"Yeah," I assured him, making a mental note to stop at the store the next day to grab a new one. "I'm gonna fix it tomorrow."
"Pinkie swear?" He held up his pinkie and offered it to me.
"Pinkie swear," I nodded, wrapping my finger around his.
He breathed a sigh of relief, but his eyes remained on the ruined disc in my hand. I tucked it gently into my pocket before laying my hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.
"Did you brush your teeth?" I asked.
"Uh-huh."
"You sure?"
His eyes looked to the ceiling, studying the paint and light fixture as he ran through the sequence of the night. "I went to the bathroom, peed, and brushed my teeth."
"Okay, go back upstairs and into bed. I'll find another movie for you to watch before I head home."
“I wanna go home with you,” he told me, and I noted that in all the years I’d lived outside of this house, he had never said that before. Never expressed an interest in leaving these walls.
“Maybe you can sleep over one day this week,” I offered.
“I wanna sleep over every night.”
With those words ringing loudly in my head, I coaxed him back into his room and under the covers. I put on The Goonies and after saying goodnight once again, headed home way later than intended. All to take care of him. To do the things my parents wouldn’t.
Lying in bed, I browsed social media. Since Shane's mention, the hype had died down, which hurt with a faint flick against my ego. It was a reminder that the world we live in today, is full of people with short attention spans and the need for instant gratification. But I moved on just as quickly. It was for the best. I'd gotten a handful of new clients, and that was fine. A handful was manageable, for now. Soon, if my parents had their way, I wouldn’t need to devote any time to Jake. No more picking him up, no more dropping him off. No more staying late at my parents’ place to help care for him.
The thought was a knife, thrust deep between my ribs. Scraping bones, piercing my heart, digging deep until I thought I'd die. What the hell would I do with myself, if he wasn't around? What the hell would I do with all my time?
I posted a picture of Ryan’s tattoo from earlier today. The dagger against his sternum had been painful but worth it, he'd said, and I was pleased with the work. Delicate lines and heavy shading created the image of something that could've been used in the darkest of fairy tales, and I nodded with self-approval.
I continued to browse the pictures on my feed. Tattoos done by Cee, Gus's daughter Kara, and a few other shops in the area. But, it didn't take long to grow bored with the posts from the few people I followed, and my attention was drawn toward browsing other black ink tattoo artwork.
The artists I found from around the world were brilliant and masterful at their craft. They received great amounts of praise in the comments, their follower counts were plentiful, and I could only imagine that their list of clients kept them in very comfortable lives. They deserved it and their art spoke for itself. But the more I browsed, the more it occurred to me that, while they were excellent, so was I. I don't think it'd ever dawned on me before, that my skills were easily on par with some of the greats. And wouldn't I be able to do more for Jake, and myself, if I was making more money? Maybe I could even convince Mom and Dad to let him stay with me, if I could prove myself to be a more reliable support. But even if my parents insisted on putting him in a facility, which I would fight tooth and nail, I could at the very least ensure he'd be put in a suitable one ... If I was making more.
My wandering mind drove my fingers to find Shane's Instagram page. The picture of his tattoo I'd done was liked well over a thousand times, with nearly four-hundred comments of praise. There wasn't a single bit of negativity from what I could see and a sensation I hadn't felt in a long time, maybe ever, swelled in my chest and overflowed, sparking the prick of tears against my eyes.
I was proud. Absolutely and completely proud of something that I'd created.
I could feel like this all the time, I thought. Hell, I should feel like this all the time. It felt good, and didn't I at the very least deserve that? To feel proud and good about my work?
Without a moment's hesitation, I opened my inbox, found my conversation with Shane, and typed out a message: Hey, man. So, I was thinking about that interview. If the offer still stands, I’d love to do it. Give me a call. Hoping to hear from you soon. – Blake
Chapter Eleven
JAKE WAS AT my place for a sleepover when my phone rang. It was Shane and I couldn’t miss his call. So, I answered, hoping Jake could contain himself long enough for us to have a conversation. But I should’ve known better. Shortly after the formalities were out of the way, my brother was badgering me with desperation, and my patience was wearing thin.
"Blake, Blake, Blake." Jake had my name on repeat, trying to grab my attention, and in a huff, I pulled the phone from my ear.
"Jake. Buddy. I need you to be a little patient right now, okay? I'm on the phone." I sighed at the blank expression on his face and said into the receiver, "Sorry about that, Shane."
He chuckled and replied, "It's all good. I have kids, myself."
"Oh, uh—"
"Blake, Blake, I need—"
I groaned and finally shouted, "Jake! Please, give it a rest, okay? Give me two minutes!"
I don't know what I’d been thinking, taking this call in the house. I should've stepped outside. Jake had zero understanding of patience or of the concept that I could too busy for him, and the constant interruptions were not only frustrating but embarrassing as well.
When he opened his mouth to speak again, I hurried into my room and shut the door behind me, locking it for good measure.
"Fuck. I'm really sorry. I thought it wouldn't be a problem talking here, but if it'd be easier, maybe I should give you a call when I'm at work."
"No, no, it's cool. Seriously." He was nothing but friendly, and I relaxed a little before he added, "How old?"
My brows lowered as I sat on the bed. "Huh?"
"Your son, how old is he?"
My head lifted with the realization that he thought Jake was my kid. "Oh, no, I don't have any kids," then I stopped myself. "Well, not exactly. That's my brother, Jake—Jacob."
"Oh! My bad, man. So, your brother is younger, right?"
Shane was making innocent, casual conversation. It was no different than how you'd get to know anybody else. But for me, these questions felt intrusive and invasive. I wanted to ward them off and defend myself, tell him it was none of his goddamn business. But Dr. Travetti was right, I get too defensive when I don't need to be, and so I took a deep breath instead.
"Uh, well, no. Not exactly. He's my twin brother." Immediately I realized how ridiculous and confusing that sounded, and I scrubbed a hand over my face before explaining, "He's disabled."
Shane's surprise was blatantly apparent as he replied, "O-oh, sorry, dude. I didn't realize."
I shook my head and felt the cocktail of irritation and embarrassment creep over my neck and onto my face. "It's fine."
"Maybe we'll talk about that in your interview," Shane suggested, and I began to sweat, despite the window being cracked open. "I mean, if that's cool with you. I'm just curious to know how that has affected your art."
My jaw clamped shut and my molars ground together. "I'd rather not. I don't talk about it much."
"Oh, yeah, of course," Shane hurried apologetically. "Sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned it. That was a dickish move."
"It's cool," I muttered, laying my forehead in my palm.
"Anyway, so I'm heading back up to Salem in a couple of weeks to hang out with Cee, sometime around Halloween. Would you be able to get together then for the interview?"
I nodded to the nothing surrounding me in my room. "Yeah, that works for me."
"Awesome, man. I'm looking forward to it. Thanks so much for reconsidering, by the way. I'm fucking excited. The response from the ink you did on my leg has been i
nsane."
I grunted my acknowledgement. "Yeah, I've been watching on Instagram. Pretty crazy."
Shane laughed boisterously. "You're so casual, man! God! I feel like I could tell you Ozzy fuckin' Osbourne wanted to get ink from you and you'd just be like, yeah, that's cool. You have a crazy vibe, I fucking love it."
I narrowed my eyes toward the wall. Nobody had ever mentioned my vibe before, and now, two people in less than a week had said something. It was a coincidence, I knew that. Life was all just a pile of accidents and coincidences that sometimes made sense and at other times, total chaos. But right now, I could distinctly feel my brain start to tip toward a belief in more. I shook my head to get that crazy shit out of there as quickly as I possibly could.
"Yeah, so anyway," he went on. "I guess I'll give you a call in a couple of weeks. Sound good?"
"Sure, yeah. That sounds great."
"Awesome. You take care, Blake. Can't wait to make this shit happen with you."
We hung up after our quick good-byes and with the sudden silence, I could hear Jake shuffling around and breathing outside my door. I sighed, thrusting my fingers into my dark hair, and granted myself two more seconds just to breathe. This ... Life ... In an instant, it just felt so heavy, laying on my back and weighing me down. I wanted to double over, collapse under its heft and give up.
But if I didn't take care of things, nobody would. So, I pulled in a breath, pushed myself to my feet, and opened the door.
"What's up, buddy?"
With big, worried eyes and a pout fixed to his lips, he looked like a lost, abandoned dog. Like I'd shut him out, never to let him back in, and the guilt of that, of putting something—myself—above him, left me burdened with a fresh bout of shame. I waited for him to respond, and when he didn't, I wrapped an arm around his shoulders and sighed.
"Come on, let’s go make dinner. What are you in the mood for?"
“Miss Thomas said she eats breakfast for dinner. She’s wrong. You can’t eat breakfast for dinner.”
I snorted, leading the way into the kitchen. “You can eat breakfast whenever you want, man. So, is that what you’re saying? You want pancakes for dinner? ‘Cause I’m totally down for pancakes.”
“Okie dokie.”
I opened the fridge. “Okie dokie. Pancakes, it is.”
***
"We're gonna stop at Jolie Tea on the way to school, okay?" I said, parking the car.
Jake checked his digital watch. "I'm going to be late. I don't want to be late."
"We have almost an hour before school starts, buddy. You won't be late," I assured him, as we got out of the car. I gripped his bicep and steered him toward the sidewalk. "And hey, maybe I'll get you one of their cookies."
"Cookies aren't for breakfast."
"Yeah, but you already had breakfast," I reasoned. "This is like, a snack before lunch."
"Snacks should be tasty and healthy."
I shrugged casually. "Okay, fine. Sorry I tried to be a nice brother."
We walked through the door of the quaint shop. The delicate scent of freshly brewed tea wafted along the air, and I smiled at the familiar faces behind the counter.
"My favorite brothers!" Mindy exclaimed, her ponytail bobbing as she moved to the register. "What can I get for you guys today?"
"Hey, Min. I'm out of my tea," I told her as Jake stood obediently beside me.
"So, you need four ounces of vanilla Earl Grey, right?"
"You know it," I replied with a smile as I heard the door jingle open from behind me.
"Anything else?" Mindy asked as Stella, the other employee, assisted the next customer, saying, "Good morning! What can I get for you?"
"No, I think that's everything," I said.
"You sure? No macarons for this guy?" She smiled sweetly at Jake, who responded with a shy curl of his lips.
He began to speak, then Mindy went to respond, but my ears weren't picking up on their brief correspondence. Instead they'd pricked at the soft melody of the other voice in the shop, and I turned my head, acutely aware of that sound.
"Hey, can you recommend a good green tea? My cousins have been going on and on about this place but I only drink—" Before she could finish her thought, Audrey noticed me staring and her eyes brightened with the spread of her grin. "Oh, my God, Blake! Hi!"
"Hey," I replied, swallowing hard and wishing I'd picked another day to stop by and grab my tea.
She cocked her hip and continued to grin. "You know, I never would've pegged you for a tea drinker."
Another swallow before I cleared my throat. "Oh, no?"
She shook her head. "Definitely not. I totally would've thought you'd be a coffee guy. Black, no sugar," she said in a mocking tone, deep and sultry. Her playfulness should've been catching, but my legs and feet begged for me to leave, and their urgent message to my brain kept me from smiling along with her.
Because this wasn't a Saturday night when I was allowed my time to be myself, vibe-less Blake. This was the middle of the week and a part of my routine that offered zero opportunity for this. Social pleasantries. Casual conversation. I had to work. I had Jake.
"Nope, not into coffee," I muttered, curling my lips in a curt, dismissive smile before turning my attention back to Mindy and Jake. He was scarfing down a macaron and I raised an eyebrow. "What happened to no cookies in the morning?"
"I made him an offer he couldn't refuse," Mindy replied, smiling fondly at my brother. "It's on me."
"Thank you," I said gratefully.
"Let me just get your tea and I'll ring you up."
"Awesome," I replied, and thanked her again.
I watched as Mindy hurried around the small shop, purposely keeping my gaze from settling on the short, blonde woman beside me. To look at her would've been to grant myself the permission to settle deeper under her spell. I couldn't have any of that. My mind would be liable to think further into signs and the possibility of Fate—fuck you for planting that seed, Dr. Travetti.
But even as I refused to look at her, I still listened. She was buying a cup of their Ocean Breeze green tea, iced, and a variety sampler of other green teas they had to offer. She yammered on about how much she just loved green tea and how she preferred its light flavor over the strength of black teas. The suggestion that she'd maybe enjoy a white tea bit at my tongue, begging to escape, and I was satisfied when Stella took the words right out of my mouth.
"Oh, I've never had a white tea!" Audrey exclaimed enthusiastically.
Mindy glanced over her shoulder as she weighed out the loose tea. "Blake, didn't you really enjoy one of our white teas over the summer?"
I ground my fingernails into my palm, angry that I'd been dragged once again into conversation with this woman. But a smile masked my irritation as I replied, "Oh, yeah, it was the strawberry white. Jake really liked it."
"That's right," Mindy responded with a smile. "Then you drank it all on him. Remember that, Jake?"
"Blake drank all the tea," Jake laughed with more exuberance than necessary. "He said he didn't like it and then he drank all the tea."
He clapped his hands as he laughed, and I laid a hand on his shoulder to settle him down. My eyes shifted toward Audrey, not wanting her to judge or scrutinize, as unholy as that would've been for a good, cross-wearing girl like her. Not that it’d ever stopped Christians from passing unfair judgment before. Yet, when I looked at her, I saw nothing but affection and acceptance in her pale blue eyes. That simple piece of twine I held onto thickened and pulled me in closer, further into her energy and radiating light.
"Who's this good-looking guy?" she asked, addressing Jake with the kindest smile I would never deserve.
I hesitated before saying, "This is my brother, Jake."
"Hi, Jake," she said, extending her delicate hand. He observed her fingers for a moment, unsure of what to do, and I leaned into him.
"Buddy, you shake her hand. Remember?" And solely for demonstration purposes, I took Audrey's hand in mine and shook,
unsuccessfully ignoring the sprinkle of electricity that encouraged the hairs along my arm to stand on end. "See? Like this."
Audrey smiled and released my hand to try again with my brother. He accepted this time and shook her arm aggressively. She laughed, a sweet sound, as I gripped Jake's wrist to still his assault.
"Whoa, man. You wanna shake her hand, not dismember her."
"What's your name? I'm Jake," he said, ignoring me and the fact that I’d already told her his name.
"It's very nice to meet you, Jake. My name's Audrey."
Jake nodded, looking from her to me and back to her. He was watching us both intently, staring studiously with that look he got sometimes. The look that told me he knew something and was unable to verbalize it in the way he’d like to, in a way I’d understand. I wanted him to stop. I wanted to shake him and tell him to knock it off, because there was no reason he should be looking at her that way. There was nothing to see here and nothing to dissect. She was nothing more than a traveler, passing through my life more times than welcome, and I needed him to stop looking at her right now.
"Blake," he said, gripping my shoulder and shaking me with urgency. "Blake."
"What's up, buddy?" I asked, passing Mindy my debit card.
"I like her color. She's yellow. Pretty yellow. Like flowers. She's like a flower, Blake."
I stilled at the innocent analogy. There was beautiful simplicity in the comparison. She really was a flower, beautiful and seemingly untouched by the ugliness this world could offer. It was all the reason I needed to grab my bag from Mindy, thank her, and hurry out of there with my brother in tow. Just to get the hell away from her, to keep her beautiful and unsullied by me.
Outside, I hurried Jake along, insisting that we were going to be late for school, even when we had plenty of time to spare. It didn't surprise me when I heard the quickened gait behind me and her voice. Her fucking voice.
"Blake! Wait up!"
I pretended to ignore her when my brother turned. "Hi, Audrey!" he shouted, waving his arm, and I hadn't wanted to punch him so much since we were kids.
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