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Cy opened his mouth, ready to tease me by bringing up the many times I’d sworn on my life and others’ that Ozzie and I were over, dunzo, kaput.
“Don’t.” I pointed a wagging finger in his direction. “I just want Maple to have what we had growing up.”
“Shit was definitely easier when we were kids.”
“You hated being a kid.”
“I hated rules and being told what to do.”
“So, you become mayor and now no one can tell you anything.”
“See how that works?” He flashed his know-it-all grin as I plopped onto the couch in a defeated heap. “Dial, you know you’re my best friend, right?”
My head jerked back. “I am?”
“Yeah, I tell you everything.”
He didn’t. “I thought Oz was your best friend.”
“He is, but you were my first friend.” Cyrus sounded sincere. Sure, he was probably just utilizing old campaign tricks, turning up the warmth and empathy and toning down his asshole-ish features. But whatever this was, I was susceptible.
“Are you trying to make me cry? Because it’s working.” I brushed a tear before it could fall.
“I just want you to know I’ve always got your back. You’re the best sister a guy could have.”
My eyes went misty and my voice was barely above a whisper when I said, “Are you dying? Are you saying all this because you’re sick?”
“I’m saying all this because I love you, and as the big brother it’s my obligation to tell you every now and again.”
I was seventy-eight percent certain Cyrus had been body-snatched, replaced with an android or alien life form. My response was less enthusiastic. “I love you too.”
“God, Dial, get thee to therapy immediately.”
“Already going once a week, thank you very much.”
Cy moved from the hard, geometrically shaped white couch to the cow-hide coffee table, which clashed loudly with every other piece of furniture. “Do you know our parents never told us they loved us?”
“Sure they did.”
“No, growing up they said, ‘Good job,’ or ‘Atta boy.’ But never ‘I love you.’”
“Okay, it doesn’t have to be said to be true.”
“Do you tell Maple you love her?”
“Of course, all the time.”
“And you do that because you’re raising a human and not a robot.”
“Some people just aren’t sentimental. I’m not.”
“You are—you just don’t like admitting it,” Cy said.
“So, what, do you want Mom and Dad to call you and tell you how much they love you?” I scoffed at the thought.
“No, I don’t need it now. But I did when I was younger.”
Me and my brothers joked around entirely too much, but I recognized when they were being serious. Cyrus always received the brunt of the jokes because he was the designated black sheep. In a family of small-town folk, he was the one with big ideas about how he wanted to change the world. When he returned home from college, his experience left him feeling even more ostracized. Even Ozzie had felt it, and often worried that Cyrus was outgrowing their friendship.
