by T. J. Klune
He sighs. “Fine. When this party starts to suck, and the Kid is embarrassed because he’s having the worst time ever, don’t come crying to me when he tells you he wants to come live at my house.”
I snort. “If he says that, you can have him.”
Creed picks up a ring pop and shoves it into a Scooby Doo bag. Then his eyes light up. “We could have Otter do it!”
Anna throws a dollar-store toy, and it bounces off his head. “That would be even worse! Besides, Otter would never dress up like a clown. He has at least a little dignity, right?”
Creed scowls. “Hardly. All he does now is mope like a goddamn teenage girl. Anytime I’m home, he’s in his room with the door locked. I’m telling you guys, he got worked over really bad in San Diego. I thought the whole point of having a gay brother was that they were supposed to be all cool and shit. I’ve got a defective gay.”
“Didn’t he have a boyfriend or something?” Anna asks. “I thought he lived with someone.”
“He did,” Creed says. “Jacob or Josh or something like that. He mentioned him a few times. He tells me to mind my own business every time I ask about it now. Naturally, I keep pushing. He’s bound to crack sometime.”
“I’m sure if he wanted to talk about it, he would,” Anna admonishes. “Just leave him alone, and he’ll come around.”
“He better,” Creed warns. “Sad fags are boring fags.”
“Don’t say fag,” Anna tells him. “It’s rude.”
He rolls his eyes as he shoves a Jolly Rancher in his mouth. “He’s my brother. Besides, you know what they call us?”
“What?”
He leans forward and whispers, “Breeders.”
“Creed,” I say, “you’re a moron.”
“Yeah, what can you do? But seriously, Josh or Jacob messed him up. You guys break up all the time, and you don’t pout.”
“Just because you’ve never had anything long-term in your life, doesn’t mean you can take it out on those that do,” Anna snaps at him.
He scoffs. “I could if I wanted to. But do you know how many easy girls there are at ASU? And that’s just on my street.”
“You’re a pig, Creed.”
He smirks at her. “You love it.” He glances at me casually. “Why don’t you talk to Otter?”
“About what?” I mutter, trying to tie a rubber band around a finished party bag.
“You know, about his problems and stuff. For some reason, he’d always listen to you even though your advice was less than stellar.”
The rubber band breaks and snaps against my fingers. Rubbing them, I glare at Creed. “‘Less than stellar’? I give great advice.”
“You told me that girls like it when we were mean to them!”
“We were in the third grade! And I didn’t tell you to kick Suzy March in the stomach!”
He laughs. “It worked, didn’t it? Six years later she took my budding flower.”
“Creed!” Anna screeches as I laugh.
He smiles and looks like Otter. “Well?” he asks me.
“Well, what?”
“Talk to Otter for me. You haven’t even seen him since you yelled at him.”
Anna looks at me funny. “When did you yell at Otter?”
“I didn’t,” I growl, even though I sort of did. “Creed has it in his head that I told Otter off the night you saw him.” Another rubber band breaks, and I throw it down on the table.
“Did you?” Anna asks.
“No!” I almost shout.
“Whatever,” Creed says. “Anna, you should have seen the way Otter looked when they got back. I swear to God, Otter was about to cry, and Bear looked all pissed off. I don’t know why nobody tells me anything anymore.”
“Why tell you when you automatically know anyways?” I retort.
Anna looks at me and then back at Creed. “Would you go get the rest of the stuff from my car?” she asks him. He groans and holds his hands out for the keys. She hands them to him.
“Talk to him, Bear,” he calls out over his shoulder as he heads for the door. “Someone has to, and it’s evidently not going to be me. Who else is there besides you?”
Why doesn’t he just call Josh or Jacob? I think darkly before I can stop myself. I’m sure he can talk to him just fine.
“Bear?” Anna says softly.
“What?”
“Why are you so pissed off?”
“I’m not,” I mutter.
“That’s like the sixth rubber band you’ve broken in two minutes.”
“They’re shitty rubber bands.”
“What did you say to him?”
I sigh. “I didn’t say anything to him.”
“What did he say to you, then?”
“Nothing, Anna. Can’t we just leave it alone?”
She reaches out and puts her hand on mine. Only when she does this do I see how badly I am shaking. She has to notice. “He’s our friend, Bear. I know he kind of messed up by leaving, but he’s our friend. Creed’s right: you should talk to him.”
“Why me?” I say, pulling my hands out from underneath hers. “What would I say that’s any different than what you’d say?”
Anna looks at me pointedly. “Because he listens to you. He always has.”
“Bullshit he does. He’s always done whatever he wants to.”
She sits back in the chair. “You know that’s not true.”
“Then why’d he leave?” I say, more harshly than I mean to. I feel a bead of sweat drip down the back of my neck. Get a grip! I warn myself.
Why’d he leave? the voice whispers. You told him to! Tell her, Bear. I’m sure Anna would have a wonderful insight into the matter, what with her semester of Psych. Maybe she could even tell you why you’ve never been able to erase that kiss from your mind. Wouldn’t that be fun?
Anna begins to fill another bag. “I’ve been thinking about that again. I think Creed’s right when he said that there’s more to it than we know. The Otter I know wouldn’t have let his parents affect him too badly. He could have just moved out. Creed said he’d already turned down that job after he heard about your mom, but two weeks later he’s gone? There has to be something else.”
I don’t answer her.
“Bear?” she asks. I look at her, trying to keep a mask on. She must see something shifting below the surface, because she hesitates. I think that’s a good thing, until she opens her mouth anyway, and I feel a low panic bubble right below the surface. “Did you see Otter before he left?”
My mouth is dry. “What do you mean?” I say quickly. “We all saw him all the time before he left.”
“That’s not what I meant. It’s something Ty… told me after he left. I didn’t think much of it because of everything else that was going on but….”
“What’d he say?” I asked, not wanting her to answer.
She appears to choose her words carefully before she speaks. “He said… he said that the night before Otter left, he was at your house. He said he could hear you guys arguing. I thought he must have been dreaming or something because you’d said you hadn’t seen him that night.”
“When did he say this?” And why didn’t I know?
“I was babysitting him while you were at work, and I asked him if he wanted me to call Otter to say hi. He said no because he knew you were mad at him. He said that Otter wasn’t going to come home again because you didn’t want him to.”
“I….” I don’t know how to finish.
There’s a beat, a pause, an infinite moment, then, “Bear, did Otter ever try and flirt with you?”
“What?” I say, incredulous. “Of course not! He knows I’m….” My voice trails off weakly.
“He knows you’re what, Bear?” she asks gently.
“He knows that I’m not like that!” I say forcefully. “It’s not my fault he left!”
Anna winces. “That’s not what I meant, Bear. It’s not your fault or Ty’s. It’s his. I just didn’t know if you knew more than you were sa
ying.”
“Why would I lie, Anna?” I scowl.
“I’m not saying you are. I just… think Creed is right. I think something else happened.”
“Why don’t you ask Otter, then? It seems like if he had a problem, people should be asking him what it was, not me.”
“I did ask him.” Oh God.
“And?”
She plays with a ring on her finger. “He said that he just needed to get away.”
I get up and go to the fridge, pretending to be thirsty but really hiding the relief that spreads across my face. “There you go,” I tell her, closing my eyes against the cold air flowing from the fridge. I want to crawl inside and shut the door. “What more do you want him to say?”
“I don’t know, Bear!” she says, sounding annoyed. “I want him to feel like he can tell us anything. There’s no reason he had to go through it alone, especially when you needed him to be there.”
I grit my teeth. “I didn’t need him for anything.” I grab a can of soda and close the fridge and walk over to the counter, pulling down a glass from the cabinet.
I feel her arms wrap around me, and she lays her head on my back. I try not to tense, but I can’t help it. She rubs my stomach underneath my shirt. She laughs quietly into my back. “Same old Papa Bear.”
“Yeah, same old me.” I turn and kiss her on the forehead, and I can feel her smiling into my neck. Maybe now she’ll drop it.
“He did say one other thing,” she says, and I freeze.
“Oh?” I choke out.
“He said that he’d thought he’d lost his only chance to be happy. He refused to explain it any further. I wonder what he meant by that.”
On the outside, I am flustered. On the outside, I am at a loss for words. But on the inside, isn’t there something? Something… I can’t quite put a finger on? His only chance? He can’t have meant….
No matter how hard I try, I can’t finish the thought. It’s in a dark place, a hidden place, and I don’t have the energy to go looking for it. I feel an odd mix of dread surrounding a warmth growing in my stomach. It has a name, but I won’t be the one to name it.
His only chance?
I hear Creed crashing in through the doorway. “Bear! Bear!”
“What?” I call back, relieved by the distraction.
He runs into the kitchen, a panicked look on his face. “Ty just got off the bus!”
“Oh shit,” I mutter and run to the table, starting to shove all the party toys and decorations into the bags they came in. Creed and Anna are laughing as we throw everything into my mom’s old room, but I see that Anna glances at me curiously every now and then. I wonder if it’s because she realizes I’d never actually answered her question. I’d never actually denied having seen Otter before he left.
He said that he’d thought he’d lost his only chance to be happy.
What had he meant by that?
HAVE you ever tried to throw a surprise party for someone? It’s nigh fucking impossible to actually have it end up being a surprise because sooner or later, the person figures it out. Someone will tell them, or they’ll find some kind of evidence, or they’ll just see how weird everyone is acting. Then there’s the nonchalant way that you have to get rid of them for just a little bit so you can set up for the damn party. You tell them to go do something with someone, and you’ll meet up with them later. Now try doing this with a kid who has abandonment issues, who clings to you almost every waking second. On his birthday.
That said, the Kid was totally surprised.
We’d had birthday parties for him the last couple of years, but this year, I got it under my skin for some reason to want to do something big. I’d been saving for four months to make sure I could get everything I wanted. I even got some random magician to come out and do magic tricks (I know, I know. You’re thinking how is that any different than having a clown? Well, a magician doesn’t wear face paint and haunt your dreams). We decorated the hell out of Creed’s house, and it looked like we’d robbed the damn party store. It was a little much, especially when I realized that we had run out of the ten rolls of streamers I had bought. And then there was the fact that pretty much everyone in Ty’s grade had shown up. There were almost a hundred people in the house when Anna called to tell me they were on their way. I’d gotten everyone to park at a church that was down the street. That parking lot had never been that full, not even on Sundays.
I crowded everyone into the entryway and living room in the house. I stood in front of them, trying to get everyone to be quiet, and caught Otter grinning crookedly at me, watching me trying to shut up forty kids. I made sure no one was looking, and I flipped him off. He chuckled.
So you’ll talk to him? Creed had asked me a few days after the conversation at my house.
Can’t it wait until after this damn party?
Yeah, but make it soon okay? I’m getting sick of Depressed Otter.
You really think it’ll make that big of a difference?
I think it will. I think you need it too.
What do you mean? I had asked, slightly annoyed.
You might be the only one Otter will listen to, but I know for a fact he’s the only one you listen to.
I hadn’t asked him to elaborate.
So there I stood, waving my arms frantically, wondering why in the hell I had seen fit to invite so many children, being absolutely sure one of them had spilled the beans. I heard Anna and the Kid walking up the front path to the door. I heard Ty preaching to Anna about something, and I ran, trying to find a spot to hunker down. I was running past when a hand reached out and snatched mine, pulling me down. Otter almost pulled me down in his lap.
“Oof,” I grunted.
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all.
He didn’t let go of my arm, and I only had two seconds to wonder when his hands had gotten so big when the door opened and the house erupted in screaming and chaos. I jumped up, shouting incoherent babble, and noticed the exact second when Otter’s arm left mine, and he roared next to me.
Have you ever had that many people yell at you at one time? No?
It’s loud.
I saw Ty and Anna both reel back, and she told me later it was like hearing a sonic boom pass overhead when you’re least expecting it. Ty almost leapt from his skin, and I knew we’d pulled it off when he went slack-jawed and stared out at everyone. Creed rushed forward and threw him up in the air. Even in mid-throw, I could see him looking around for me, so I went and stood next to Creed, who set him down. The Kid put his hand on the exact spot where Otter had. He tugged at my arm and pulled me down to whisper in my ear above the noise.
“Bear,” he said, “is this all for me?”
I ruffled his hair and said, “You bet your ass it is.”
Then he grinned, and the past four months of scrimping every cent I could was worth it.
WE’RE sitting in the backyard, kids all spread across the grass, watching the Amazing What’s-His-Name pull a rabbit out of his top hat. The kids shriek with laughter, and the parents clap politely, and Creed leans over and hisses, “How is this better than a clown?”
“At least I won’t have to count all the children when he leaves to make sure he didn’t take one with him,” I hiss back.
He looks at me incredulously. “Did you not see the van he rolled up in? And that fake mustache he’s wearing? For God’s sake, Bear, you should probably count regardless.” I punch him in the arm.
The magician takes a bow and promises to be back in a little bit. The kids disperse, and my Kid comes running up to me and launches himself into my arms, talking about a billion things at once. He then wiggles out of my arms and runs with some boys from his class to a jumping castle that Creed had randomly rented. I told him I would pay him back for it. He told me to shut the fuck up.
Anna appears at my arm. “Hey,” I say, putting my arm around her shoulders.
“Hey, yourself,” she says back. “I can’t believe you really pulled this
off.”
I snort. “You mean we pulled this off.”
She looks over at Ty, who is bouncing off the walls of the castle. “Did you see the look on his face? I thought he was going to pass out.” We all laugh as Ty attempts to do a somersault and fails miserably. “I’ve never seen him like this before,” she says.
I know what she means. Since the party started, he had been running up and down the backyard, a state of perpetual ecstasy etched across his face. He had come up to me every now and then, but only to tell me about what he’d just done before taking off in the opposite direction. He hadn’t been at my side for more than a few seconds. I grin as I feel kind of sad at this.
“It’s been a while,” I say.
Creed chokes on his drink next to me. I look over as he points to Otter, who is surrounded by kids, all who seem to be trying to climb up on him at once. We can hear him yelling from where we stand as he collapses under a sea of tiny ankles.
“It’s too bad,” Anna says.
“What is?” I say distractedly, watching Otter try to right himself when Ty appears out of nowhere and tackles him from behind.
“That he’ll never have kids of his own. He’d be a good father.”
Otter picks up Ty and swings him around by his arms, and the Kid screams in happiness, spinning round and round and round.
IT’S five hours later, and I’m realizing why people don’t throw surprise parties with this many people in attendance. Where before the house had been festive and bright, it now looked like a graveyard where parties go to die. I sigh as I open another garbage bag, the sixth in the last half hour. Creed is grumbling as he picks up a discarded shoe that had somehow been left behind. I swear, though, it has nothing to do with the magician. I counted.
I look in through the window into the living room and see Ty asleep on the couch, surrounded by wrapping paper and gift bags. I don’t know how the hell I am going to get all this shit home. I don’t know where we are going to put all of it when I do. I’m already thinking ahead to next year, vowing to have the party at my apartment, where only a few people can come. This is ridiculous.