See Dot Smile

Brent Weighs In

"How are things with Bud?" Brent asks, grinning as he spreads jelly on his burnt toast. We both slept too late for Maren to make us breakfast before she went to work. Brent cooked. He might be worse in the kitchen than I am.

I stifle a laugh and shovel another heap of sugar into my weak ass coffee.

"What?" he asks with his mouthful.

"Nothing. It just, you used to ask how things with Joshua were going. Why are you so interested in Bud all of a sudden?"

"Can I be honest with you, Dotsky?" He sets his toast down dramatically.

"I don't know. Can you?"

"You and Josh have had thirteen years to figure yourselves out and get together, and it hasn't happened. At some point a big brother's gotta cut his losses and look to the future for my baby sister's happiness. So..." He reaches over and stabs his fork into my last sausage. I grab it off the prongs with my fingers and hold it out of his reach. "How are things with Bud?"

"Fine," I say. "We're really good friends. He's ... great."

He raises a suggestive eyebrow at me.

"What!?"

"Just friends?"

"Yes."

He pouts a little, then drags his finger through the undercooked remains of his fried egg and licks it clean. "He's never made a move on you?"

"What? No. Bud doesn't ... do that. He doesn't make moves."

"Is he gay?"

I roll my eyes. "I don't think so."

"You've never asked him?"

"No. That's personal. And weird. And ... not my business."

"I think it's your business. If you're going to fall in love with a gay guy, it would be nice to know ahead of time."

"I'm not falling in love with Bud," I say. I put my sausage back on my plate but cover it with my fork protectively.

"Why, because you're hung up on Josh?"

That hit a nerve. "Shut up. You don't know what you're talking about."

He relents long enough to walk to the fridge and refill his orange juice. He sits back down and looks at me, intently. He's not teasing. He's ... assessing.

"Think about something for me," he says. "You don't even have to tell me what you're thinking. Just think about it."

"Fine," I groan. "What do you want me to think about?"

"I want you to think about everything Josh has done for you--for you, not with you--in the last thirteen years. Then think about what Bud has done for you in the last six months."

It takes me less than ten seconds to understand what Brent is getting at. And the truth of it sits heavily in my chest. Maybe my relationship with Bud is getting lopsided. Maybe he cares more about me than I do about him. But that's not true. Is it?

"Bud's an amazing friend," I say. "But I don't feel about him the way I feel about Joshua."

"Of course not," Brent says eagerly, like he's making some breakthrough in love psychology and I'm his test subject. "You'll never feel about anyone the way you feel about Josh. You guys are going to be in love with each other until the day you die. There's no getting around it. But the truth is, your best days with Josh might be behind you already. And that means a future with him isn't going to be anything but a disappointment. And maybe you guys haven't been able to start something together, because deep down you both know it's not going to be as perfect as you want it to be."

I glare at him. Not angrily. But ... what the fuck?

"I'm just saying," he says. "Don't brush off the guy who's putting in all the work, to get to the guy you think you're supposed to be with. 'Cause, if that guy ain't doing the work ... he ain't worth your precious time, Dotsky."

"But should love feel like work at all?" I ask, turning the tables on him.

"No, it shouldn't. That's my point." Tables unturned.

I narrow my eyes suspiciously. "Who are you, and what have you done with my fuckface older brother?"

"It's me, Dotsky," he smiles, knocking my fork shield away and snatching my sausage. He leans back and inspects it. "Here's something else for you to think about." He pulls a banana out of the fruit bowl and holds it up next to the sausage. "Size may not be everything, Dot." I'm already rolling my eyes. "But I'm not going to tell you it's nothing." He shoves the whole sausage in his mouth and hands me the banana. "Size fourteen, huh?" he mumbles over the half-chewed representation of Joshua's supposed short comings.

"I hate you."

"Mm hm." He grins proudly. "Love you, too."

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