Love Redesigned

by Jenny Proctor

  “You talked to . . .?” Heat rose in my cheeks. Having a conversation with your brother about why you and your boyfriend split up in the presence of said boyfriend was not a good idea. Imagining him talking the whole thing over with my mother felt even worse.

  My shoulders slumped. “You should have told me.”

  Isaac didn’t even break eye contact. “I did tell you.”

  “You didn’t—” My argument froze in my throat. Technically, Isaac was right. It was nothing but my own judgments against Isaac’s professionalism that had led me to assume he’d only needed Alex for tax purposes.

  “We haven’t kept it a secret, Dani,” Isaac said. “He’s been on the show a few times. In pictures on Instagram. I think we both figured you knew.”

  My eyes darted to Alex who lifted his shoulder in a shrug.

  So this was on me?

  If I was a better sister, followed Isaac’s career more closely, I’d have known my ex-boyfriend and twin brother were new best friends?

  Moisture gathered in my eyes and I squeezed them shut, not sure if it was the injustice of their accusation or the truth behind it that triggered the tears. I willed my emotions to settle; neither reason was good enough to cry in public.

  “It wasn’t enough,” Alex said softly. “I shouldn’t have agreed to work with Isaac without talking to you first. That’s on me.”

  Warmth surged through my chest at his admission but acknowledging as much felt like a betrayal. I wasn’t supposed to feel any warmth toward Alex. It had taken me a solid six months to get to the point where I could even think of him without wanting to scream. Warmth of any kind could not creep back in. It was too risky.

  The conversation shifted to more neutral topics, which would have been a relief had Isaac not called me Dandelion no less than five times. It was a nickname assigned to me in childhood when he and his friends decided my light blonde hair, when frizzed by heat and southern humidity, looked like dandelion fuzz. The nickname had stuck around way too long. He knew I hated it. And because he was still a toddler, that hatred only fueled his desire to use it.

  “Have you talked to Mom lately?” Isaac asked, midway through the main course.

  I put down my fork and slid my plate forward, happy to latch onto a subject as benign as our parents. “Not since last week,” I answered. “Have you?”

  “Yeah, yesterday. But just about house stuff.”

  “What’s wrong with the house?” My parents had been out of the country on an extended tour of Europe—which sounded way too fancy for our middle-class upbringing—for close to six months. They’d converted their house into a temporary vacation rental before leaving and hired a management company to do the heavy lifting, but Isaac still ended up making decisions, overseeing repairs, and doing other tedious stuff that made me grateful I lived out of state.

  “One of the renters reported a ceiling leak through the vacation rental website. It’s minor, and the house is still functional, but we’ll have to fix it eventually. Before hurricane season, for sure.”

  I studied my brother. The way he spoke of the repairs so matter-of-factly, without any disdain or annoyance, felt . . . different. I would have expected him to grumble about the extra work or make some snide remark about cleaning up after our parents while they basked in the European sunshine. But there wasn’t a trace of malice in his voice. Before I could reflect further on the why behind Isaac’s behavior, the check arrived, and Alex picked up the tab.

  “I can cover mine,” I said, reaching out for the check. “Please. I want to.”

  Alex shook his head. “It’s a business expense. Isaac’s business expense and I promise he can afford it.”

  Before I could argue further, Alex cleared his throat and motioned over my shoulder to Isaac. I turned around and saw a man in a bright blue bomber jacket and yellow-tinted aviators walking toward the table. Isaac stood and greeted him with a weird handshake turned half-hug shoulder pat thing. “Rizzo. Good to see you,” he said. He motioned for Rizzo to join us at the table.

  I looked at Alex, eyebrows raised in question. He gave me an apologetic look and shrugged his shoulders as if to say it wasn’t his idea for Rizzo to join us.

  “The pleasure’s all mine,” Rizzo said. He nodded a hello to Alex—they’d apparently met before—then turned his attention to me. He lifted his sunglasses, revealing a pair of dark brown eyes and thick, curly lashes. His mouth lifted in a sly, half-grin. “There is a beautiful woman at the table that I have not met,” he said. He looked at Isaac. “How can we amend this situation?”

  Amend the situation? Who was this guy?

  “Rizzo, this is my twin sister, Dani,” Isaac said. “Dani, my friend, Rizzo.”

  It still wasn’t clear why Rizzo was at our dinner table, but it didn’t take long for me to figure it out. Apparently, he was a YouTuber like Isaac, only with more subscribers, and more overall success. Rizzo really liked to talk about himself. He’d been invited, by Isaac, to join us to finalize details of a charity event Isaac and Alex were planning to which Rizzo had been asked to contribute.

  That enough was a lot for me to wrap my brain around.

  Isaac was planning a charity event?

  “So I’m not a hundred percent sure I’m following,” I said, as soon as there was a break in the conversation. “How does the scavenger hunt play into the actual party? And it’s all happening here in New York?”

  “The five YouTubers that are acting as sponsors,” Alex said, “two of whom are Isaac and Rizzo, are from all over the country. New York felt like a great place to meet up. Plus, we needed somewhere populous for the scavenger hunt to work—somewhere with no shortage of people that could use help.”

  “The scavenger hunt?”

  “So here’s the basic gist of it,” Isaac said. He leaned forward, both elbows on the table and excitement in his eyes. “We’re calling it the Compassion Experiment. Each YouTuber will sponsor a team of five people. They can choose their team however they want. Auditions, random selection, whatever. It’s up to them. All five teams will report to the main event, happening Christmas Eve here in New York. The time will start, and each team will head out into the city. Instead of looking for certain things, the teams will have to accomplish certain tasks. Charitable stuff. Acts of kindness. They’ll document it as it’s happening, and we’ll live stream the video feed from each of the teams online, and at the main event. The winning team, whoever completes the tasks and makes it back first, wins twenty grand.”

  “But more importantly,” Alex added, “all the proceeds from the entire event will be donated to charity. All the ticket revenue, which should be substantial, plus everything from the auction. It will all be donated.”

  “The auction will conclude that night, at the main event, but it will also be happening online,” Isaac said. “Which is kind of the beauty of the entire thing. People at home will be able to attend virtually and participate from wherever they are.”

  “Right.” Alex picked up where Isaac left off. “And there will be entertainment throughout the night as well. We’re still working to line up a few acts connected to the YouTube community, but we’re hoping to get at least one big name that might draw in a new audience.”

  I perked up. My piano playing Elliott Hart had gotten his start on YouTube. He was legit famous—had risen far above YouTube notoriety—but I couldn’t keep myself from asking. “Entertainers like Elliott Hart?”

  Isaac didn’t know to make fun of my question or he probably would have. But Alex immediately smiled. He knew firsthand how much I loved Elliott Hart and, from my influence, had quickly become a fan himself. I felt a sudden urge to share the advanced copy of Elliott’s new album that Darius had given me with Alex. The second track was a classical interpretation of a Coldplay song he would love.

  “I actually asked the same question,” Alex said. “But we think he might be a little more than we can afford.”

  “Even for a charity event?” I said. “It can’t hurt
to ask, right?”

  “Elliott would be great, but his fans are mostly millennials and younger, the same age bracket where my audience already hangs out,” Isaac said. “But Red Renegade is releasing a revival album next year. I’m kind of thinking a Christmas Eve performance would be a great way for them to reach a new, younger audience.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Red Renegade, the band you idolized for all of seventh and eighth grade? Weren’t they kind of old, even back then?”

  “They were not old. They were amazing. Are amazing,” Isaac said.

  Alex leaned toward me. “Red Renegade is even more of a stretch than Elliott Hart. I’ve tried to reach out to their agent but haven’t gotten a response. From what I understand, the band hasn’t performed together in years.”

  I almost asked him if he’d tried texting Darius but thought better of bringing it up in front of Isaac. It would for sure get his hopes up, and even with Darius’s connections, odds were probably still low.

  “Either way,” Isaac said, “we’ll figure it out.”

  “What charity will it benefit?” I asked.

  “It’s an organization called Thrive,” Isaac said. “It focuses on increasing educational and social opportunities for underprivileged neighborhoods through mentoring and outreach programs.”

  I nodded. “They have programs in Charleston, don’t they? I recognize the name.”

  “The Charleston chapter has been very supportive,” Alex said. “They put us in touch with the Thrive national leadership team, who recommended a corporate event planner who has coordinated charity events for them in the past.”

  “We have a meeting with him tomorrow,” Isaac said.

  I studied my brother carefully. He was excited, that much was clear. But something didn’t add up. Not with the Isaac that I’d always known. My confusion over his mature handling of our parents’ roof repair suddenly tripled.

  “So, what’s in it for you?” I asked.

  Isaac stared without blinking. “You would ask that, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’m not judging, I’m just asking. Surely there’s a benefit to you if you’re going to all this effort.” Maybe I was judging. But this was Isaac we were talking about. Isaac who, in my mind, wasn’t all that different than he had been eight years ago at age seventeen. His show and channel had evolved over the years, but it was still basically the same thing, none of which struck me as very adult-like. Climbing into an ice bath full of lemon-lime soda. Setting his own hair on fire. Fitting fifty-seven cinnamon bears into his mouth at one time. A massive charity event just for the sake of charity didn’t feel very . . . congruent.

  It was Rizzo that finally volunteered an answer. “Money,” he said smoothly. “An event generates attention. Attention brings subscribers. Subscribers bring hits, hits bring cash. Simple as that.”

  Isaac didn’t look up. “That’s not—” He sighed. “Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Obviously exposure is never a bad thing,” Alex said cautiously, “and there will be multiple internet personalities involved so Isaac’s fan base does have the potential to grow, but we’re trying to approach this as more of a giving back scenario.”

  I was momentarily distracted by the soothing lilt of Alex’s voice, the way his g’s were almost silent, the way his words rolled into each other like tiny ripples of sound. Isaac and I sounded Southern—but not next to Alex. Our mother was from Maine; we grew up sounding more like her than our Lowcountry father. But Alex was all South Carolina. A longing deep and intense swelled inside my chest. I missed home.

  I forced my brain back to the conversation in front of me. To the way Alex had called Isaac an internet personality instead of just a YouTube star. Somehow, he’d managed to give the entire thing an air of professionalism I’d never associated with Isaac before.

  “So, will . . .” I wasn’t sure how to formulate my question. “I mean, I think it sounds amazing, but do you think there’s that kind of money in your viewership? The kind of money that attends charity events? Or buys stuff at an auction?”

  Isaac looked at Alex. “See? I told you she wouldn’t get it.”

  I backpedaled. “I didn’t say I didn’t get it. I think it sounds amazing, like a really good idea, I just—”

  “No, it won’t be the kind of event where people wear LeFranc dresses,” Isaac said with a measure of contempt that made me uncomfortable. “I know it’s hard for you to imagine life outside your fancy, high-end fashion world, but the point of this entire event is for it to be accessible. It’s going to be for regular people. For regular fans. Anyone who can get to New York.”

  “And anyone else who wants to watch the live stream,” Alex added. “We had a photoshoot today with Isaac, Rizzo, and the three other hosts to create some promotional material. We’re confident the event will be well-attended, and well-watched from home.”

  I had so many doubts. So many questions. So many reasons to think this was a terrible idea, headed for miserable and certain failure. But I knew better than to doubt my brother again. At least not out loud. He had a lot riding on this; I could tell. “I think it sounds really amazing,” I said.

  Isaac looked up and met my gaze, a question in his eyes.

  “Truly. It’s a good idea.”

  He shrugged, noncommittally, but the lift of his eyebrows told me he was pleased to have my approval.

  The rest of the evening was easier. Lighter. Oddly enough, Rizzo influenced the mood for good. For a brief moment, I almost forgot I was at a table with a brother I didn’t really get along with and my ex-boyfriend. I didn’t even mind the stories Isaac told about growing up as a twin.

  “So many stupid questions,” Isaac said. “Do you have the same thoughts? Do you have a secret language?”

  “Are you identical?” I chimed in.

  “Oh, that one always killed me,” Isaac said. “And then when we’d say no, people would come back with something like, ‘oh, yeah, I guess your eyes aren’t the same color.’ Right, right. Eye color is absolutely more definitive than gender.” He pressed his hands against his forehead. “I mean, seriously, people.”

  “I’m intrigued by the idea of always having someone around like that,” Alex said. “I was mostly an only child, at least when I was in Charleston with my dad.”

  “But you had your stepbrothers in New York,” I said.

  “Who were genuinely awful at every turn.”

  “That about sums up having siblings,” Isaac said.

  Rizzo and I laughed, but Alex didn’t. He just sat there, his lips pressed into a tight line. From what he’d told me about his childhood in the past, and it wasn’t much, I didn’t think the awful he’d referenced was the same kind of awful Isaac and I had been to each other. We’d fought like only siblings could, but ultimately, we came from a loving family. Our parents taught us to respect each other, to love each other. We didn’t have to like the same things or have the same friends, but we had to have each other’s backs, no matter what. That’s what being a family was all about.

  I only half-listened as Isaac started another story, my thoughts stuck on Alex and his relationship with Victor and Gabriel. Alicio’s sons both worked at LeFranc so I saw them around the office occasionally. Gabriel, I didn’t mind too much. He was the quieter brother, always polite and quick to say hello when he passed by, but Victor made me want to jump out of my skin. The way he looked at me. The way he spoke with entitled arrogance and contempt. Even worse, the way he looked at Sasha, who would soon be his stepmother.

  “I seriously thought I was going to have to throw a rock through the window to get their attention,” Isaac said, pulling me back to the present. He scraped up the few remaining crumbs on his dessert plate with the back of his fork. We’d already paid the bill, but Rizzo had ended up ordering a bottle of wine for the table and desserts all around. “There I was, trying to do the kind and decent thing by giving them a heads up,” Isaac continued, “and they don’t even look up. They keep going at it, han
ds and tongues going everywhere. So I keep banging, louder and louder, and they finally look up literally seconds before Dad walks in.”

  “Wait, what are we talking about?” I asked.

  Isaac laughed. “Prom night, junior year. When I saved your make-out session from a Dad-flavored interruption.”

  I raised my hands to my cheeks. “Oh my word! I was seriously so grateful for you that night. But in my defense, we did have a movie on, and the volume was up pretty loud which is a really good reason why we didn’t hear you knocking the first time. Also, there was no going at anything. We were just kissing. And badly. Jeremy had braces and I was scared I was going to hurt myself.”

  Isaac pulled out his phone and clicked a few times before handing the phone to Alex. “Did Dani ever tell you she made her own prom dress?”

  Alex took the phone. “Really?”

  “You do not have that picture on your phone.” I leaned over, trying to see whatever Alex was seeing.

  “Of course I do,” Isaac said. “It was amazing.”

  I looked at my brother. I would have expected him to be joking, but he looked genuinely sincere, like he actually did think my badly made high school prom dress was amazing.

  “You should have seen the things she made,” he continued. “Out of nothing, too. She could take the ugliest clothes and turn them into the most incredible stuff.” He met my eye across the table and grinned sheepishly before taking his phone back from Alex and passing it to Rizzo.

  “Ah, high school,” Rizzo said, looking at the photo. “So you’re a designer?” He turned his attention to me. “You make clothes?”

  My eyes reflexively darted to Alex before I forced them to the table. “Oh. Well, not yet. I work for a designer, but I’m still just a PA.”

  “She could be though,” Isaac said. “She could go out on her own and be incredible.” He looked at me one more time. “You still could, you know. It’d be better than getting coffee for the stuffed pricks you work with now.” His gaze darted to Alex. “No offense, man.”

  Alex nodded. “None taken.”