Chapter 36: Fraternizing

I burst to the door, but by the time I got there, Lena had already stepped outside and reached back to pull it shut.

I caught the inner handle. “Where are you going?”

She didn’t look at me. “Somewhere I can hear myself think.”

“It’s late.” Full dark, although the city lights left everything bathed in artificial twilight. “I’ll go with you.”

“What are you worried about?” she asked. “We’re the safest people in town, remember?”

“Safer together,” I said.

“I’m just going to hit the store and grab some things I forgot to put on the list,” she said. “You and Benji should sort your shit out.”

I swallowed.

Quietly, I asked, “Do you think I’m wrong?”

Finally, she glanced over her shoulder. “I think I don’t care. Just... try to get along. Please? So I can stand it, if nothing else?”

My mouth worked, but no sound came out.

More gently than I probably deserved, Lena tugged the door from my limp fingers and pulled it shut between us.

It blocked the night air, but I felt far colder.

I knew – knew! – how this kind of interpersonal drama wore on Lena. I hadn’t realized it would hit her at least as hard when she was mostly a spectator as it would have if she’d been directly involved. I should’ve guessed, though.

Instead, I’d lived down to exactly the standard Benji said.

We could have been back in the rear seats of Mom’s CR-V, two hours into a road trip in the summer before I started middle school. Benji had drained the batteries on his DS and forgotten to bring spares, and this was long before phones were worth a damn for games, so my DS was the only source of electronic entertainment. I was an hour into an Advance Wars map, stuck, distracted. Benji kept elbowing me in the ribs and pointing out what I should do, and I kept ignoring him. Finally, Mom said I should “Let my brother try” and he snatched the DS from me before I could argue.

And before we hit the next rest stop, he’d beaten the level, while I stewed like only a preteen could.

Except that wasn’t true, was it?

We could’ve been back in the living room of the last house I’d shared with our parents, sitting around a coffee table while Inception played muted on the TV. Better than Benji talking over the movie, like he had been a moment earlier. It would’ve been even better if he didn’t talk at all. Better still if he’d been out of state, finishing his business degree, but this was another summer. Instead, he’d asked what I was planning to major in, and when I said English, mostly so he’d shut up and we could get back to the movie, said, “Cool, cool. You got an idea what you’re going to do with that when you grow up?”

I hadn’t, and it had become extremely obvious to him, to my parents, and to me.

We could have been back at Benji’s wedding reception, two wines deeper than the one I let myself buy now and then, back when I pretended my ability to pay off credit card debt was going to improve with time. I’d been seated next to one of the bridesmaids. I think one of Sandy’s friends, but the only things I knew about her were that her name was Angela and I’d thought her hair was pretty even before I got buzzed. Oh, and for some reason, maybe politeness, she’d actually talked to me.

“Do you work at High Hill with Ben?” she asked.

Maybe because I was crushing on her or maybe because I was three cups deep, I didn’t perceive the question as bait. I trotted out the euphemism I usually used. “No, mostly I write.”

“Ooh, exciting!” She leaned closer. “Where can I read your stuff?”

What should I have told her? That I was pitching game and movie scripts? Outlining the Great American novel?

I thought too slowly to come out with anything before Benji’s hand clapped my shoulder.

He leaned over me and asked Angela, “You ever turn off adblock on your browser?”

Her eyebrow raised. “Do I look like an idiot, Ben? Why would you even ask? You want to link me to a page?”

“Try it sometime,” he said. “If you’ve got adblock on, you’ll miss all of my little bro’s best work.”

She laughed, and my cheeks flushed as red as the wine, and when the dancing started a few minutes later, she paired up with Miguel and I went out for fresh air.

Benji and I could have been back at any moment in our relationship since I was old enough to remember. Him always ahead of me, always talking down to me. And always, by far worst of all, proven right.

But we weren’t back in any of those moments.

We were in this one. Where he was sitting at my counter, nursing one of the beers he’d bought, his eyes red and downcast. Where Lena had preferred cold and solitude to listening to me bicker with him.

I rubbed my eyes and drew in a deep breath. I let it out.

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Benji let me.

I shuffled over to the counter.

He offered me one of his beers.

I took it, sat, and mumbled, “Thanks.”

“No worries.”

We drank in silence until his beer was gone and I’d gulped down more than I probably should’ve. I hadn’t drank in – how long? I’d forgotten how harsh beer tasted when you weren’t addicted to it, even though I’d once considered Fat Tire to be the good stuff. Forgotten how fuzzy half a bottle could make my thoughts feel.

I began, “Benji –”

“Why do you do that?” He spun on his chair and faced me.

I blinked. “Do what?”

“Call me Benji?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Because it’s your name?”

“You think my boss comes in to check on my quarterly and asks, hey, Benji, what’s with these estimates? You think Sandy...” He trailed off, clenched his jaw.

I did think so.

“You are literally the only person who’s called me that since I was in middle school and I got Mom and Dad to stop.” He glanced at the door. “You and Lena, since you’ve got her saying it. Even Miguel doesn’t do that shit.”

That couldn’t be right. Could it?

So why did Miguel call him “Ben?” Why, when I dredged up any mortifying incident from our shared past, did everyone else?

Why didn’t I?

“It’s just... what I think of your name as being,” I said. “I didn’t realize it bugged you.”

“Didn’t for a long time,” he said. “I mean, when I first started high school, it meant basically everything that people didn’t call me a kiddy-sounding name. The kind of name you’d use for a dog. Good thing nobody in high school gives a shit what a little brother says.”

I tried to chuckle.

“And after that, why would I care?” He contemplated his empty bottle. “I did.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because... I kept waiting for you to outgrow it.”

“I wasn’t trying to run you down or infantilize you or whatever you think that name does.” I took another swig of beer. I found less left than I expected. “Fuck. I wasn’t doing it intentionally, at least.”

“Same,” he muttered.

It took me a moment to understand what he meant.

“Oh, come on, Ben –” I swallowed the second syllable of his name. I mean, of the name I’d always known him by. Then I swallowed the last of the Fat Tire he’d given me. “You expect me to believe you’re not talking down to me?”

“I’m not trying to treat you like a kid,” he said.

“Just succeeding,” I said.

He snorted. “Well. Maybe. I don’t get how you live, I don’t get how you think. I don’t think you can take a joke. And yeah, when you snap, I know how to snap back so you’ll lose your temper.”

I lowered my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“You are?”

“For... calling you the wrong name.” I thought of how shit I’d feel if I did that to Erin. Benji’s situation wasn’t remotely equivalent, but he still deserved to be called by the name he felt comfortable with. I pressed my forehead to the mouth of the beer bottle.

“Oh,” he said. “Nah, it’s cool. Frankly, hearing you call me ‘Ben’ just sounds weird.”

“Make up your mind, bro!”

He shrugged.

We started to fall back into silence. It would’ve been easier.

I forced myself to speak. “I was going to say I was sorry before the name thing ever came up.”

He waited.

“I know you’re under crazy stress right now,” I said. “I shouldn’t be making it worse for you. If I can’t be a good brother, at least I could be a good host.”

“You seem pretty stressed yourself,” he said.

“There’s... a lot we haven’t told you,” I said. “Lena and I, I mean. About this game, her channel, what we’ve been up to.”

“It’s not going as well as she makes it sound?” he asked.

“Not exactly,” I said. “Her subscribers and views keep climbing. You’ve got to watch the edited video when it comes out. I know you saw through the filter on Miguel’s laptop, but the finished version is something else. It’s, she’s...” I chuckled. “Magnificent.”

Benji smiled crookedly. “You got it real bad, don’t you, Cam?”

I frowned. “What are you talking about?”

He clapped his hand on my shoulder. “I’m happy for you. Honest. You two are a good match. Don’t screw it up.”

“Right back at you,” I said. When he scowled, I added, “You haven’t.”

“Hope you’re right,” he said.

“You haven’t,” I repeated. “I don’t believe that. You rub me the wrong way, and I don’t think I’m completely imagining that. But look at us. Talking like we don’t hate each other’s guts.”

“I figure that’s the beer.” He raised his empty bottle in salute.

I clinked mine against it. “Probably. But that’s not my point. I almost did screw it up. Lena and I did, I mean.”

Benji’s eyebrows rose. “That’s hard to believe.”

“You’re catching us at a good time,” I said. “Honestly, if it wasn’t for this game, Third Eye? We might’ve kept drifting apart. It got us talking to each other again. Really talking.”

“Pretty good game,” he said.

“You’ve got no idea,” I said.

I hated how glad I was for an excuse not to give him one.

But this was the best conversation I’d had with my brother since... when? Ever? Maybe it ended with me making him think I’d gone insane. It didn’t have to get there yet.

Besides, if I had a chance to actually help him for once, did I not have to take it?

“That’s all you have to do,” I said. “Talk.”

“You’re giving me advice, huh?”

“Yes,” I said. “I remember the way Sandy looked at you, at your wedding. I know how it feels when Lena looks at me that way. And you’re right, I’ve got it bad. I’d do anything for that feeling. For her. But what I really had to do, we both did, was talk.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Going to borrow one of your favorite phrases. It’s not that simple.”

“Was for us,” I said.

“And your game taught you that?” He asked.

“It’s basically edutainment,” I said.

“I’ll be sure to tell Sandy that I got relationship counseling from a mobile game,” he said. “It’d get her laughing, at least.”

“Sounds like a good place to start.” I grinned and, after a moment, so did Benji.

I doubted our ceasefire would last forever. I couldn’t speak for him, but my opinion had festered for decades. In a week or a month or a year, this conversation would be one memory clashing with hundreds.

Still, I had to admit it felt good to sit there and smile with my brother for a little while.

Naturally, that was the moment my phone rang. I picked it up and saw Lena’s name. I felt a flash of worry, but fought it down. She’d only mentioned going as far as the store just across Hampden.

But when I hit the button to answer, she shouted, “Help!”