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“Busy with what?” I asked before I could stop myself.
When Dad announced about a year ago that he was leaving Queens, where he had spent most of his life and where Olly and I had been brought up, to move to Philly, Olly had announced he wasn’t leaving. He also informed us that, unlike me, he wouldn’t be taking the college route. And we’d supported him, encouraged him to search for what it was that made him happy. I’d even helped him out with rent and living expenses until recently. But he struggled to find his calling. He struggled to keep a job for more than a few weeks, too.
The line was silent for so long that I feared he’d hung up.
“Olly?”
Another sigh came.
“Listen,” I said, every single emotion brewing inside of me coating that one word. “I’m not attacking you. I love you, okay? Youknow I do, more than anything. But you’ve ignored me for weeks, only sending me short quick texts so I wouldn’t lose my mind and report you as a missing person.” And I would have. Isowould have if it had come to that. “So, don’t tell me you’ve beenbusyand expect me to take that as an explanation, please. Don’t—”
“I’ve been busy with work, Rosie.”
Hope inflated my chest for a second there, but it was quickly stifled by a hundred dozen new questions.
“That’s great,” I told him, pushing my concern down. “What kind of job is it?”
“It’s… at a club. A nightclub.”
“A nightclub,” I repeated, forcing myself to remain objective. “As a waiter? You tried that and…” Quit about three weeks in. “You tried that, and it didn’t work. At a café, remember?”
“I’m not serving drinks,” he explained. “I’m doing something else. It’s… hard to explain. But I’m making a good living out of it, Rosie.”
“I don’t care how much you make, Olly. I care about you being happy. About—”
“I am, okay? I’m not a kid anymore and you don’t need to worry about me.”
I was close to scoffing at hisyou don’t need to worry about me, but I held the sound in. Olly was an adult, and I understood his need for boundaries. His wish not to be babysat. But I was still his big sister, and he was still the kid I used to feed Froot Loops to for dinner when our fridge was empty, and Dad was working night shifts. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll drop it.” Then added, “For today.”
He muttered a half-hearted, “Thank you.”
“So, listen.” I veered the conversation onto a safer ground. “I was thinking of grabbing a few sausage rolls and heading to Philly today. Surprise Dad with brunch. What about joining me? You could be back by evening. How about I meet you at the train station and we go together?”
A beat of silence, then he asked, “Aren’t you supposed to go to the office today? It’s Monday.”
I winced, silently cursing myself for my careless slip.Oh, crap. “I… yes. You’re right.” And he was, technically. What Olly—or Dad—didn’t know was that for the past six months, I hadn’t been calling InTech’s Manhattan headquartersthe office. “But I have taken the day off. Just today. My boss is… more flexible with my time off now that I’m, you know, a team leader.”
“Ah, yeah. My big sis is a boss-lady now. That’s right.” He chuckled and I wished I heard that sound more often. I wished I wasn’t lying to him and he wasn’t keeping things from me, either. “So that promotion you got last year is working out for you, huh? Planning on climbing even further up the ladder, big sis?”
“Oh, I have no plan to do that, believe me.” Not when I had, in fact, climbed down and off the ladder. Stretching my legs, I set both feet on the floor and got out of bed. “So, are you coming, then? To Dad’s?”
“I…” He trailed off, which was indication enough that I was about to be let down.
“Please, Olly. I have something I want to tell you. Both of you. And Dad misses you. I’ve been covering for you for weeks and I’m running out of excuses. Please, come.”
He sighed. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”
Ah, progress, I hoped. “I’ll text you the train timetable, yeah? We can meet at the station.”
“Yeah,” he answered, the earlier hope flaring up in my chest. “I… love you, Bean.”
Bean. It had been ages since he’d called me that. “I love you, too, Olly.”
And with those parting words I set to get ready and go confess the truth to the man who had worked multiple jobs to give my brother and me a good life after he’d been left on his own with us. The man who had raised us, alone, after our mother had taken off and left us behind. The man who had put me through college with the sweat of his brow and a determination of steel. The man to whom I owed the financial security my engineering degree had given me until recently. Until that day six months ago when I took a leap of faith to change my life. My career.
Oh boy.
How did one tell such a man that I had decided to quit the stable, well-paid position he—and I—had worked so hard for, only to chase dreams that were nothing more than ink on paper?
