Page 71 of Silver Sweet
Ben slings a towel over his broad shoulder. “I’m not playing dumb. I just have anaveragememory. Dad and Charlie are the ones who can retain information like they’re human computers, and Eliot”—he twists backward as Eliot slides heavier plates onto the barbell—“you can recite full plays by heart. I can’t do that.”
It is mind-boggling that he thinks he’s below that caliber. I have literally seen Ben recall assistants of our dad’s assistants at Cobalt Inc.yearsdown the line after we met themonce.I can barely remember the name of the clerk at my favorite bodega.
“You can remember faces and names just as well as the three of them,” I say with certainty. I don’t even care if it’s seventy percent true. It’s trueenough.
Ben is doubting himself. “I don’t think I do.”
“So humble,” Eliot muses. “I wonder what that’s like.”
“No clue,” I add. “Let that affliction never befall me.”
“Nor me.”
Ben laughs hard, but the bright noise dies out and his eyes bug at the fourth weight plate Eliot slides on the barbell. “Eliot, man, that better be for you.”
“You can go heavier.”
“Yeah, no,” he laughs. “Not that heavy.” His baby blue eyes almost veer to me, but Eliot catches his attention as he squeezes his shoulder in encouragement.
“You have this, brother,” Eliot says. “I’m right behind you.”
Ben towels off the sweat dripping down his six-pack. His brawn is starting to mirror Eliot’s. I can tell Ben has been hitting the ice more. He’d also claim he’s nothing special in hockey, but all my siblings see what he can’t recognize in himself.
He’s good enough to go pro.
It’s why the hockey coach at MVU spent so long trying to recruit him. Ben quit hockey when his OCD took control of his life, but he’s slowly taking it back. He just gained the courage to join the college team. It’s a big deal, and I keep telling myself,you cannot miss his first game, Tom Carraway. You will not miss it for anything.
Don’t know when that will be. Ben said he’s going to gradually get there. Which means he’ll be warming the bench at first.
With more confidence, he lies back on the weight bench, and Eliot places the bar in his hands. “Prêt?”Ready?
“Oui, je suis prêt,” Ben replies.Yes, I’m ready.
Eliot flashes me a smile. I smile back. Both void of mischief. We’re just happy Ben feels okay enough to handle over two hundred pounds around us. Last week, he panicked that he’d smash Eliot’s finger while Eliot was just trying to spot him.
I offered to spot. Thinking maybe he wouldn’t care ifmyfinger were smashed. Unfortunately (and fortunately) he loves me just as much as Eliot. Really, he wasmoreconcerned because I can’t even bench-press over a hundred pounds.
Two deep breaths later, Ben takes control of the bar as Eliot lets go, and he grits his teeth bringing the weight down and up twice.
“Eliot,” I call out as Ben struggles the third time.
“I have it.” Eliot seizes the bar from Ben.
I applaud.
Ben salutes me with a heavy pant. “Jock of the Empire, reporting for duty.”
“Better watch your stereotype, Ben Pirrip,” I tell him. “I might come for it.” I stifle a yawn. “I’m gonna come for all of them. Strip every sibling of their titles.”
“So none of us have a box to be put in?” Ben smiles. “Go ahead. Take mine.”
I cringe. “It’s not fun when yougive it.”
“Tom must earn this,” Eliot agrees, then pats the bench beside Ben. “Your turn.”
Hell no. “On second thought, enjoy your box. Let it shelter you from the rain. I can’t leave you naked in the elements. What kind of brother would I be?”
They laugh, and Eliot switches spots with Ben.
