“You know why I pushed so hard about Marcie?” His voice drops lower. “I thought... if you were as trapped as I am, maybe it wouldn’t feel so fucking suffocating.”
“Drake—”
“No, let me finish. I see you with Tara, how you look at her like she’s... everything. And I realized I’ve never looked at Lisa that way. Never will.” He takes a shaky breath. “Mother orchestrated everything. The ‘accidental’ meetings, the joint family vacations. By the time I realized what was happening, it felt too late to say no.”
Tara stirs beside me, and I run my fingers through her hair absently, soothing her back to sleep. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I don’t want that for you. Either of you.” The sound of ice clinking against glass carries through the phone. “The way you captured her in that animation—like she’s made of light or something. No one inour worldlooks at anything that way. Not anymore.”
I think about my sketchbook full of Tara, about trying to capture the way she brings color to everything she touches. “I never expected you to understand that.”
“Yeah, well.” He clears his throat. “I’m trying to understand a lot of things lately. But listen—I talked to Mother. Told her to back off about the whole marriage thing. You and Tara, that’s real. And maybe one of us should get to have that.”
Something tight in my chest loosens. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Just...” He pauses again. “Be happy, little brother. And maybe teach me how to draw someday? Lisa’s birthday’s coming up and I thought...”
I actually laugh, surprising myself. “You want art lessons?”
“Stranger things have happened. You fell in love with a girl who wears rainbow socks to family dinners.”
“True.” I look down at Tara, at how she’s drooling slightly on my physics textbook. “Hey, Drake? For what it’s worth... it’s not too late, you know, to want something real.”
The silence stretches so long I think he’s hung up. Finally, he says quietly, “Maybe not. I’ll see you at Christmas?”
“Yeah. And Drake? Thanks for calling.”
After we hang up, I sit there for a long time, watching Tara sleep. Thinking about choices and courage and how sometimes, the strongest thing you can do is admit when you’re not happy.
I pull my sketchbook closer, starting a new drawing. This one’s different—two brothers, standing back-to-back, one reaching for the stars while the other faces corporate towers. But there’s a bridge between them.
“You’re goingto burn the sauce,” I murmur against Tara’s neck, arms wrapped around her waist as she stirs the pasta.
“I am not.” She leans back into me, stubborn as ever. “I know how to make a marinara sauce.”
“You sure, Tink?” I ask, because we both know she’s not the best cook. “Didn’t you set off a fire alarm before?”
“That was one time!” But she’s laughing, the soundvibrating through both of us. “And anyway, I’ve been practicing.”
I press a kiss to her shoulder, exposed by the oversized t-shirt she’s wearing - one of mine that I have no idea when she took, but I don’t care. It looks better on her than it ever did on me. “I missed you so much, Tink.”
She turns in my arms, wooden spoon pointed at me accusingly. “Then maybe don’t push me away next time you’re having an existential crisis?”
“Deal.” I steal a quick kiss. “Though you have to admit, my existential crisis led to some pretty good art.”
“The sketchbook was...” She bites her lip. “No one’s ever made anything like that for me before.”
“Well, no one’s ever been a supernova before.” I reach around her to lower the heat under the pan. “Speaking of space, I got the official offer from CalTech today.”
She stills. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I watch her face carefully. “It’s a five-year program.”
“In California.”
“In California.” I confirm. “But they have some of the best natural history museums on the west coast. And I hear they’re always looking for passionate educators who can make science accessible.”
Her eyes widen. “Are you suggesting...”
