Dad says quietly.

A bitter laugh escapes Roy. “From who? You and Mom have enough on your plates, and Charlie’s got his whole life in New York.”

“We could have figured something out,” Mom insists.

“I know.” Roy’s voice cracks slightly. “But I thought I could handle it. I’m supposed to be the responsible one, remember? The one who stayed. The one who keeps everything running.”

The weight of those words settles over the table like a shroud. Because he’s right—that’s exactly who Roy has always been. The responsible one. The reliable one. The one who gave up his dreams so the rest of us could chase ours.

“You’re still all those things,” I say, finding my voice at last. “Having a problem doesn’t change that. It just makes you human.”

Roy meets my eyes, and for the first time in years, I see vulnerability there. Fear. Hope. All the things he’s kept locked away behind that stoic exterior.

“Thanks, Charlie,” he says softly.

Dad clears his throat. “I’ll make some calls tomorrow. See about getting you into that program. In the meantime, we need to figure out coverage for the store.”

“I can help,” I offer immediately. “I can come back after the season is done.”

“And I’ll talk to some of my girlfriends,” Mom adds. “See if they know anyone looking for work.”

Roy glances around the table at all of us. His eyes get suspiciously shiny. “I don’t deserve?—“

“Stop right there,” Mom interrupts. “You deserve every bit of support we can give you. You’ve been carrying this family for years, Roy Donald McManus. It’s time you let us carry you for a change.”

“So,” I say, trying to inject some levity into the heavy atmosphere. “Does this mean I finally get to make some awesome changes at the store? Say, ‘Tighty-Whities on Your Head Day’ or ‘Tie-Dye Shirt Day?’”

Roy snorts. “In your dreams, little brother. ”

“Worth a shot,” I grin.

And just like that, we’re us again. Different, maybe. More honest, definitely. But still the McManus family, ready to face whatever comes next together.

Even if what comes next involves teaching me how to use the register at the hardware store, which, knowing my luck, I’ll probably break within the first hour.

Later, when Roy heads up to his old room to take a nap, I head out to find my boyfriends.

Boyfriends. The word bounces around my brain as I push open the door.

Just last week, I was single as a Pringle and eating cereal straight from the box, wondering if I’d ever find someone who could put up with my particular brand of chaos.

Now I’ve got two guys who apparently can’t keep their hands off me.

Daniel’s been ambushing me in the hallway every chance he gets, pressing me against the wall and kissing me until I forget my name. And Harrison? Well, let’s just say my childhood bed has seen more action this weekend than it did in all my teenage years combined.

The gravel crunches under my boots as I head toward the rental car. That’s when I hear it—Harrison’s voice, sharp and angry, cutting through the morning air like a knife.

“That’s none of your business, Mother!”

I freeze mid-step. Harrison never raises his voice. He’s all cool confidence and artistic brooding. But right now he sounds like he’s about to blow a gasket.

I duck behind the rental car, my heart hammering. I know I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but my feet won’t move. Through the windows, I can see Harrison sitting cross-legged near the end of the driveway, his phone pressed to his ear, free hand gesturing wildly.

“Yes, I’m dating two people! No, it’s not a phase!” He runs his fingers through his hair, messing up the carefully styled strands. “They know about each other, for Christ’s sake. We’re all together.”

My stomach does a weird flip. His mom knows about us. About all of us.

“I don’t care what your friends will think!” Harrison’s voice cracks slightly. “Or what Dad’s business partners will say in the Hamptons this summer. This is my life!”

There’s a pause where I can hear the tinny sound of shouting from the other end. Harrison’s shoulders slump.

“No, Mother, I’m not doing this to embarrass you.” His voice drops to something softer, more defeated. “I’m doing this because I’m happy. For once in my life, I’m truly happy.”

Another pause. More shouting.

“Fine. Cut me off completely. See if I care.” But his voice wavers, and I can tell he does care. He cares a lot. “I’ve been supporting myself this whole time anyway.”

He ends the call and hurls his phone into the grass. Then he sits there, head in his hands, shoulders shaking slightly.

Shit. I should go to him, but I’m frozen behind this stupid car like a coward. What do I even say? Sorry, your mom’s a homophobic nightmare?

Before I can make my move, Daniel appears from around the side of the house. He spots Harrison immediately and doesn’t hesitate. Just walks over and drops down beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“Your mom?” Daniel asks softly.

Harrison nods against Daniel’s shoulder. “Pictures from the party got out.”

“Ah.” Daniel’s jaw tightens. “Small towns.”