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I hate when she calls him that.
Absolutely loathe it.
Elliot Rivera is not, or has never been, mybrother.
A chill runs down my covered arms despite the warmth of the house and the bulk of my sweater. Memories of a time long before he was related to me try to shove to the forefront of my mind. A time of science projects and missed opportunities. Of gazes that lingered a second longer than they should and goosebumps that appeared anytime we were in the same vicinity.
Elliot Rivera is—was—many things, but I have never considered him a sibling.
Clearing my throat, I force myself to focus on what she’s saying.
“You know he likes to taste test everything, so make sure he doesn’t eat everything while it’s still cooking.”
“Sure. Will do.” I push to my feet, and tug a loose strand of hair sticking out from under my beanie. “But I–uh, didn’t know he was coming.”
“Don’t start, Todd. You said we could have the pumpkin pie. Yes, honey, of course, he’s coming. It’s our last holiday together.”
A strange mix of unidentifiable emotions tightens around my throat.
Elliot hasn’t made it to the past few Thanksgiving dinners, and before that, I was off at college halfway across the US, and couldn’t come back.
How has it already been that long since we’ve been in the same room?
It’s probably childish that I still even feel…nervous, when I think of him. Or perhaps it’s trepidation. No. Maybe excitement. A little longing?
Admitting that, even in the safe confines of my own mind, seems wrong. Like when our parents exchangedI do’s—even though we were months away from turning eighteen—it created a deep crevice in the sand. One that was vast and ever-expanding. Completely uncrossable, no matter how badly I wanted to risk it and jump across to the other side.
A heaviness weighs on my chest as I shoulder-shake off my jacket and drop it on the chair I was just occupying. “Alright. I’ll keep him from eating the food and get started on the ham and potatoes. Let me know when you’re on your way, and I’ll start the green beans.”
“Thank you, honey.”
We exchange goodbyes, and I quickly open up my music app in hopes of filling my mind with things other than Elliot. It’s bad enough that I’ll be seeing him face to face for the first time since graduation, I don’t need to work myself up with overthinking how our reunion will go.
I’m sure if he’s the same Elliot I remember during that year we were forced to live under the same roof, he’ll say “hey” and act as though he can’t see me squirming in my own skin.
I flip through my playlists till I find one that’s supposed to get me motivated to hit the gym, but instead only ends up inspiring me to deep clean my entire apartment. The upbeat melody fills the kitchen as I set my phone down on the counter and strip off my hat, and kick off my boots.
It only takes a few minutes to unpack the groceries I brought and get the other food started before I realize I’ve forgotten about an old crush-turned-brother, and start wondering what life will be like without my stepdad, Todd, warming the recliner in front of the fireplace. It was one of the few things he’d brought over when they moved in, and if I remember correctly, it was a non-negotiable.
It’d been so funny watching my mom try to hold in the grimace tugging at her features.
Our quaint, two-story home is in a neighborhood built on the natural slope of a hill. Its face is covered in warm brown bricks with matching siding and black framed windows. Long curtainless windows line the front, the paved drive is natural cobblestone, and the garage is constructed from dark wood slates and illuminated by soft yellow lights. It’s modern and sleek, as is the inside.
Todd’s chair is mountain man meets mechanic and is the complete opposite of the chic modern decor my mom worked hard to create. The chairs’ worn brown leather has long been buffed away to show the tan underside. Various small rips and cuts decorate a good twenty percent, but most are covered by an equally well-loved checkered blanket.
There wasn’t a day that went by that he wouldn’t sit in it while yelling at a football game with Elliot or watching a baking competition with me. He also sat there and went over college applications with us and helped me work on my scholarship stuff I didn’t understand at the time. It’s crazy how, in just a year’s time, it’d become such a staple in my life during high school.
I’ll miss that chair, but more importantly, I’ll miss what it represents.
Overwhelmed with a sudden urge to sit in it one last time, I spare a quick glance over the food to make sure everything is fine before walking around the counter and into the living room.
My fingers graze smoothly over the top of the back before catching once on a torn piece of fabric as I move to the front. I sink down into the well-loved seat, and can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.
There was only one other time I dared to sit in this chair.
It was on one of the few occasions he and my mom went out for a date. I’d accidentally fallen asleep to Twilight.
I remember it through a bit of a sleepy haze, so the details aren’t the clearest, but something distinct I won’t ever forget was the fingertips and soft chuckle of my stepbrother.
