had said.
Alex had shut him down cold, but Shane wasn’t a kid anymore either, and he’d talked for thirty minutes straight. Somehow Alex had found himself saying he’d try, and then he’d straight-up promised that he’d come.
“Fuck,” he said, stepping into the spray of hot water with a growl. A goddamn memorial service for a man who’d been dead twenty-five years. A way for his mom and brother to hold on to the man a little longer.
Sure, Shane had apologized. He’d sworn that things had changed. Even their mother was getting better, he’d claimed. In fact, this service would help her close the door on her obsession forever. This was the end of it, for everyone.
That was the only reason Alex had come. To end this. And if Shane was for real, maybe they could talk a couple of times a year. Meet up for a drink once a decade. And when someone asked if he had any family, Alex wouldn’t have to say no.
He rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the tension that the Scotch and steam weren’t touching, but they stayed as tight as ever. Six hours strangling the grips of his Triumph T140 couldn’t be shrugged off that quickly, not when he was heading straight toward the source of his stress.
He scrubbed some soap across his head, cleaning the week’s worth of hair and thinking he’d shave it again when he got settled somewhere else, then he soaped up his face and decided he couldn’t be bothered shaving that either. Let his appearance match his mood. He didn’t owe anyone more than that.
He was out of the shower in two minutes flat, but an hour later, he was still lying sleepless on the bed. The ceiling stared blankly at him, the white, textured anonymity of a thousand other places. He was used to the sight. Every once in a while he lucked into a place with faux-wood paneling and he could at least count the seams, but not today. He couldn’t even summon the will to jerk off.
His buzz was already fading and he knew he wouldn’t sleep, so Alex got up, dressed and headed out to grab a burger. After that, there was nothing to do but drive to his mother’s house and see if anything had really changed.
* * *
HE DIDN’T KNOW he’d been hopeful. He would’ve denied it if anyone had asked. But the disappointment rolled over him in a cold, deep wave.
Things weren’t better. Nothing had changed.
Actually, that was a lie. His mother had gotten older. Thirty years older, despite that it had only been sixteen. She was only sixty-five, but she was shrinking in on herself and had gone totally gray.
“Alex!” she said brightly, stretching up to give him a tight hug. “I missed you so much. But I knew you’d come back to us.”
Yes. Of course she’d thought he’d be back. She’d always “known” that about his father, too. Lucky for Alex, she wasn’t batting zero anymore. At least he hadn’t been dead this whole time, even if his dad had.
He patted her awkwardly on the back.
She’d always been affectionate, and he’d always felt ungracious about it, but he knew why now. Her affection was too desperate, too overwhelming, as if she could will you to return her intensity. She’d been that way about her pain, too. She wanted you to share it or it wasn’t real enough.
Alex let her go and stood straight to force her arms off.
When she’d opened the door he’d gotten a glimpse inside her house, and his first impression was confirmed when she let him in. The place was tiny, but it had looked only a little run-down from the curb. But inside? Inside it was packed with papers and smelled stale. If she wasn’t obsessed with Alex’s dad now, she was obsessed with something else.
Alex stepped reluctantly inside. He was going to kill his brother.
“Oh, honey,” his mother gushed. “There’s so much left to do. Your father deserves this honor so much and I want it to be perfect. We need to discuss your eulogy and what—”
“Eulogy?” he snapped.
“Of course, Shane will speak first since he’s the oldest, and then you’ll speak. I’ll be the last to go. I have so much to—”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
She didn’t seem to register his tone. She turned and moved in a stiff, awkward gait toward the far side of the little living room, then started digging through a pile of papers. “I’ve only gotten half of it written, and I still need to put together the program. I’d hoped to have that done last week.”
Alex blew out a long breath. He’d been tricked. His mom hadn’t gotten over her husband’s disappearance at all. Oh, she’d had to accept that the man was dead, since Shane had found their father’s remains himself, but that clearly hadn’t stopped the madness.
What exactly did his mom think Alex had to say about the man? From what I remember, he was a decent father, but I must’ve been wrong since he got himself killed while running off with some floozy.
Alex watched his mother read frantically over the papers in her hand, her lips moving. He recognized that bright-eyed fever. It had taken up half his childhood.
He didn’t even turn around when the door opened behind him. “You said she was better,” he said flatly.
“Alex.”
Despite his anger, he didn’t resist when Shane spun him around and grabbed him in a hug. In fact, Alex didn’t even resist hugging him back. Shit. Shane had taken care of him all those times when their mom had shut herself in her room for days. Shane might’ve tricked him, but the man was still his big brother.
Though Alex might actually be the bigger one now. That was a little disorienting. Shane had always seemed huge to Alex.
“Jesus,” Shane said, pulling back to hold Alex at arm’s length. “What the hell happened to your hair? And your baby face?”
“The hair’s still there somewhere. But I lost the baby face a long time ago.”
“I guess so.” Shane slapped his shoulder. Hard. “Christ. Look at you.”
“Look at you,” Alex said. “You look good.” He did. Shane had grown a couple of inches himself, and he’d gotten a lot stronger, but there wasn’t any gray in his hair yet, and the lines around his eyes seemed to be from smiling. He’d always been the charming one.
Still. “This isn’t what you said it was, Shane.”
Shane’s eyes drifted past his shoulder and his smile faded. He lowered his voice. “She was getting better. I don’t know what’s going on.”
“This is better?”
“No. Two months ago she seemed more stable...I mean it,” he insisted when Alex shot him a disgusted look. “She’s been seeing a psychiatrist for a while. She apparently has something called borderline personality disorder. It makes her...extreme. I don’t know. The doctor thought this ceremony would be a good idea since Mom wasn’t exactly stable when we interred Dad’s remains last year. Closure and all that.”
“Closure. For her? Or you?”
Shane
