Page 50 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
I could tell that was the right thing to say because she narrowed two hate-filled eyes at me, the gray one stormier than the blue. When the elevator doors opened behind her on a random level, she grabbed the clutch I’d pilfered and stumbled out.
My fingers jabbed the button for the penthouse floor before I realized I’d never asked her why the hell she’d taken a catering gig when she didn’t need the money.
I’d grown up as an only child.
Sharing seemed like a simple concept, mostly because it was foreign. I’d never been asked to share. Maybe a chip from a nearly empty bag (Dad did this when Ma wasn’t looking) or my bed on a rare occasion (Ma did this when Dad worked long hours and snored like a tractor). Insignificant sacrifices since my parents worked hard to make me happy, and everything else in my life felt like mine.
Until Reed came along.
The accidental child they couldn’t afford.
When I was eleven and Reed was one, Reed took over my bedroom. He cried so much, he messed up Dad’s sleep (and therefore work) schedule. Ma moved Reed from their room to mine, which left me on the living room couch. A dinky, secondhand thing that previously occupied the waiting area of the Chinese restaurant down the block.
When I was thirteen, Reed caught a bad case of croup and spent three days in the hospital for observation. Every spare dollar for the next five years went to that bill. That Christmas, Dad taught me how to play soccer in the snow with a half-flat ball he found somewhere in the apartment complex. All the other kids sat inside playing their new video games.
When I was fifteen, some asshole punk drew a dick on Reed’s forehead with Sharpie and stole his lunch bag. For the first time, he ran to me for help, and I accepted that sharing my parents wasn’t so bad, because in return, I’d gotten someone who looked at me like I was the solution to life, not a problem.
When I was twenty-five, Reed told me I was dead to him after the cotillion. Ma cried the entire night, then cried again the next morning when she realized he’d meant it.
Dad turned to me, placed his calloused palm on my shoulder, and said, “Life hurts something stupid, kid, but being brothers is a lifetime commitment. He’ll realize that.”
I listened to Dad and waited it out, convinced it was a phase, because from the moment Reed had been born, I’d done everything for him, given him all I could, and loved him more than I did myself.
Seven years later, I was still waiting.
The email sat on my laptop, the words unlikely to change in this lifetime, but I wasn’t opposed to funding time machine research. I’d go back and reverse a lot of things, starting with the cotillion. I told Durga I didn’t feel regret, but I lied, knowing she’d call me out on my bullshit. Someone had to.
Here’s what people who sit around smoking ganja and quoting Gandhi won’t tell you. There’s always that one mistake that changes your life. If you’re lucky, it’s for the better.
Spoiler alert: I’m not lucky, and regret is life’s longest punishment.
I felt it now, reading Ma’s email, wondering how someone who shared my blood could turn into a coxswain, Vineyard Vines-wearing, Niçois salad-ordering, country club-attending, nouveau riche douchebag, who surrounded himself with people named Brock, Chett, and Tripp with two Ps.
From: [email protected]
Subject: 4th of July Weekend
Hi, sweetheart!
I was hoping to catch you on your phone, but you didn’t answer and your voicemail inbox is full. (You should really consider hiring an assistant. It’s been like this for months. I’ve been meaning to tell you.)
Your brother says he’ll be spending the weekend in Eastridge with Basil, Chett, Brock, and Tripp for the country club’s fourth of July brunch. I think Reed and Basil are ready to take the next step. Seems like he’s gonna pop the question. I mean, we always knew this was coming, but I’m happy that he’s happy.
You know I love you, and I hate to ask you this, but would you mind not coming that week? We both know he won’t come home to see me unless I assure him you’re not in town, and I haven’t seen him in months.
I ain’t happy about this. It hurts to even ask, but it won’t always be like this, baby. I promise.
Love,
Ma
I couldn’t blame Ma.
Growing up, Reed used to think Ma favored me, so Ma worked extra hard to prove she didn’t. What Reed never got was, Ma didn’t love me more. She’d just loved me longer. Ma had ten extra years to learn how to love me be
st. She’d been figuring out how to love him, which he made infinitely harder by having mood swings that would make teenaged girls seem tame.
