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He’s wrong on like a thousand levels, and he’d never admit it, anyway, butIknow I’m right. It makes so much sense.
For a moment, I let this revelation settle in my bones and try to think of something I could say or do to ease his mind. But everything I come up with would rattle the equilibrium. No matter what his reasons are, my dad isn’t going to change any time soon. So I do the only thing that makes sense.
I settle back in my chair and change the subject.
“Did you see that write-up on Mab and Winnie inRodeo Times?”
“The one that called our ranch ‘paradise on earth’?”
I snort. “Clearly, they haven’t been around these parts in January when everything is a muddy mess of clay and cow pies.”
“I doubt you’ll miss that when you’re away at school.”
“Maybe I’ll come back to visit just to remind myself why I moved away.”
“Kerry’d make you her muffins and you’d never leave again.”
“True…”
Equilibrium restored.
One down, one to go. If I’m honest, I’ve been dreading this visit more than anything else. I’ve long suspected Brody has beenusing me as a stand-in for his little brother, and this is gonna sting.
I raise my hand and knock on the door of the Gibsons’ home early Sunday morning. It’s the first time I’ve knocked on this door in years, and it feels wrong. Like something from an alternate universe. Walker and I were encouraged to wander freely between our homes. We were family. I know his family still sees me as a second (third) son and they always will, but I don’t think I can just walk in and invade their space the way I used to. Family, always; familiar, no longer.
Brody answers, and I’m a little relieved. I’ve seen Mr. and Mrs. Gibson a few times since the funeral, but I know I make them sad. I’d been hoping by coming on Sunday morning, they might be at church and I could save them the setback.
“Hey, did we have practice?”
“Nah, I was hoping to talk to you about something. Can I come in?”
Brody shuffles backward, opening the door wide and letting me in. I’m hit with a wave of nostalgia. It smells the same. The laundry is off the side of the foyer—Mrs. Gibson does a load every morning without fail. She used to say two teenage boys kept her up to her ears in sweaty socks.
I swallow hard, and Brody leads me to the kitchen. We pass the sitting room no one sits in, covered in years of school pictures and fresh flowers. I try not to get stuck on the reminders of Walker’s young face through the years. I see a picture from our last rodeo, Walker and me sitting side by side on the fence in our full getup, arms flung around each other’s shoulders. First- and second-place buckles like always.
Brody offers me coffee. I decline the caffeine, doubting they have enough oat milk creamer for this conversation.
“I’ve been accepted to Texas Tech. I leave in a month.”
He blinks, putting his cup down on the counter. For a minute, he stares at the mug, but then his shoulders slip and he sighs, sitting down on a stool and gesturing for me to do the same. “How long have you known this?”
That’s not the question I expected.
He shakes his head, continuing, “I’ll tell you how longIknew. I knew that first ride that wasn’t, when you nearly puked all over my boots.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
He cracks a half grin. “You weren’t drunk.”
“No,” I confess. “I wasn’t.”
“I knew it, but I wasn’t sure what the deal was, so I figured I’d let you work it out in your own time. Then you showed up more determined than ever, so I went along with it.”
“I’m not him,” I say in a strained almost-whisper.
Brody’s eyes grow bright, but he doesn’t crack. “No one could be. I’m sorry you thought you had to try for my sake.”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t like that. I thought I had to try formysake and maybe for his. He left me this list—know what?” I choke on a laugh. “It doesn’t really matter. The point is the PBR washisdream, and I wanted to make it happen for him. But I can’t live my life for him, you know?”
