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He reaches across the table and snags a fry from my pile. I glare at his hand while he raises it to his lips, shoving it inside, and then smiles.
He notices my glare. "Hey, I paid. Technically, those are my fries."
"Don't they say possession is nine-tenths of the law? These are my fries now, bud."
"Bud?"
I shrug. "I was trying it out. Not really feeling it. What about bro?"
He shakes his head and reaches for another fry. I slap his hand away this time and tug the napkin closer to me. His eyes glitter with amusement, and when he leans forward again, I’m sure it’s to grab another one of my fries, so I’m ready and willing to defend the fried slabs of potato, but he doesn’t reach for mine. Instead, he slides his hand into the bag and pulls out another box of fries.
"Excuse me. You were taking my fries when you already had your own? Rude!"
A chuckle leaves his lips, and for the first time all day, I let my shoulders relax, and my body slouch into the chair. I share this singular moment with him, brother and sister eating fries and burgers together.
I notice the arches on the bag, and it reminds me that this was one of my mom's favorite fast food places. I wonder what she would think now if she could see me? See us?
I smile, the story sputtering out of me. "One time, Mom and I went to this place. We went a lot, by the way. It was one of her favorites. Anyway, we went there, and she wanted fresh fries. It turned into this whole ordeal."
"What happened?"
There's something in his tone I can't quite place, like he wants more, needs more, but he can't ask or show how much he wants it.
I smile and swipe away a tear that escapes my eye. "Well, the cashier told her she couldn't have fresh fries until they made the next batch. Mom politely told them she'd wait as long as necessary. She was so polite, always polite, because she had to work in food service when I was young to support us. She knows how much it can suck, ya know?"
He nods but doesn't speak, as if he's urging me to continue.
"Well, anyway, we sat there for an hour. She got her fries, and we ate the whole order together. It's a silly little memory, but I loved when she was like that. Healthy and happy even though we never really had enough. Even though life was hard, she always found joy in it."
He looks wistful. "I envy that you have those memories."
I reach out and pat his hand gently. "I'll share her with you at any opportunity. You'll get all the stories. It's not the same, I know, but she'll be a part of our lives this way."
He nods, and I watch as he sucks a ragged breath into his lungs. He leans away like he's closed the subject and moved on already. "Do you know anything about your father?"
I shake my head. "No. I never met him, and there's no name on my birth certificate. I’ve even gone through some of the papers she had hidden away, looking for any clue she might have left behind. Haven’t found anything, what about yours?”
His jaw is tight, and he shakes his head. "I guess we’re in for more surprises. Who knows, maybe we have more siblings out there?"
The thought fills me with dread. Needing to change the subject before I get truly weepy, I take another bite of the burger, studying him. My brother. How did I not see it before, the way his eyes sparkle like Mom's used to. He even wrinkles his nose the same way she did.
I see her there in his face in so many ways, and it's like she left a little part of herself with me before she went.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” I mumble around another bite.
This confession makes him sit a little straighter in his seat, and he appears to shrug off the playful brother image, pulling on his war armor.
“Do you have to look like you’re going into battle? It's just a conversation, not a debate for class or actual war.”
His lips barely lift at the sides. “Everything is war, Bel. There’s always someone waiting to steal your piece of the pie. That’s why it’s important to always be vigilant.”
And he’s now starting to sound like one of the old men at the nursing home who were adorable but riddled with dementia.
“Honesty. It’s important to me. I know you don’t like Drew, and you think he’s bad for me.”
He snorts, interrupting me. “Bad is an understatement, but continue…”
I roll my eyes. “He’s your best friend, or at least he was. And I know I’m your sister, and family is important to you, but Drew is family too. After everything you’ve been through together, you should look at each other like brothers. I’m not saying what he did was okay, nor am I saying that he’s forgiven.”
