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I know that my brother already knows far too much without me having told him anything at all.
“Nothing, I'm just thinking.” Of course, my twin brother will see right through the lie, but I'm not sure what else to say.
“Let me guess. You're thinking about Fredrick.” He sits beside me on the edge of my bed, sets his crutches aside, and puts an arm around my shoulders.
“Maybe,” I say, feeling my cheeks sting.
“I take it things aren't going so well.”
I lift both shoulders. “I said something mean that I shouldn't have said and screwed things up.”
He seems surprised as he looks me in the eyes. “That doesn't sound like you.”
My voice is barely above a whisper as I respond, “I’m afraid of getting hurt again.”
“Nobody can blame you for that. He hurt you really bad when he left.” Despite Alex's comforting tone, I can't agree with what he’s saying. “What did you say?”
I'm not sure I want to tell him the truth. “I said the only thing between us is chemistry and attraction.”
Alex lets me go and gives a shake of his head. “Sounds like every guy’s dream.” He laughs.
I give him a slight shove and he falls over on my bed with an overdramatic motion. “Thanks,” I say.
“I'm just saying it doesn't seem like this is something that's unfixable or even that big of a deal. Maybe I'm missing some context,” Alex says as he sits back up. “Have you tried talking to him about it?”
I shake my head. “No, he left, probably to clear his head. And then he got some bad news.”
Alex's expression clears. “So, it's probably not you then.”
“Well, it's me a little bit. And now, he doesn't want to talk to me.”
“Maybe he just needs some time to process? It's not like he grew up with healthy role models who taught him how to cope.” Alex pats me on the shoulder, and I realize I do feel better.
“You're probably right.”
He stares at me so hard I can't help but lift an eyebrow, wondering what he's about to say. “What are you talking about? I'm always right.”
I lift one hand, pointing a finger toward the door. “Out.”
He chuckles as he picks up his crutches, adjusts them under his arms, and hobbles out of my room.
I grab my phone and type out a message to Fredrick. I had a great time on our date, and I hope we can do it again soon. This arrangement between us might be fake, but that line grows more and more blurry by the moment.
Minutes tick by with no response, and I decide to take a different approach.
I reach out to a work contact, breaking my own rules about separating work and personal lives.
I'm worried about Fredrick.
No response.
So, I reach out again, hoping that I’m not overstepping... or if I am, that it’s forgivable. Whatever was in the letter his father left really upset him and he won't answer my calls.
A moment later I get a response.
He won't answer mine either.
It’s not much, but it’s a response. I can only hope that Fredrick won’t be too mad that I’m talking to his mother. My phone rings, and my heart leaps, until I see it’s not his number.
