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“Don’t worry. I won’t.” My grin can’t stretch any wider.
Much to Libby’s chagrin, my father financed my entire education. He was thrilled when I pursued higher education. The fact that I became a psychologist, with its fancy PhD requirement, was like icing on the cake. He’d probably pay for another degree if I asked him.
I could be a professional student.
“It’s good to take a break sometimes,” my father interjects.
He sounds so relaxed that it takes me a minute to realize he’s defending me. A quick glance at Libby reveals she’s as surprised as I am.
He ushers us onto the back deck as if he’s desperate to keep us together.
It’s one of those winter days where the sun is shining and the temperature almost hit sixty. Libby has a couple of huge heat lamps, but it’s such a comfortable evening that they’re hardly necessary.
People are in small clusters on the deck and spilling into the yard. Food is set up on a table off to the side, but most people seem to just be chatting. Kyle is standing nearby and my youngest brother, Steven, is out in the yard. They’ve both grown since I last saw them. I suppose that’s typical for teenage boys.
“Kyle,” my father says loudly, interrupting my brother’s conversation with a pretty girl. “Look who’s here.”
Kyle looks at me blankly for a second. He’s either forgotten who I am, or he’s surprised to see me. Neither are the reaction I hope for when I’m visiting family. I’d sink into the ground if I could. If I had heeded my instincts, I could have avoided this entire debacle.
He leans forward and whispers something to the girl. With a grin and a nod, she slips off the deck and joins a small group off to the side. Kyle takes a few steps toward us, a weak smile on his face.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” he says.
His words are polite, and yet they make me want to cringe. I hate that this is my relationship with my brothers, all formality and cordiality, without the warmth of genuine connection.
“I wanted to wish you a happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” he replies awkwardly.
The silence stretches painfully as we all stand together, looking at the festivities. Libby breaks first, hurrying to greet a couple who just arrived. It’s unlikely that she’ll acknowledge my presence again.
The three of us are left watching her. I glance at Kyle. He keeps his gaze firmly averted. Is it loyalty to his mother that makes him so uninterested in having a relationship with me? Or something else?
“Kyle made varsity this year,” my father says like he’s trying to spark conversation. It’s not usually one of his strengths, but this time he succeeds.
“Varsity?” I ask.
“Football.” Kyle kicks a pebble off the deck.
“You play football?” I’ve never heard him mention football. How did I not know he played? He played soccer as a boy. I remember my father dragging me along on Saturday mornings to watch his games. They were tremendously boring.
“I started last year.”
“He’s a catcher,” my father says.
Kyle snorts. “It’s called wide receiver.”
“You catch the ball, don’t you?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Varsity as a sophomore. That’s impressive,” I say.
“We aren’t very good, so it’s not as competitive as it could be.”
“You won half of your games.” My dad pats Kyle on the shoulder. “And you scored eight goals.”
“Touchdowns,” Kyle and I say together.
