Under Wraps

by Louisa Keller

  He looked thoroughly fucked out, and we’d just been kissing.

  Ainsley opened his mouth, probably to ask why the hell I’d pulled away, and I nodded toward the wide-open door.

  He let out a shaky little laugh and ran a hand through his mussed hair.

  “Carson Powell, you are going to be the death of me.”

  I cracked a small, pleased smile.

  “What a way to go, huh?”

  “What a way, indeed,” he agreed.

  “So, will you come into town with us? And rope Beauregard in too?” I asked, vaguely remembering that I’d had a motive when I came into Ainsley’s room.

  Right, I thought, get them to all forget their differences over drinks. It’s still a solid plan, even if I’d rather fuck Ainsley into the mattress.

  He sighed, but nodded.

  “I’m considerably worried about the fact that you can convince me to do this kind of thing.”

  “Glad to see my powers of persuasion are still firmly intact,” I shot back with a grin. “Meet you downstairs in ten minutes? I’m driving.”

  The bar was a dive.

  I had picked it out for that exact reason—putting us all on the same level. Nobody had to fork over ten dollars for a beer, or make small talk with cheery servers. We each went up to buy our own drinks at the bar.

  Four different tabs, no money talk, no interruptions.

  It was a solid plan, but it only took about two minutes to go to shit.

  “So,” I said, addressing Beauregard who was sipping an IPA. “Ainsley told me that you run the US side of things for your philanthropic foundation. What’s that like?”

  Beauregard smiled at me in a very polished and professional way.

  “Lots of managing other people, rubbing shoulders with potential donors, traveling around the country to check on projects,” he took a long draw of his beer before continuing. “The day-to-day is actually quite boring, although I do enjoy the opportunity to spend so much time meeting new people and exploring areas I have never visited before.”

  Dom snorted, throwing back most of his old fashioned.

  “Something to add, Dominic?” Beauregard said, quirking one eyebrow.

  “You expect me to believe that you’re bored at work?” Dom sneered. “You’re a goddamn billionaire, man, if you don’t like your job, you can just quit. Live off your trust fund or whatever.”

  I kicked Dom under the table and he turned his glare on me.

  “Give them a chance,” I muttered, nodding toward Ainsley and Beauregard.

  Dom sighed, rolling his eyes.

  “Alright, fine, I’m sure it’s really dull running a philanthropic corporation or whatever,” he conceded.

  “Foundation,” Ainsley corrected automatically.

  I held my breath, waiting for Dom to fire back, but he just nodded stiffly.

  “Foundation, then.”

  “Dom, tell them about your work,” I said encouragingly.

  He shot me a filthy look.

  “They don’t give a shit about my videos.”

  “You won’t know until you give them a chance to decide for themselves,” I said with fake enthusiasm.

  This was starting to grate on me.

  “Videos?” Ainsley asked, clearly making an effort solely because of me. “Are you still acting? Carson told me about Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.”

  “Uh, no. That was just for fun,” Dom said, looking surprised.

  “He and his boyfriend are YourTubers,” I interjected, “they make videos about queer culture and traveling as a gay couple.”

  Beauregard’s eyes lit up.

  “Are you serious?” he asked. “That sounds amazing.”

  “It’s really cool,” I said, trying to build up enough momentum for the conversation to stand on its own two feet. “They just got back from a couple of weeks in Honduras before we headed down here.”

  “I spent a few summers in Honduras back in the nineties,” Ainsley chimed in, looking genuinely interested. “Near San Pedro Sula. I volunteered in medical clinics and perfected my Spanish language skills. It is one of my favorite places that I have visited.”

  There was a beat of silence and then Dom said, “I was in elementary school in the nineties.”

  Ainsley looked like a deer in headlights, right up until Beauregard and I both burst out laughing at the same exact moment.

  “Christ, Ainsley, we’re old in this crowd,” Beauregard choked out, slapping his brother on the shoulder.

  Ainsley let out a nervous little laugh, and then relaxed into it.

  “I suppose most of our cultural touchstones will be different then,” he ventured, and I extended my leg, brushing our ankles together under the table.

  “What were you doing when Clinton was elected?” I asked the table at large.

  “I was writing my undergraduate thesis,” Beauregard said.

  “I was a sophomore at Dartmouth,” Ainsley added.

  “Bro,” Dom said to me, laughing, “you and I were in diapers. Literally, I think we were like, two?”

  Ainsley flushed scarlet at that and choked on his hot toddy.

  Jesus Christ, a hot toddy. I would have to give him hell for that later.

  “What about 9/11?” Beauregard asked, valiantly keeping the game going.

  I made a mental note to thank him later.

  “Hmm…in 2001? I was in sixth grade,” said Dom.

  “Yeah, I thought I was a hot shot because sixth graders were the oldest kids in the school,” I said.

  “Good lord, I think I was the age you are now when 9/11 happened,” Ainsley managed to get out, looking rather bewildered.

  I rubbed our ankles together again, smiling softly at him.

  Careful, I thought, keep it together or they’ll notice.

  But Dom and Beauregard were busy thinking of the next cultural touchstone.

  “How old were you when Sixteen Candles came out?” Beauregard asked.

  “Dude, I wasn’t born yet,” Dom said, shaking his head. “I literally wasn’t around for any of the eighties.”

  “Well Ainsley here was in middle school, and I was a freshman in high school,” Beauregard said. “And let me tell you, Molly Ringwald was all we talked about.”

  I smirked at Ainsley, who flushed an even deeper red.

  “Is that so?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “Molly Ringwald, huh? I’d much rather daydream about Michael Schoeffling.”

  “Mood,” Dom said emphatically.

  “Okay, okay, what about when the first Harry Potter book came out?” Ainsley asked, not looking at me, but running his foot slowly up my calf.

  “I was in second grade,” I said, trying to suppress a shudder. “Pretty much the target demographic. God, you must’ve been out of college by then, huh?”

  “He was,” Beauregard agreed, “but that didn’t stop him from reading it about a million times. Such a nerd.”

  “If liking Harry Potter makes you a nerd, then sign me up for nerd-dom,” Dom announced. “Don’t shit on books just because they’re written for kids.”

  And just like that, Dom had inadvertently defended Ainsley.

  I drained my cider and nudged Dom out of the way so that I could exit the booth and head up to the bar for a refill.

  “Ask them how old they were when Space Jam came out,” I suggested as I walked away.

  It was cool at the bar compared with the heat of the four of us huddling around a table, and I took a grateful breath.

  “Another dry cider, hon?” asked the bartender, smiling at me.

  “Yes please.”

  She eyed our table and gave me a knowing look.

  “Seems like you’ve got your work cut out for you. How did you end up playing mediator?”

  “Oh god,” I groaned, putting my face in my hands. “You heard us?”

  “It’s a Tuesday night,” she pointed out, “it’s pretty much just you four and a couple of regulars who keep to themselves. So, entertain me, tell m
e how you got roped into this role.”

  I bit my lip, considering how much to spill. Surely, she wouldn’t spread any of this around.

  “The bitchy one with the glasses is my best friend. More like a brother really,” I began. “And I’m falling hard for the guy with the perfect stubble. Their parents just got married to each other, and it hasn’t exactly been smooth sailing.”

  She smirked at me.

  “Your friend know you’re falling for his new stepbrother?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth,” she handed me my cider and grinned, “these things usually come out whether you want them to or not. But in my experience, it all works out as long as your heart’s in the right place.”

  “Thanks,” I said, genuinely grateful for her little nugget of wisdom—whether or not it was actually true.

  When I got back to the table, I expected them to still be on the same topic as when I had left. It had only been a minute or two, after all.

  But I should’ve known better.

  Ainsley was speaking, his voice heated.

  “—and what gives you the right to pass judgement on me?”

  “I’ll judge whoever the fuck I want,” Dom snapped, “if they condescend to me. You think just because I didn’t grow up at a fancy boarding school with nannies waiting on me hand and foot, I couldn’t possibly be smart or cultured or emotionally intelligent.”

  “What are they fighting about?” I hissed.

  Beauregard shrugged.

  “Same bullshit they’ve been fighting about since Sunday. Your friend is a piece of work, man.”

  “Hey, watch it,” I said sharply. “You haven’t exactly gone out of your way to make him feel welcome here.”

  “If someone’s going to throw a tantrum because Ainsley made a joke about him being an infant when Space Jam came out, I have a feeling he’s going to find an excuse to throw a tantrum no matter what,” Beauregard reasoned.

  Goddammit, Dom, I thought angrily.

  “You called him an infant?” I asked Ainsley, raising my voice so that all of them could hear me.

  Ainsley glowered at Dom.

  “It was a joke, I had no intention of offending him.”

  “Oh, right,” scoffed Dom.

  “Jesus, you two need to lay off each other,” I snapped. “Seriously, this is getting out of hand. We’re all adults, I shouldn’t have to babysit you every time you’re in the same room.”

  “Well if he—”

  “Dom,” I begged, “just let it slide. Give Ainsley the benefit of the doubt for two seconds. He was joking.” I turned to Ainsley. “And you, don’t antagonize Dom just because he’s reactive. It’s juvenile.”

  Beauregard looked impressed.

  “Looks like there’s a diplomat among us,” he observed.

  “Nope,” I said, taking a long drag of my cider and sloshing it down my shirt. “Just a pissed off guy who was hoping to actually relax on vacation.”

  Fuck.

  Now I was covered in sticky cider and looked like an idiot.

  “Well, if they hadn’t come, maybe we could actually relax,” Dom said thunderously.

  “Right, because you’re such a laid-back guy,” Ainsley scoffed.

  “He is, actually,” I said snippily, “when he’s not so stressed out. So, give him a fucking chance, okay? There’s literally no reason for you all to hate each other. And I’m getting sick of it.”

  An ache was creeping into my clavicle as I stood there, and I realized that my posture must be incredibly tense. My right hand leapt up to massage the sore area and both Dom and Ainsley’s anger seemed to melt into concern.

  “Carson,” Dom tried, but I shook my head.

  “Get your shit together, guys. I’m going outside for some air. When I get back I expect civility.”

  I slammed my drink down on the table and stomped out of the bar.

  The night air was lovely against my flushed face.

  I opened the passenger door and fished around in the glove compartment until I found the ibuprofen. Slamming the door closed, I swallowed the pill dry.

  Without really thinking about it, I sat down on the hood of my car and looked up at the stars spread out above me.

  Seattle didn’t really have stars. Or rather: Seattle had too much light pollution to allow for satisfactory stargazing.

  But out in the Deschutes National Forest, tucked away in a small town named after a pine tree, I could see a million tiny pinpricks of light in the sky.

  I recognized some of them.

  Orion.

  Leo.

  Ursa major.

  Hydra.

  But most of the stars just stood out brightly against the inky sky, beautiful to my untrained eye, but incomprehensible.

  It was nice and quiet in the parking lot, a lovely reprieve from the battle raging inside the bar. I was sick of all the fighting, all the infantile behavior.

  How could two people I cared for so deeply, hate each other so much?

  I lost track of how long I was lying there, letting my tension and pissiness drain away, but eventually I heard footsteps crunching across the gravel toward me. Reluctantly, I sat up.

  Dom.

  He was standing there, his head hung, contrite.

  “Bro,” I said softly, peering at him in the dimly lit parking lot. “What’s going on with you?”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, climbing onto the hood next to me but not making eye contact. “I’ve been such a pain in the ass the entire time we’ve been here. It’s not fair—you came because I asked you to. I should keep my shit together.”

  “You should,” I agreed. “But not because you feel like you owe me for coming along. I wanted to spend time with you and Sydney. I’m worried about you because it’s so goddamn out for character for you to be acting like this. Is there something else going on? Something more than just being worried about Sydney?”

  His breath shook as he sucked it into his lungs, a harsh rattle in the peaceful night.

  “You know this is the first time I’ve been away from Smith since he and I moved in together?”

  “Huh,” I said, propping myself up on my elbows. “I hadn’t really thought about that, but I guess you’re right.”

  “It just feels like everything’s changing in my life. In the last year I’ve fallen in love, helped me mom heal from a heart attack, moved in with Smith, decided to ditch my own YourTube channel to start a joint one with him, and now I’m about to start traveling all the time to really get this channel off the ground.”

  I nodded, watching him carefully.

  “That’s a lot of change for one year,” I agreed.

  “It feels like so much of who I was is gone. I’m this new person, doing all these things I’ve dreamed about for my entire life, but there are all kinds of challenges along the way. And I’m so used to being around Smith every single day that being away from him for a week is sending me into a tailspin. I’m a mess, and it’s coming out as all this petty fighting with Ainsley and Beauregard.”

  “That makes sense,” I said softly. “But you know that doesn’t mean you can keep doing it, right? Like, you should let yourself off the hook and practice self-compassion, and also try to extend some of that compassion to them. Because this situation is strange and unsettling for them, too.”

  “I know.”

  “And,” I continued, “as the person mediating all of your fights, I need a break. I love you so much, you’re my brother. But I also like them, and want to get to know them this week. If you all keep fighting, I’m going to have a nervous breakdown and I’m pretty sure Ponderosa, Oregon isn’t the best place for a breakdown.”

  He choked out a laugh, hoarse but joyful.

  “You’re the best brother I could’ve asked for,” Dom said, bumping his shoulder against mine. “Even though we didn’t even meet until college.”

  “Ditto.”

  He shifted beside me restlessly, and I sat all the way up.<
br />
  “We should go home. I think a good night’s sleep would do you a world of good,” I said.

  “You should stay here,” Dom countered. “Like you said, you want to get to know them. Maybe it’ll be easier without me here throwing a wrench in things.”

  I thought back to that morning at the waterfall. Yes, it had certainly been easier to get to know Ainsley without Dom there.

  But I wasn’t ready to admit that just yet.

  “Are you sober enough to drive?” I asked, giving him a stern look.

  “Totally. I only had one drink.”

  “Fine,” I said, fishing my keys out of my pocket and tossing them to him. “We’ll get a Lyft or something. Text me when you’re home safe.”

  “Will do.”

  I headed back inside and ran headlong into Beauregard, who was on his way out the door.

  “Oh, sorry Carson,” he said. “We were planning to call a car and head back to Abshire Manor. It seems like tonight is a bust.”

  Ainsley was just behind him, looking at me cautiously.

  “Dom’s driving home now, wanted to go to bed. I was going to stick around for one more drink if you guys want to stay,” I offered.

  “I suppose I could manage one more,” Ainsley said, his expression brightening.

  Beauregard shook his head.

  “I’ve had all the excitement I can handle for one night,” he said, “you two have fun.”

  And then Ainsley and I were making our way back to the vacated booth.

  “I’ll grab the first round,” I told him, winking.

  “The first round?” he asked skeptically.

  I looked around theatrically.

  “Babe, this is the first chance we’ve had to drink alone together. You think we’ll be satisfied with just one drink? It’s time for a drinking game.”

  He sighed, pretending to be deeply put-upon.

  “Fine, I will take another hot toddy,” he said primly.

  “Like hell you will,” I argued. “You can’t play a drinking game with a hot toddy.”

  “I am already losing interest,” Ainsley sighed.

  “Don’t worry, you’re going to love it,” I promised. “You trust me to pick the drinks?”

  He narrowed his eyes, but shrugged.

  “If you bring back anything neon or green apple flavored, I’m never kissing you again.”