Page 59 of More For Me

“I made a total fool of myself.”

“Nah.”

“I sat down in the middle of dancing. And I’m pretty sure I told Rose my gin and tonic was my only friend.”

He chuckles, the sound deeper somehow in the dark room. “Remember that one-time we drank Long Island’s at Ruby’s bar and somehow ended up at the beach with no shoes on at five in the morning?”

I giggle into his shoulder, then sigh. “That was different. That was fun drunk. This was just sad.”

He sucks in a breath. “I know. I’m sorry I made you sad.”

“I’m sorry I made you sad, too.”

He shakes his head, his stubble scratching against my forehead as he moves. “I was always going to be sad tonight, Everly.”

Quiet settles over us, the memories of that awful dinner filling my head. “I’m a terrible friend.”

“Don’t say that,” he chides.

“How oblivious must I be, Bodhi? I’ve known you for years and I’ve never noticed you having this horrible anniversary every spring?”

He sighs. “I didn’t want you to notice, Everly. That’s the whole point. Last year Poppy had just been born so you were pre-occupied. The year before that you were away on his birthday.”

I want to point out that it’s crazy in all the time I’ve known his family, no one has ever said Ari’s name. That I’ve never seen a single picture. I want to ask him what that means, why on earth his family thinks this is the way to deal with something like that.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” I finally say instead. “But you can, if you want to.”

He tenses, and I’m sure he’s going to remain silent, but then he releases a long, ragged breath.

“Ari was four years older than me. I followed him around everywhere, I was completely obsessed. Probably annoyed the hell out of him. But he never shooed me away. Never was mean or grumpy with me. He was basically the perfect big brother. The perfect kid.”

I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as a perfect kid, or a kid who never gets annoyed by a little brother. I wonder if maybe the years have smoothed over any of the rough edges of his memories.

“He died of leukemia.”

I suck in a breath. Leukemia. My eyes squeeze shut and I try not to let my mind go to the memories of my cousin, Lyric, sick in the hospital when she was a kid. How terrified we had all been. How I had a stomachache for weeks. How Rose used to sneak over to my parents’ house at night so she could sleep in my bed, both of us too scared to sleep alone but not wanting to show it to our younger siblings.

Bodhi knows exactly what I’m thinking, because he rubs soothing circles on my back until the tension leaves my body.

“You shouldn’t be comforting me right now,” I mutter, feeling guilty all over again. I take a breath. “Will you tell me about Ari?”

“It happened pretty fast, looking back on it, which I guess is good. He didn’t suffer very long. But back then it felt like it lasted forever. My parents being terrified. Fighting when they thought we were asleep. Ari being gone for weeks in the hospital. Nisha crying all the time.”

“And what did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“While your brother was in the hospital and your sister was crying and your parents were fighting. What did you do?”

“I…I guess I tried to make things easier. Make sure me and Nisha had cereal when Mom and Dad forgot to make dinner. Make my mom smile. Ari was really into superhero comics, so I spent hours drawing him pictures, to decorate his hospital room. I must have made hundreds of them.” I feel him swallow. “After he died, I found them all in a folder in the garbage. I think my dad threw them away.”

I wrap my arm around his middle, pulling myself closer. “I think it was just hard for him to see them after,” he says, his voice carefully neutral. A little defensive. Like he doesn’t want me to think badly of his dad. Or maybe he’s the one he’s trying to convince. “Probably reminded him of the hospital room.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ward off the tears. Imagining that cute little boy with the mischievous smile in the family portrait becoming sick, stuck in a hospital, is heartbreaking. But it’s almost as bad to imagine the other boy, the one with the gap-toothed smile and Bodhi’s eyes tying to ease the pain of his family when they were trapped in a hell no one should have to go through.

“You have dinner every year on his birthday?” I ask.

He nods. “Always Italian food. It was his favorite. Ammi used to make him pasta with sauce almost every day, even though she also made a big Indian dinner every night.” He chuckles softly. “She spoiled him so bad.”