Page 24 of All Our Almosts

“Wait—what do you mean you’re not a brave person? You’re much braver than I am. I bet you would’ve given Jeff a piece of your mind today.”

“No way,” he laughs. “Maybe we’re both chickens.”

An idea pops into my head. I look over at him, then pull my legs back and sit upright. “Okay, hear me out. Let’s both do something brave tonight.”

He looks down at the two of us in our pajamas, then at the time on his phone. “You mean like… leave the apartment?”

“Oh no,” I laugh. “No way. We’re way too far gone for that. But we can do something brave from here. We have the whole internet at our fingertips.”

“You seem like you have an idea.” He turns his body, resting one arm along the back of the couch and offering me his full attention.

“Well… if I tell you I need you to be unconditionally supportive, okay?”

“Okay.” He picks up the remote and pauses the movie.

“I was thinking I could download a dating app,” I say, then quickly add, “I know Elliot and I only broke up a week ago, but I’m not looking for love or something. I just think it would help me get him out of my system if I did a little rebound dating.”

Andy tilts his head to the side, and it feels like he’s x-raying straight through all the mush in my head. In those two seconds, his dark brown eyes ask me if I really want to go on rebound dates or if I just don’t know how to be single anymore. They ask why I hate solitude so much, and when I became so dependent on external validation.

But his eyes aren’t actually asking any of that, of course. It’s ricocheting around my brain of its own volition. And in the absence of a response from him, the court jester in me is about 1.5 seconds away from saying, Nevermind, that was a stupid idea—anyway want to hear a joke?

But then he nods. “Dating app. Okay, that’s doable.”

“What about you?” I ask. “Anything you’ve been wanting to do, but haven’t worked up the courage?”

His gaze dances across my face, and I’m not sure what he’s trying to find there.

Eventually he clears his throat and says, “I guess it feels weird that my brother moved back to Boston but we never see each other.”

“I liked Owen when we met. Why don’t you invite him to Lia’s thing tomorrow?”

“The art show?” Andy raises both eyebrows to the ceiling. “I don’t know if that’s his M.O.”

“It’s at a brewery. I think the main focus is going to be beer, then socializing, then art. Just invite him.” I reach out and squeeze his thigh. “He can always say no.”

His face twists for a moment before he says, “Fine, but let me do mine first before I back out.”

“Yes!” I clap. “Be brave. You can do it.”

I know what you’re wondering, but it’s not that Andy has a bad relationship with his brother. They just… don’t have a relationship at all. Owen is two years older—30 to Andy’s 28—and works for a big-shot law firm in the Seaport neighborhood of Boston.

I don’t know much about what happened between them. (Andy’s not a big talker—you got that, right?) But over the years I’ve pieced together a bit. They were definitely close as kids: they went to the same school, played soccer together, hung out with the neighborhood kids in their quiet northeastern Massachusetts town. Then their dad left, and they never quite recovered. Andy was 11 at the time and Owen was 13. Don’t ask me any more about that, because I don’t have answers. But that’s when they started to drift apart—Andy choosing books, Owen staying out of the house as much as he could.

Owen moved to New York City for college, and a few years later Andy decided to stay in Boston and go to Ashmore. That kind of solidified the distance between them. They still both came home for Christmas and everything, but they didn’t really know each other anymore, let alone have things in common. They would send each other a text on birthdays and stuff—it wasn’t like there was active animosity, just no closeness either. Owen didn’t even make it into town for Andy’s college graduation, which I know hurt him much more than he’d ever admit.

Then, a little over a year ago, Owen’s law firm transferred him to Boston out of the blue. He announced the news at Christmas dinner, and their mom was understandably over the Moon to finally have both boys back home, but from what I’ve inferred their relationship hasn’t improved much since then. Like, for example, Owen had a birthday party a few months ago, and Andy brought me as his plus-one and only talked to me all night, despite my encouragement that he get to know his brother’s friends. And… that’s about it for Walsh brother bonding of late.

This is a really good idea. Andy will extend an olive branch, and maybe Owen won’t take it, but at least he’ll know he tried.

I unabashedly watch over Andy’s shoulder as he types out a text.

Andy: Hey, Owen. I hope everything is good with you. Some friends and I are going to a happy hour/art show in Somerville tomorrow if you’re interested in coming. We will be there around 4.

Then he pastes in a hyperlink to the event page. When it sends, the preview image pops up as a psychedelic medley of illustrated flowers, beer bottles, crying eyeballs, and middle fingers, with the boldly declarative title Art Pop Your Pussy at Kalorama Brew.

Andy’s eyes go wide as he realizes what he just sent, and I can’t stop the audible laugh that sparkles out of my chest. He flips the phone over on the coffee table so he doesn’t have to look at it anymore, and that just makes me laugh harder.

“Done. Jesus,” he groans, running his fingers through his hair and leaving behind a tousled mess. “Your turn. Do something.”