“Didn’t know you were a towhead,” I said, a bit irritated by the omission.
A young boy with curly, blond hair stared out from theglossy, slightly out-of-focus photograph I held, a fishing pole in his hand and baggy overalls hanging off his bare, freckled shoulders. Even at 9, Kaleb’s body tensed with the wiry muscles he’d grow into.
“Yep,” Kaleb said. “It turned brown around ten or eleven.” His rough hand rubbed my shoulder. The double bed creaked under us, echoed by the floorboards. The online ad for the bed and breakfast said it was quaint, but even for north Louisiana, itwas more rustic than we’d expected. Nothing more than a double bed, a lone floor lamp, an oversized armoire, and one of those old school, tube TVs on top of an army footlocker. At least it fit our budget.
I turned the crinkled photo over. “Don’t know you as well as I thought.” Someone had scribbled Kaleb, Grandpa’s farm, July, 1996 in pencil on the back. “You were adorable. Those eyes!”
Boyfriends for three years, and he’d finally decided to show me childhood pictures. He’d seen mine before we’d even started dating, back when we were just friends.
“That’s where we’re going tomorrow,” Kaleb said. “Grandpa’s farm. Except—” Kaleb looked side-to-side dramatically then stage whispered, “Jessie, they all live out there now.”
“All of them?” I whispered back, then covered my mouth in mock surprise.
“All of them.” Kaleb rummaged through the shoebox of photos he’d packed in his luggage. “Well, except Grandpa. He’s dead. Here, I have another.” He snatched the fishing photo from my hand and replaced it with a sepia print of two boys dressed up like miniature sheriffs, one of those cheesy pictures from a county fair or tourist town. “It’s me and Abe.”
“Oh my god,” I said. “He looks just like you.”
The two boys seemed younger than the Kaleb in the first picture, both dressed in cowboy hats and vests with stars on them. Their smiles were almost identical, both missing a front tooth, but one missing on the left and one on the right. “You look like twins.”
“Can you guess who I am?”
I could tell by the eyes. His brother’s sat farther apart. And the chin seemed broader than Kaleb’s.
“You’re the one on the right. Here.” I placed my finger on the young Kaleb in the picture.
“That’s right. Good guess.”
“It’s not a guess. You’re obviously the more handsome.” I turned around and kissed him, then rubbed my beard on his neck the way he liked.
He pushed me away. “Stop. I can’t get sexual with my brother in the room.”
“He’s just in the picture.” I leaned toward him, but he held me back, smiling.
“No, it’s bad luck the day before meeting the family.”
That’s when I knew for sure he planned on proposing. Seemed like not seeing the bride before a wedding, but we didn’t have the same kind of traditions built in. I’d been waiting over a year for him to get up the nerve.
“I needed to talk about this first,” he said. “Me and Abe.”
I studied the photo, trying to figure out what he meant. “Because you look so much alike?” I glanced over at him, expecting a smile, but he looked serious and distant.
“The thing is, we are twins. Identical.”
“You said he was older.” I felt uneasy, like he was hiding something.
“I didn’t lie; he is older. Five minutes. It’s just—” Kaleb stared at the floor and cleared his throat. “It’s just that I don’t like people to know. He always screws things up. And there’s all the questions and things.”
My unease dispersed as I laughed, thinking up a joke. “Like are you psychic? Do you feel each other’s pain? Who’s got the bigger—” I motioned to Kaleb’s crotch and tossed the picture into the shoebox at the foot of the bed.
Kaleb glared at me. “He’s my brother.”
“It was just—“
“And he’s straight.” Kaleb’s face settled into anger, the kind of anger I usually only saw when he’d done too many shots of tequila.
“It was a joke. Totally a joke.”
He got up from the bed and walked to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he said through the door.
“Fine. Nobody really wants to have sex with you and your hot twin, anyway,” I whispered, wondering why the joke had him so angry.
“What?” he shouted through the door.
“Nothing. Good night then.” I’d learned better than to try to calm him down once he got in a huff. I turned off the lamp on the side table and cocooned myself beneath an antique quilt the lady at the front desk had given us to stay warm. The quilt was covered in repeating geometric figures, something like starbursts that changed ever-so-slightly as they ran from one end to the other. The quilt smelt damp, ancient. I remembered that she’d said something about Januarys being brutal in West Monroe;listening to the water running in the bathroom sink, I wondered if she might be right.
* * *
The next day, Kaleb twisted and turned our rental car along a winding road leading out to “the country” where his parents lived. I stared out the passenger window watching the trees blur by, occasionally picking out a detail, like a lone tree or a fence post to cling on to, watching it rush toward us, pause in my vision for an instance, then shoot behind as fast as it had come. I wanted to speak, but a powerful silence filled the car, pressing against me. I worried I’d been wrong about things being right in the morning, worried I’d messed things up for good. We’d had our fights before, but I never felt the kind of stubborn distance as I did in the first half hour in that car. The way his eyes stayed so focused on the road scared me.
Before his brother came up the night before, I just knew we had finally made it, were going to be together for good. We’d been friends for almost ten years, since we met sophomore year in a Hitchcock class at Tulane. Been dating ever since he came out three years back. We’d only broken up once for a week because he thought he wanted to sleep around. Figured I should let him try, otherwise he’d always wonder. One bad lay and he came right back to our bed.
Before he came out, I’d been his wingman at straight bars. Since then, I’d been his boyfriend at gay ones. We were one another’s first loves. The sex was good, and whether we talked about politics or The Real Housewives, we agreed on most everything. We’d move to France if Trump got elected presidentagain. NeNe was the shit. Phaedra needed to go sit down somewhere. We even agreed on a church, the Unitarian Universalists, so I could be an atheist and he could be a whatever it was when a boy from Catholic school smokes too much pot and reads books by Alan Watts. A neo-American-Buddhist?
It’s just that we didn’t fight all that often—at least not when he was sober—and I wasn’t prepared for one spilling over to the next day. The last time that had happened, things had felt shaky for a month.
I was focused on a passing pine when he finally spoke.
“I’m sorry. It’s just the brother thing really gets to me.” His voice was shaky, like he was just waking up. His hands gripped the wheel so tightly the veins popped out in his forearms.
“It’s okay,” I said. “That joke was out-of-line.”
“No. It’s fine. It was funny. I’m just—he’s always been the favorite.”
“How could he be the favorite? You’re clearly the one with the best taste in boyfriends.”
The corner of his mouth turned up a hair. “True,” he said. “It was just hard growing up under his shadow. There’s always the popular twin. That was Abe.”
“Oh, c’mon,” I said. “Everyone loves you.”
He nodded. “He was right-handed, good at math. I was a lefty who liked to draw. Sucks when you’re a mirror.”
“A what?”
“A mirror twin. That’s what we are.” He let go of the steering wheel and took my hand. Sweat coated his palm. “Sometimes the egg splits so twins are identical but opposite. That’s why my hair curls clockwise and his the other way. Or why I’m nearsighted in my right eye and he’s nearsighted in his left.”
“Or why you like boys and he likes girls?” I squeezed his hand.
“I don’t know. I guess.” He squinted, like he was trying to see something in the distance. “But it’s just he’s always been the more normal one. You know, good at sports, better in school, all that.”
“You’ve always seemed a little abnormal, that’s for sure.” I pulled his hand to my mouth and kissed the back.
“And my parents always just liked him better.”
“Oh, please.”
“I’m serious. Even after Katrina when I went home—you remember? They were all like ‘you need to get back to school’ when I just wanted was to take a break, recover.”
“You said you were dying to get back.”
“I didn’t need the pity. Anyway, that’s how I know.”
“How you know?”
He glanced over at me then back at the road, shaking his head slowly. “After he graduated Stanford, he went into the Army, just like Dad. Of course. Since he got back from Afghanistan, they’ve let him just live with them the whole time. All he does is play video games. It’s like five years now.”
“He’s a gamer?”
“Totally into World of Warcraft. It’s all he ever talks about. Doesn’t even work.”
“Wow. They pay for everything?”
“He gets some money from the military. Plus, he writes some vet blog.”
“Oh.”
“I guess one of us gets to chase his dreams.”
Kaleb had always wanted to be a writer. That, and a sculptor. But since Tulane, he’d been working hotel front desksnear the Quarter. “I thought you said he was an engineer.”
“He was. Or he is. It’s just now he’s writing, too. Honestly, Abe can do whatever he wants. Always could.”
“So could you.” I leaned my head on his shoulder and glanced at us in the rearview mirror. His eyes darted back and forth, scanning the road before us. “You still can,” I said.
“It’s hard when you have to pay bills and stuff. He just lives with them. Carefree.” Tears welled in Kaleb’s eyes. “But when it was me, they just shoved me back out.”
“Baby, I’m sorry.” Sadness choked my throat.
“There it is.” He let go of my hand and pointed to a two-story farmhouse next to a weathered, grey barn. It looked smaller than I’d imagined, but then Kaleb had a way of putting on airs, like how his Southern accent only came out when he’dhad too much to drink.
I straightened up in my seat, nervousness bubbling in my gut.
* * *
We sat in silence in the driveway for a good ten minutes, Kaleb drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. I wanted to urge him on, but it seemed rude, insensitive. After the trueconfessions of the past twelve hours, I wasn’t sure how I should act with him, like one step in the wrong direction and everything might blow up. Part of me was mad he’d left out so much, confused about why he’d lied about Abe being his older brother. Wasn’t I supposed to be the one he could count on, be honest with?
I wanted to tell him it would all be okay, but I was afraid how he’d react. I suppose that’s what we all want to do when someone we love is hurting, whether it’s true or not.
Finally, he took a deep breath, shoved open the car door, and tramped away through the grass toward the house, stopping to pull a hidden key from under a large rock near the front door. I waited in my seat until he turned around and motioned for me to follow. He jiggled the key until the door swung open. The stale smell of damp wood and mothballs saturated the air.
“Mom! Dad! Anybody home?” he shouted, his voice echoing through the foyer. Electronic sounds beeped through the house. “Hear that, Jessie?”
I nodded.
“That’s Abe hard at work battling some world boss, I’m sure. Probably doesn’t even realize we’re here.”
The sounds went silent.
“Kaleb? Is that you?” The voice booming from the other room sounded almost just like Kaleb’s, only deeper.
“Got a friend here for you to meet.”
“Friend?” I whispered.
“Can you bring him in here?” Abe shouted from the other room. “I’m a little tied up right this second.”
We crept down the hall silently, like we were sneaking in somewhere we shouldn’t be. When Kaleb pushed open the living room door, the back of Abe’s head silhouetted against a large TV mounted on the wall, his hair bushy like Kaleb’s when he went too long without a haircut. The TV’s sound was still off, but on the screen a bunch of cartoon figures scrambled across the deck of a cartoon ship, as one of the figures pounded on a large, humanoid bull near one of the edges of the deck. Furious clicking came from Abe’s hands as he moved around a mouse and banged a keyboard on his blanket-covered lap.
“Fucking heal me, goddamnit!” Abe yelled, his hands moving faster. “Heal me! Fuck, fuck, fuck . . . no!” He tossed the mouse onto the floor. “Fucking healers. And no more revives.” Abe craned his neck around and smiled at Kaleb and me. “Never can trust a fucking paladin to keep you up, you know?” He reached over his shoulder to shake my hand. “You must be Jessie. I’m the lesser of two evils, Abe.”
Shaking his hand felt odd, like shaking Kaleb’s, but not as rough.
“Nice meeting you.” I pulled my hand back, afraid to holdon too long.
“We’re going to get our stuff out the car,” Kaleb said. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”
“They’re in the city. Wanted to give us ‘boy time’ before they come back.” Abe winked at me then studied Kaleb for a moment. “Want me to see if the boyfriend is acceptable or not. You look tired.”
“I didn’t sleep well last night,” Kaleb said. “You know how it is for me coming home.”
Abe nodded. “They just want the best for you; you know that.”
“I know they want something from me, that’s for sure.” Kaleb took my arm and pulled me to the door. “We’ll get unpacked then catch up.”
* * *
We got our bags from the car and took them upstairs to a small room with white, paneled walls. Two twin beds covered in quilts sat on either side of a floor lamp. Kaleb sat on the foot of the bed by the window, rubbing his fingers through his hair.
“You okay?” I asked.
“This was our room. I hate coming here.”
“Because of the memories?”
“No, because they completely redid it. Let Abe do what he wanted with the old guest room.” Kaleb stood up, his face flushing red. “They’ll do anything for Saint Abraham, the Sufferer.”
“You okay?” I asked, grabbing his hand.
He shook me off. “Let’s just get our stuff put away.”
Heading down the stairs, we heard Abe’s voice echoing through the house. “I’m in the kitchen,” he shouted. “Eating.”
“All right,” Kaleb shouted back.
In the kitchen, Abe sat on the far side of a long pine table eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He seemed too low behind the table. “Help yourself.” He motioned to two open jars and some bread sitting out by stack of paper plates.
“I got it,” Kaleb said. I sat down at the other end of the table across from Abe, watching him devour his food.
“This is so fucking good!” he said around a mouth of food. He looked so much like Kaleb, but different, too. “PB and J is my favorite, ever since I was a kid. Right, Kaleb?”
Kaleb grunted agreement.
“Don’t be a bitch. You have a guest.” Abe took a big bite from his sandwich. “So, what do you think of the place? Pretty rustic, huh?”
I looked around the kitchen, like I hadn’t noticed before. “It’s cool. A bit rustic, sure.”
“Fuck rustic. It’s a dump. In the middle of nowhere. But it’s my dump.”
“It’s Mom and Dad’s dump,” Kaleb said from behind me.
Abe shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Yes, it’s Mom and Dad’s dump. You’re so fucking literal.” Abe shoved the rest of the sandwich into his mouth, folding it to fit. His cheeks puffed out, and he bugged his eyes at Kaleb while he chewed.
I stifled a laugh. “So, what was that game you were playing?” I asked, pretending I didn’t know.
Abe nodded, sped up his chewing, then swallowed hard. “It’s WOW. Cool game. Probably my favorite.”
“Why’s that?’ I asked, hoping I could keep the topic on something they wouldn’t fight about.
“Because it’s like a squad, right, and you work together. You get to blow shit up and everything. And if you die, no biggie. You get a reset. Not like Afghanistan.”
Abe put his hands on the edge of the table and pushed, floating backwards from the table. My brain finally registered he was in a wheelchair.
“Oh my god,” I said, not thinking.
“What’d he do?” Kaleb asked, putting down a sandwich in front of me.
“Shit, Kaleb.” Abe snickered. “You didn’t tell him?”
“Tell me what?” I looked at Kaleb as he sat down next to me. I felt a tight sadness behind my eyes.
“Didn’t tell you I’m a gimp.” Abe grabbed the wheels on the side of the chair and came around the table to me, then lifted a blanket off his lap. His legs ended just below his knees in small nubs he wiggled. “Got ‘em blown off when some fucking crow missed a goddamned IED. At least I still got my dick.”
“Just don’t, Abe.” Kaleb banged his fist on the table. “I don’t need my boyfriend hearing about your dick.”
“No, can’t have your fucking panties twisted out, can we Kaleb?” Abe moved behind me, put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Don’t worry, you’re okay in my book. I’ll see you ladies later.”
The kitchen door slammed behind him.
The only sound for a few minutes was Kaleb’s chewing. My sandwich sat untouched on my plate as I mulled over in my head what to make of this, trying to rationalize the emotions of seeping in, wondering if the fatigue I had came from not sleeping the night before, or something deeper.
When he finished eating, Kaleb finally spoke. “Hopeyou’re not upset about that. He’s a real ass with that shit, wiggling his legs and all that.”
“His stumps. Wiggling his stumps.” I shook my head in disbelief.
“Whatever. He does it for a reaction.”
“You’re jealous of a guy,” I said, “who lost his legs, Kaleb.”
“Fuck that. He’s always been like that.”
“He’s in a fucking wheelchair, Kaleb.”
“You’re on his side now? Typical.”
“No, it’s just. This is a lot.” I took a deep breath, then picked up the sandwich and took a small bite.
Kaleb rubbed my neck with one hand. “I know. And I’m on edge. This is a big weekend.”
I nodded mechanically.
“Jessie, I want to ask you—” his voice trailed off.
“Ask me what?” Annoyed, I shrugged his hand off.
“Jessie, I want you to marry me.”
I shook my head. “Kaleb, I just—” As the words started, I tried to pull them back. Panic prickled through me, like I was standing at the edge of a cliff, teetering forward. I wanted to stopmyself, but the words forced their way out, dragged by their weight. “I just don’t know if I’m ready for that, Kaleb. I just don’t know.”
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