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“But the way you love your sister and did everything in your power to give her what she needed?” A hand runs through his hair, frustrated or stressed, I don’t know. “I didn’t do that. I did everything you didn’t.” He sighs like he’s in the spotlight now. I understand that feeling. I want to tell him to spill, to tell me everything, because right now? After sharing my burden and my story?
I feel miraculously lighter.
I want to give him that relief as well.
“I’m the older brother.” He stops and looks at me.
“Okay?”
“The way it works in my family, the oldest son gets the business. Three generations of it, and I was to be the fourth. Construction, contracting. Big builds, small updates. They do it all.”
“You told me that, Ben. I—”
“I didn’t want it. It was my duty, but the idea of it . . . It was suffocating.” I stop trying to speak. “I knew for a while I didn’t want it. I didn’t want the company. I didn’t like construction. It’s all my dad talked to me about. The company. The family name. The legacy. But every time he brought it up, I felt sick.” He looks around, a replication of my own actions just minutes ago when I was trying to avoid his eye. I reach over and grab his hand, hoping I can offer him strength or confidence or whatever he needs at the moment.
“I wanted art. I wanted to make things, beautiful things. My dad and Tanner—they can build shit, build a home, and that’s beautiful in its own way, but not the beauty I wanted to bring to the world. To my dad, my art was . . . a dumb hobby he couldn’t wait for me to grow out of. It was the dumb shit I did with my mom, not a career. When I was 18, I went off to school, supposed to get a degree in business so I could come back and apply it. But the classes . . . Lola . . . I wanted to die. They stole everything good and boiled it down to numbers and figures. So I took an art class.”
“Ben, I don’t—”
“You’re going to hate me.”
“After what I just told you, how weak I’ve been, what I let happen, you really think that?” I know family can drive you to do some crazy things.
“You did everything for your sister. Everything to keep her safe and give her what she deserved.”
“I—”
“And your dad. Whatever he needed, you gave him. Your mom—she asked you to be there for your family, and you chose them, even if they weren’t perfect, even if they didn’t deserve it.”
“It’s not that simple. I—” He turns to me then, putting the hand I was holding onto my thigh, leaning in and looking me in the eye.
“I didn’t do that.” I stop trying to interrupt. This is it, this is him telling me his story. He sits back once more, disconnecting from me and looking at the wall. “I knew the family business was a shit storm. My dad is shit with numbers, but he’s a good guy generally. When things went downhill, from the recession and just years of money not being managed correctly, he refused to lay men off. They had families; they had lives. The business made nothing. He’s also shit at billing—again, he’s a good guy, means well. People go through shit. But I remember I’d taken an intro to accounting course my first semester, and during break, I looked at the books.” He breathes in deep. “Lola, they were a disaster. So far underwater.” He sighs again. “I didn’t want to deal with it.”
There it is.
“I didn’t want to deal with it, so I changed my major, stayed away from home, and told my dad it wasn’t going to be me. It wasn’t going to be me taking the business.
“He was so fucking pissed. Called me every hour on the hour for three days. Eventually, he stopped. I went home once, over break, and it was terrible. Screaming and yelling, telling me I was shitting on the family name. I left. I never went back to my hometown.”
Understanding creeps in.
“Tanner got the business. He didn’t want it either, but he’s better than I am. He’s so much better than I am. He’s my younger brother, and he sacrificed everything to make that business work. Wanted to design the houses, not build them. Wanted to go to school for it, but instead, he jumped right in once he graduated high school to try and give Dad a retirement sooner. He lived in a fucking trailer for years, didn’t pay himself, worked so fucking hard, and eventually got things to where they’re profitable. He saved that business, the business he didn’t want, with blood and sweat and tears simply because I didn’t want it. He’s a better man than me.” A hand goes through his hair. “Jordan, his girlfriend—she helped a ton. She’s his manager now, but he did it. He took it on. He wanted to be a designer, an engineer. Now he’s stuck running a business and doing the fucking labor every damn day.”
“Honey, that’s not your fault.”
“You gave up everything for your family.”
“I didn’t—”
“What did you want to be?” I look at him, confused. “When you were fourteen, before your mom passed. What did you want to be?” My gut drops. “Did you get to go to school?” I look away. “Lilah did, did you?” I don’t answer. “Lola.”
“I wanted to be a baker. I am a baker.”
“You’re avoiding my questions, and I know why.” I sigh. Might as well get it done.
“Lilah went to school out of state, got a degree in marketing and public relations.”
“You didn’t.”
