The First Third

by Will Kostakis

  My mind wandered. It strung our recent memories together like a greatest hits compilation, everything from Yiayia offering the Walker-Pryces food across the hospital room, to her pinching me for setting Mum up with an Anglo . . .

  I didn’t want to imagine a world without her in it.

  ‘Ama ixeres poso s’agapo,’ I whispered.

  She barely moved. ‘Xero.’ She knew.

  On my way home I stopped to see Sticks. If there was one thing that the past couple of weeks had taught me, it was that no matter how heavy and weird life got, Sticks was a constant. He was sitting up at the kitchen bench solving a Rubik’s cube by peeling the stickers off and putting them back in order.

  ‘That isn’t how you’re supposed to do it,’ I said.

  ‘A Rubik’s cube is all about problem solving,’ he said. He stuck a green square to the edge of the bench and replaced it with the yellow sticker stuck to his thumb. There was now a completed face of yellow stickers. ‘Problem solved.’

  Well, I had an urgent, Flippant-brother-related problem that needed solving. We didn’t have fifth period together and he had sixth off, so he didn’t know . . .

  ‘You remember how Peter said that I steal everything he likes to do?’

  Sticks nodded.

  ‘Yeah, he’s an aspiring stand-up comic.’

  Sticks laughed. When I thought he was done, he threw his head back and laughed some more. Eventually, he got over it and sighed. ‘You couldn’t make this shit up,’ he said.

  ‘I know. I know. The school has an extracurricular club for stand-up comics.’

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘Since Peter founded it last year.’

  Sticks shook his head. ‘Of course he did.’ He was smirking. ‘And how did this come about?’

  ‘I had to find him during fifth to tell him Yiayia’s surgery went well and he was at their meeting,’ I explained. ‘He went up on stage and he had a routine and everything.’

  ‘Was he any good?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Better than you?’ Sticks asked.

  I didn’t think I could judge fairly, so I ignored the question. ‘Basically, if I pursue a life in comedy, he’s going to find out some day and be pissed that I’ve “stolen” something else from him.’

  Sticks was scratching off a blue sticker. ‘You can’t steal something you didn’t know he owned.’

  ‘Yeah, but he’ll –’

  ‘And he can’t own a hobby.’

  ‘That won’t stop him hating me even more,’ I said.

  ‘You don’t know that he hates you. He just doesn’t communicate with you.’

  ‘What? Because he likes me?’

  ‘Fair point.’

  Sticks poked his tongue out of his mouth as he carefully re-stuck the last green square. He flashed the completed face of the cube at me.

  ‘Well done.’

  He made a start on completing the blue face. ‘You know what you have to do, right?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I do not. I haven’t got a clue.’

  He placed the cube down and looked hard at me.

  ‘If you walk out onto that stage on Thursday night, he will find out,’ Sticks said. ‘It mightn’t be right now, but at some point down the line, if you’re pursuing this career, he will find out and he will be pissed.’

  ‘But standing at the mic, there was this overwhelming feeling that stand-up was what I was meant to do, like it was my calling.’

  ‘And if it is your calling, then he can’t stop you, but that won’t stop him from thinking you’ve –’

  ‘Stolen it,’ I said.

  Sticks nodded slowly. ‘If you go to Flippant, you’re making a conscious decision to poke the bear.’

  ‘But I can’t not go to Flippant.’

  ‘Yes, you can,’ he said. ‘You just don’t go. Or . . .’ Nothing came immediately after it. He was scrutinising the option before vocalising it. It passed whatever test he put it through. ‘You could always get him to go.’

  ‘And watch me?’

  ‘No, no, get him to go in your place. He could do his routine,’ Sticks said.

  It was a good idea. As disappointing as it would be for me to give up a chance like Flippant, it’d go a long way towards repairing our relationship. But there was one problem.

  ‘They’ll know he’s not Steve Wright.’

  ‘You’re not Steve Wright,’ Sticks said.

  Okay, so there was no problem.

  I took a deep breath and knocked on my younger brother’s door. In my other hand, I held Steve Wright’s ID and the Flippant envelope.

  ‘What?’ was Peter’s muffled reply.

  ‘It’s Bill, can I come in?’

  ‘No.’

  I persisted. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ he said dismissively. Or at least, I thought it was dismissive. It could have just been the way he spoke. He could have meant ‘fine’ as in it was fine for me to come inside.

  I sought clarification. ‘Are you giving me permission?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Right.’ I tilted my head forward and rested it against the door. ‘I really think you should let me in.’

  I heard him sigh. He was walking towards me. I straightened up. He pulled open the door.

  I went to speak, but he went first.

  ‘I don’t think you understand what I’m saying,’ he said.

  ‘Well, it’s sometimes difficult to convey meaning through a door.’

  ‘Then let me convey this without one,’ he said sternly. ‘I want you to leave me alone. Don’t come on my jogs, don’t come to my gym, don’t come to my door. Okay?’

  ‘I think you –’

  He was already closing the door. It clicked shut.

  ‘Well, that was successful,’ I muttered, glancing down at the envelope in my hands. The Flippant logo stared back at me.

  ‘Go away!’

  ‘Yep, right, leaving.’

  I retreated into my bedroom, sat at my desk and exhaled.

  I’d honestly believed that he’d give me the chance to speak, but apparently, I wasn’t even worth that.

  It wasn’t like commandeering his morning jog, or ambushing him at Yiayia’s or the gym to force a connection, I was willing to sacrifice my place at Flippant – and the future it could lead to – for him.

  He would always be my little brother, the toddler who’d point at the gentleman on a unicycle sewn into my bed sheet and demand I narrate his story. No amount of dickish behaviour would ever change that. I wanted the absolute best for him, but he hadn’t even given me a chance to offer it.

  And I didn’t have any idea why.

  Not even an inkling.

  ‘You know what? No.’ I launched off my seat and retraced my steps back to Peter’s room. I slammed my fist against the door. ‘Open up!’ I bellowed. I’d never bellowed before. It sounded commanding, like you’d be stupid not to listen.

  Peter listened. He pulled open the door.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked flatly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘This constant . . . Everything you do.’ Every word came out coated in years of frustration. ‘Why is it? Give me a reason so I can fix us. You can’t keep pushing us all away like we’re . . .’ I caught myself sounding too aggressive. I softened. ‘I miss you, Peter, so, so much. Remember when we had the same room?’

  ‘I was like, two.’

  I blinked. ‘That’s your response? I say that, and that’s how you reply?’

  ‘Well, you asked if I remember, and I was two.’

  ‘I miss you.’ I spat the words out. My left leg was shaking. ‘When are you going to let me be your brother and not just someone who lives across the hall?’

  ‘Is everything okay?’ Mum called from upstairs.

  I gave Peter time to answer, me or her. He didn’t.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, stepping back. ‘Everything’s fine.’

  Peter shut his bedroom door. I shut mine.
>
  I took one last look at Steve Wright’s letter and pulled my notepad closer.

  I made a conscious decision to poke the bear.

  I visited Yiayia after school on Tuesday. She was more like herself. Her voice had recaptured its warmth and she wasn’t encouraging me to leave so she could sleep. In fact, she was disappointed I couldn’t stay longer. But when I told her I wanted to see Mum before her second date with John, suddenly I couldn’t leave fast enough.

  Waiting for the elevator, I thought of Hayley. I’d had a pretty good run of luck. It was my third visit to the hospital and I still hadn’t bumped into her, so I was quietly thankful that the universe had decided to give me a break.

  Turned out, it was just luring me into a false sense of security.

  Ding.

  The closest elevator’s doors slid open and there she was, freckles splashed across her face and blonde streaks through her brown hair.

  When she saw me, she inhaled sharply. It was her floor, but she wasn’t getting out. She was going to ride the elevator down with me.

  I wanted to take a leaf out of the Maria playbook and flee, but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she had a major effect on me.

  I stepped into the elevator and the doors closed.

  ‘Hey,’ Hayley said. ‘How are you?’

  I didn’t give her anything. I didn’t look up from my feet.

  ‘Bill, about Friday night . . . I’m sorry.’

  I still didn’t look up.

  ‘Just, please, don’t hate me,’ Hayley said.

  When we reached the ground floor, she didn’t follow me out.

  I must have opened the front door in a familiar way. ‘Is that you, Bill?’ Mum called.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Come here.’

  I followed the sound of her voice to the walk-in. Mum was standing in her underwear and heels. That close to naked, her body frowned.

  I looked away. ‘Oh, come on, Mum, put some clothes on.’

  ‘That’s my problem, I’ve got no idea what to wear.’

  ‘What time are you meeting him?’ I asked. I pointed to an outfit hanging nearby. ‘That one.’

  Mum plucked it off its hanger.

  ‘He’ll be here in thirty minutes,’ she said, stepping into the dress. She pulled it up, slipped each arm in and angled her back towards me. ‘Zip.’

  I zipped. ‘Do you know what he’s got planned?’

  ‘Dinner, I guess.’ Her heels clacked on the timber floors as she turned on the spot. ‘What do you think?’

  I was honest. She looked like a bin liner.

  She turned around. ‘Unzip.’

  I did. ‘Try the leopard-print one,’ I suggested.

  Mum kicked the bin-liner dress to the side and tried on the leopard-print number. She pulled her hair out of the way and I zipped her up.

  ‘Much better,’ she said, looking down at herself. She gave me a full rotation and I gave her two thumbs up. ‘Good. What are you doing tonight?’

  ‘Homework.’ Flippant. I still hadn’t come up with an idea for my stand-up routine.

  She exhaled. ‘All right. I’m going to wait down here until he comes.’

  ‘In thirty minutes?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  I led her upstairs and we planted ourselves opposite the TV.

  She scratched at her wrists nervously.

  As her second date drew nearer, I wondered what the protocol was. As the oldest son still living at home, did I have to meet the guy at the door? Introduce myself? Was I expected to say something like, ‘Have my mother home by x o’clock or else’?

  The programme credits rolled, which meant it had been half an hour and John was now due.

  Mum glanced at her phone. She didn’t say anything and I didn’t prompt her, but I noticed she kept checking intermittently. The pressure built with each not-so-subtle look at the time.

  He was coming, surely?

  She kicked her shoes off at eight.

  He was coming, possibly.

  She said she was starving at half-past.

  He wasn’t coming, probably.

  I opened the fridge. There was a bowl of salad on the top shelf. I fetched two forks and sat beside Mum.

  ‘You okay?’ I asked, stabbing a tomato.

  ‘I’m fine. He’s been held up at work.’ After a sec, she added, ‘He’ll call.’

  He didn’t call.

  It was almost ten o’clock when Mum peeled herself off the couch. She picked up her heels and sighed heavily. ‘I guess that’s that then.’

  She crossed the room and as I watched her disappear down the stairs, I couldn’t help but blame myself. I should have vetted him harder. I shouldn’t have rushed. I shouldn’t have pushed her into it.

  I knew exactly how she felt. Worthless, duped, lonely, desperate. I had felt it waiting for Hayley, suffering every single passing minute like a fool.

  And I had caused that.

  But not on my own.

  I switched everything off and went downstairs. I reached under my bed and scooped out an old pair of sneakers. Inside the left shoe was a tiny folded piece of paper. I carefully unfolded it. The bucket list.

  My heart stuttered when I saw Hayley’s delicate cursive.

  1. Find your mummy husband.

  I hadn’t found her a husband, but I had found her a creep who stood her up.

  2. Have Simon girlfriend in Sydney.

  Simon was still very gay and very in Brisbane.

  3. Fix Peter.

  Lost cause.

  ‘Billy Tsiolkas, you spectacular failure, you,’ I muttered.

  Okay, that wasn’t fair. It had been a big ask and a mostly ­stupid one. She’d given me her bucket list. It sounded absurd, like the beginning of a . . .

  That was it. I reached for the pad.

  So, my grandmother gave me her bucket list, I wrote.

  It was a public holiday on Wednesday, so it was the perfect opportunity to drop by Yiayia’s bedside and formally renege on all bucket-list-related obligations.

  Hayley was sitting with her grandfather. She had a magazine in her lap, her back to the door and her toddler brother playing with a set of toy cars by her feet.

  ‘Hi, Yiayia,’ I said.

  ‘Hi, darling,’ Yiayia croaked. She cleared her throat and said it again. Sounded much better.

  Hayley had twisted around in her seat. She was acting like I’d walked in on her naked.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

  I pointed at Yiayia.

  ‘No, I mean, what about school?’

  I really didn’t understand the line of questioning and really wanted to ignore her, but Yiayia was watching so I said, ‘It’s Anzac Day?’

  ‘Oh. Yeah.’ She swallowed hard and tapped her brother on the back. ‘Come on, Rory.’

  I returned my attention to Yiayia. ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked.

  Yiayia shrugged. ‘Eh. You?’

  ‘I’m okay.’ I pulled a chair close and sat down. ‘I wanted to –’

  ‘Mummy, look.’

  It was weird. I hadn’t seen Mrs Walker-Pryce or felt her glacial presence. I glanced over. No Mrs Walker-Pryce. Rory was holding a miniature sports car . . . up to Hayley. She was watching me.

  ‘Look, Mummy,’ Rory persisted.

  Hayley grimaced. ‘Surprise?’

  I was lost for words. Completely. Opened my mouth and nothing happened.

  It wasn’t news to Yiayia. She had her purse out. She passed me a twenty-dollar note. ‘You take, get ice-cream.’

  Hayley told Rory, ‘Just a small lick,’ as she handed him the soft-serve cone.

  He understood it to mean, ‘Take this and press it against your face.’

  ‘Oh, come on.’ She took the cone off him and started wiping his nose.

  I could tell Hayley wished Yiayia had suggested a less messy dessert.

  I’d stepped into an alternate reality. Hayley
wasn’t just the bubbly, freckled girl. She was a mother.

  She scrunched up the napkin, sucked in her cheeks and went cross-eyed. Rory grinned.

  ‘How old is he?’ I asked.

  ‘Two-and-three-quarters,’ she said. ‘And look, I know I should have told you, but . . .’

  She held the soft-serve near Rory’s mouth and he licked it eagerly. She pulled it away before he could dive into it again.

  ‘It felt so good,’ she said. ‘You were the first guy to treat me like a normal person. You didn’t look at me like I was trashy or stupid or some slu–’ She stopped herself before she pronounced the ‘T’.

  Rory laughed, as if he were old enough to know when his mum had censored herself.

  ‘I felt like I was sixteen again and I got carried away,’ she said. ‘It went too far, too quickly and it wasn’t fair to you.’

  ‘You should have texted beforehand.’

  ‘I should have texted beforehand.’

  ‘Mummy.’

  Hayley lowered the ice-cream again. Rory took a cautious lick.

  ‘And Rory’s . . . D-A-D?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t even think he’s told his parents,’ she said. ‘He hasn’t even met Rory, but he knows about him.’

  ‘How can he not want to meet him?’

  ‘Ben is . . . interesting.’ She took out her phone. ‘Ben Fitz­simons, or as he’d like to be known, FriendsWithBennyFitz.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’

  She turned the screen to me. ‘I am not.’

  FriendsWithBennyFitz

  wish it was summer. culd do with gettin sand stuck in wrong places, rite ladiez?;)

  2 hours ago

  She was not.

  ‘He seems like a class act.’

  ‘Oh, definitely. Now,’ Hayley turned to Rory, ‘can you hold it and lick it?’

  Rory nodded and carefully wrapped his tiny fingers around the cone.

  ‘I’m not alone. Mum helps out a lot,’ she said.

  I had heaps of questions, but I didn’t know which ones were intrusive and which ones weren’t, so I just didn’t ask any. She’d told me whatever she wanted to for now.

  ‘How’d your Mum go with that guy?’ she asked.

  ‘It went pretty well the first night. He stood her up on Tuesday though.’