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“I dig that in a woman.”
“Aaron, she’s not your type,” I said, trying to close the subject.
“That’s not what I just saw.” Ignoring him, I opened my email and answered a few that had to be dealt with. I wasn’t losing this precious time with my brother.
“I’m proud of you, Nina.” He was looking right at me as I peered over the screen.
“Don’t be, if you only knew what I’ve turned into.” Swallowing the lump in my throat, I continued. “I’ll make you proud.”
Frowning, he pushed out a breath. “What’s going on, Nina?” Shaking my head, I hit send on my last email and looked up smiling.
“Nothing.”
“We are getting nowhere fast. You are as elusive as Mom right now.” Narrowing my eyes, I scolded him.
“Don’t ever compare me to her.” It wasn’t a request.
“Okay, well, stop pretending everything is okay when it’s not and talk to me.”
“Geez, don’t you want ten minutes of normal? What about you? Why the sudden visit?” Shrugging, he stood up and walked around my office.
“I don’t have another tournament for few weeks and wanted to see you. Do I need an excuse?” Aaron was a semi-pro golfer, and in his spare time, he worked odd jobs. He had a carefree life, and I suddenly envied that about him.
“No, I’m sorry. I’m so happy you’re home.” Turning off my PC, I gathered my purse. “Come on. I’m all yours today. What should we do first?”
“I have tee time at Dunes in two hours. I didn’t want to pass it up. How about breakfast?”
“Come on! How long are you here?” I put my hands on my hips as he walked past me, knowing he was in the shit house.
“Until Tuesday, so back off.” He pulled my arm off my hip to drag me back to the elevator. “We’ll hit the waves too while I’m here.”
Aaron and I shared a deep mutual love for the water. We spent a good amount of time every summer at the beach together until I left for college. Still, I couldn’t help but feel the small tug in my chest at the memory of my last time in the water with Aiden.
Twenty minutes later, we were seated at Poogan’s Porch, sipping coffee on the patio. It was just cool enough to be comfortable.
Aaron looked over the menu with clear prejudice.
“They have eggs and bacon, simpleton,” I piped as he gave me a wary eye.
“I just don’t think it’s necessary to add all this shit to eggs.”
“Then order eggs with no shit.” His lips curled up at the sides, and I knew I had him. I felt deep relief with my brother’s presence. Now this was a man who knew me. The uncorrupted pre-millionaire who was more preoccupied in bettering herself and whose hardest choice of the day was what to cook for dinner.
We’d always got along. Instead of sibling rivalry, it was typically us against our parents. Though we’d had our fair share of fights, our collaboration of damn near emancipating ourselves from our parents was our common bond. We mutually agreed our mother was the true villain, but together blamed our father for not liberating us from her altogether.
Aaron had developed a stammer when he was younger as a result of her. The more intense the house became with all the arguing, the worse it became. I coped by reciting the poem “Clooney the Clown”. Together we were a nervous poem reciting, stammering, fucking mess. To this day when I was truly terrified, I’d recite that poem. I also had an unnatural adverse reaction to any sort of sudden loud noise or yelling, hence my emergency stash of Xanax. I often wondered what lingering effects that hellish house had on my brother.
Eventually, we became resentful enough to fight back with our indifference and tried to completely dissociate from them. It was just us, and we raised each other. As much as our father tried to keep the monsters at bay, his anger would win out and we would be stuck in the middle. We’d eventually forgiven our father and made a nonverbal commitment to simply tolerate and appease our mother for his sake. Secretly, I’d always hoped she would turn back into the loving and tolerant woman I’d known. A woman Aaron had never met. I knew her temperament for me now was money induced. Her kind, term of endearment “Ninabelle” made me cringe.
Aaron had come a long way from the little boy who had frequent accidents in bed. He’d once been so terrified he couldn’t talk himself out of my mother’s wrath.
I shook away the image of my baby brother trying to explain to my mother why he couldn’t get to the toilet.
“M-M-M-Mommy, I’m s-sorry!”
She would grip his arm hard, jerking him into the bathroom, screaming at him as she cleaned him. I physically cringed at the memory. I looked up now to the man across from me, thankful he’d never used her behavior as an excuse to treat others poorly, and never excused her behavior once he was old enough to know better. My brother was one of my heroes.
“Stop staring at me. It’s fucking weird.” He looked up with a harsh glance as he sipped his coffee.
