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My mind flashes back to when Damien’s pet dog died when we were little. The Golden Retriever had caught the flu from a kennel, where it was left while we went on holiday, and struggled to survive.
He had bawled his eyes out with hopes that a pool of tears would revive Charmer, his pet.
“You don’t have to cry. Charmer knows you loved her.” The 5-year-old me said to him innocently, oblivious to what grief was.
What else could I have said to him? At that time, it was the most sensible thing to say. We all went to bury her together behind his parent’s apartment.
We drafted silly speeches to read out for the late dog, who was not just Damien’s but ours, too.
Twenty years later, Damien was the one comforting my brother and me.
After the accident, he called and sent flowers every other day to ensure we felt his presence. He was absent due to certain restrictions in Africa, where he was attending a business conference.
Each bouquet came with grief notes to sympathize with us. The largest one came on the day of my parents’ burial. He had also sorted out the bills for the bouquet on their tombstones and the reception arrangements.
“What did you do after NYU?”
“I worked at an investment bank for a while. Then, I moved to the compliance and risk management team at an energy company. Now, I’ll be working as an executive assistant in Los Angeles.”
“That’s a lot of experience. You’ve got a brilliant career, and I am so proud of you. Where would you be…”
My phone rings, and it cuts his question short.
“Hi, baby sister.”
“I am twenty-five, Kel. Give me a break.”
“Maybe when you get older than me, I will stop, but that’s never going to happen now, is it? So, I’ll keep calling you ‘baby sister,’ okay?”
I could picture the mischievous smirk on his face.
“Kel, what do you want from me now?”
“I just want to know how you’re settling in and if you have turned our grandparents’ house upside down with your paintings and ridiculous decorations.”
“Oh, stop! You know I do a spectacular job with interior design.”
“Of course you do, and it is clear considering the current state of my home.”
“Guess who’s here, Kel.”
“You know I don’t do too well with guessing.”
“But you do well with hoarding information, don’t you? Damien is here! Why didn’t you tell me he moved to LA? You also didn’t tell me he moved into the house next door.”
“I’m sorry it slipped my mind. I didn’t think it would be a big deal, anyway.”
“Seriously? Not a big deal?”
“Okay, ma’am. I apologize. I hope you two are getting along.” That was a valid concern, as we had always argued about everything when we were younger. Games, food, academic work, chores, jobs, and even the colors of the rainbow. We argued about everything. We were like a cat and dog that shared a living space.
“Well, we both agreed that you can be a jerk. That’s a good sign of getting along, isn’t it?”
Kelvin’s deep laughter takes over the background of the call. I smile, too.
“I’m a jerk, alright. You both still love me despite my jerky-ness.”
“Is that a new legal term? Jerky-ness?”
