My Brother's Girl

by Sienna Blake

  “Umm, alright,” I said, feeling a buzz from Kayleigh’s infectious energy. “Once we finish up these brakes we can go around the block.”

  Kayleigh’s eyes held mine and her pinkie brushed against mine as I held the wrench against the motorcycle. “Or farther,” she whispered.

  My eyes drifted from the green of her eyes to the pink of her lips, full and soft and delicate. They were so out of place amongst the dark metals and sharp edges. I couldn’t help but feel that her lips would be just out of place against my own: a rose petal against a chainsaw.

  “Kayleigh, I—”

  A series of three loud, blaring honks shattered through the hushed communion of the shop. I winced at the harsh glare from a pair of headlights. A car door opened, pounding rock music thundered out, and a pair of feet crunched on the gravel.

  “Kayleigh Bear!”

  Kayleigh’s hand pulled away from mine and she stood, moving quickly away from me as Eoin, dressed in a sharp suit and carrying a massive bouquet of red roses, strode confidently into the shop. I averted my eyes and focused back on the bolt. In my periphery, Eoin swept Kayleigh into his arms and kissed her, spinning her around and around.

  “Eoin, what are you doing here?” Kayleigh asked with a nervous laugh as he set her back down.

  “Your prince is here with your chariot to sweep you off to a romantic date,” Eoin announced, shaking Kayleigh’s shoulders with the energy of a puppy playing with a new chew toy. “Champagne and rooftop bars and caviar— Hey, do you like caviar?”

  “I, umm—”

  “You’ll love it, trust me,” Eoin interjected. “It’s very fancy stuff. Very expensive. Very romantic.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I sneaked a glance to see Kayleigh smiling up at Eoin. But her smile didn’t crinkle the corners of her eyes. There was no way he could tell the difference between that and the real thing. There was no way anyone could, probably. Except me. I could.

  “We’re going to a five-star hotel in Dublin and they’ll valet the car and give us fancy mints and call us Mr and Ms,” Eoin continued. “I’m going to wine and dine you till you feel like an absolute princess.”

  Eoin didn’t squeeze his teddy bears as tightly as a child as he did just then to Kayleigh. She laughed and patted his arm, almost like a boxer tapping out in the ring.

  “Alright, alright,” she grinned. “Eoin, that all sounds lovely, but I have work to finish and Darren was going to take me—”

  “I can finish up,” I cut her off before she could finish. I looked up from the motorcycle.

  “Oh, hey there, Darren,” Eoin said with a wave. “Didn’t see you back there.”

  “Go have fun on your date,” I said to Kayleigh.

  “But the ri—”

  “Really, I’ve got it.”

  I smiled when she hesitated, eyes searching my face for the crack in my happy mask. “Okay…” she said slowly, not finding any.

  She wasn’t the only one who’d mastered the mask.

  “Alrighty then!” Eoin clapped his hands together. “See you Sunday, Daz. I’ve got a beautiful lady to please.”

  Kayleigh stepped toward me. “Darren, I—”

  Eoin grabbed her around the waist and tossed her easily over his muscular shoulders. He whisked her out of the garage while loudly singing “That’s Amore” off key over the sound of Led Zeppelin on the radio in his car. I watched him lower her into the passenger seat and then stuff the two dozen roses in after her so her face was hidden entirely by the flowers. And like that she was gone, disappearing around the corner with nothing more than the screech of tyres.

  I sighed and finished fixing the Bonneville’s brakes in less than ten minutes. It was easy work, after all. I had just dragged it out because I liked the excuse of having Kayleigh by my side. When I was done, I leaned against the bike, crossed my arms over my chest, and stared out into the dark.

  “I’m sorry that I let it get this far,” I whispered. “I’m sorry that I want it to go much, much farther.”

  Her voice echoed in my head.

  “Or farther.”

  Kayleigh

  I was terrified to ask for the mashed potatoes.

  Because if I asked for the mashed potatoes, Ma would smile, say, “Why, of course,” and lift the dish. Ma would pass them to Michael next to her, who would lean across the table to bypass Noah, who was busy refilling Aubrey’s glass as they discussed The Jar’s finances, to pass the steaming dish to Eoin. If I asked for the mashed potatoes, Michael would shout at Eoin to hand them over to me as he held the dish suspended over the roast, but Eoin would hold up a finger to him as he leaned back in his chair till the front legs lifted off the floor, because England was only two-and-a-half meters or so from scoring a try against France. If I asked for the mashed potatoes, Michael would curse irritably under his breath, glance around the table as his arms grew tired holding the heavy potatoes, and finally he would shove them toward Darren across from me.

  “Here,” he would grumble. “You take them.” Darren would hesitate, but Michael would insist. “I can’t hold them forever, Daz.”

  Darren would grab the mashed potatoes and he would turn toward me. Our eyes would meet. His fingers would brush mine as he handed over the dish. Noah would freeze as he poured the wine, not even noticing when the deep red cascaded over the lip of Aubrey’s glass and onto her lap as she also stared across the table at Darren and me, mouth still open from where she cut off her argument about The Jar’s overheads mid-sentence. Eoin’s chair would crash back to the floor, the rugby try entirely forgotten, Ma’s forkful of cabbage and bacon would hang halfway between her mouth and her plate, and Michael would be staring at me instead of his suit sleeve that he’d just dragged through the gravy.

  And they would know, they would all know right then and there.

  They would all know that there was something between Darren and me.

  Something electric and undeniable and wrong.

  If I asked for the mashed potatoes, I’d destroy this perfect family, and that was something I couldn’t allow myself to ever do.

  Dramatic, much?

  Maybe.

  Maybe not.

  So at Sunday lunch that afternoon at the O’Sullivan’s, I resigned myself to a potato-less plate, refused another glass of wine, and made sure to laugh extra hard at Eoin’s locker room jokes. I was well aware that these tactics were all just duct tape on a leaking, splintering dam, but it was either duct tape or a goddamn truckload of C-4.

  I was in trouble and I knew it.

  Every glance in Darren’s direction felt like a betrayal to Eoin, because the mere feeling of Darren’s eyes on me excited me more than any of Eoin’s hugs.

  Every chuckle at Darren’s dry humour made my stomach churn with guilt, because all I could think was how easy and natural it was compared to forcing laughter for Eoin.

  Every word from Darren’s lips was a lure to the rocks, because before I even realised it, I was leaning away from Eoin and toward that husky, low voice that called to me like a siren.

  Eoin pounded his fist next to the bread basket in frustration, and I jumped along with everyone else at the table.

  “Unbelievable,” he grumbled as he swatted a hand in disgust at the television in the living room. “Just unbelievable.”

  “Eoin, if you break my table, you’re buying me a new one,” Ma warned, pointing her fork across the table at him.

  “I’ll send the bill to the queen herself,” Eoin grumbled. He returned all four legs of the chair to the floor and then turned to me. “Did you see that, babe?”

  “Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

  What? Was I supposed to admit that I had spent the last ten minutes staring at the mashed potatoes from across the table?

  “Those boys are a disgrace, aren’t they?” Eoin shook his head.

  I nodded. “A real disgrace.”

  Eoin smiled widely and patted my back so roughly I almost coughed back up my last bite of roast. “She’s perfe
ct,” he announced to his family as I counted my broken ribs. “She even loves rugby just like me. I mean, how did I get so goddamn lucky? It’s like a real-life fairy tale, you know?”

  The family all smiled as Eoin leaned over and planted a kiss on my mouth. The family minus Darren, that is. He was too busy stabbing his green beans as if they were personally offending him. Guilt flooded my chest as all I could think to do in response was pat Eoin’s hand.

  “Did everyone see the necklace I got Kayleigh?” Eoin asked between mouthfuls of Greek yogurt-smothered sweet potatoes sprinkled with unflavoured protein powder. “Babe, babe, show them.”

  “Oh, um…” I stopped mid-bite and set my buttered roll on the edge of my plate. “Okay.”

  I noticed Darren’s eyes on me as I slipped my hand beneath my turtleneck and pulled out a delicate gold chain from which hung a stunning two-carat diamond. The momentary flash of pain on Darren’s face at the sight of it made me want to rip it off and throw it away, shatter it with a hammer and let the wind carry the pieces to the sea. But then there was Ma and Aubrey and Michael and Noah, and they were asking for me to lean closer, to come show them, to hold it up to the light so they could see it sparkle.

  “Beautiful, Eoin,” Ma said, squeezing his boyish cheeks after walking around from the other side of the table to get a closer look.

  “You did good.” Aubrey elbowed Noah. “I’m assuming my diamond necklace got lost in the mail, Noah.”

  “I can’t even imagine the financing on a rock like that,” Michael grumbled under his breath while shaking his head. “Does nobody use my Excel spreadsheets for budgeting?”

  Ma flicked the side of Michael’s head as she passed him on her way back to her chair. “It’s beautiful, honey,” she repeated to me. “Very beautiful.”

  “It is,” I said, forcing a smile as I looked at Eoin, who just beamed.

  I didn’t have to lie; the necklace was undeniably stunning. But that didn’t change the equally undeniable fact that when I ran my finger along the delicate gold chain, I would gladly exchange it for the heaviness of a wrench. The diamond caught the light and dazzled, but I would have traded it in in a heartbeat for the dullness of a grease-covered screwdriver. The way the necklace hung from my neck was beautiful, but I still preferred the smudge of grease on my cheek that Eoin had pointed out on our way to that fancy restaurant the other day even as I longed to be back in the shop.

  With the dirty tools.

  With the oil-covered car parts.

  With the concrete and soft whispers and guiding hands and stolen glances.

  With Darren.

  “Come on now, boys,” Eoin shouted next to me.

  He was again leaning back dangerously on his chair to see through to the living room where England and France were back after halftime. Aubrey had returned to talking with Noah, this time describing her ideal diamond necklace as he nodded along and mimed taking notes. Ma was patiently listening to Michael complain about the family member’s irresponsible personal finances.

  And that left Darren and me.

  I needed to think of something to say to him, because the way we were each staring at our plates and yet not eating wasn’t exactly normal. In the O’Sullivan household it seemed like nothing drew more curious attention than silence. A casual conversation, that’s all I needed. Weather. Sports. Food. Hell, even politics. Anything. I could talk about anything so we wouldn’t stick out.

  But as the lunch continued, I remained silent, because none of the things I wanted to say to him were things I could say to him.

  “I dreamed of you when I got home from my date with Eoin. I dreamed that I stayed like I wanted to and that you took me on the ride you promised me.”

  I wanted to tell him that I was still thinking of it. The words pressed against my lips, threatening to spill out every time I took a sip of water to cool myself off. I wanted to tell him that it felt so real, my arms around his waist as I held on tight. I wanted to tell him I’d never gone faster, but never felt safer than when I rested my cheek against his back. I wanted to tell him that in my dream, he stopped and I told him, “Farther, farther, farther.”

  I wanted to tell him I could still feel the rumble of the engine between my legs, the sway of the bike as we leaned into the dark bends, the wind in my hair as we disappeared together into the night.

  “Kayleigh, darling,” Ma smiled at me from the other end of the table. “Would you like some mashed potatoes?”

  “No!” I blurted the word out before I could stop myself. I blushed as my outburst drew the attention of everyone at the table. I smiled nervously as I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I mean, no, thank you,” I said, forcing a calmness I didn’t feel. When the confused looks remained, I laughed and gestured toward the television. “Rugby’s got me riled up, I guess.”

  The family finally nodded and joined in my awkward, tense laughter.

  “Thank you,” I repeated to Ma as everyone returned to their conversations. “Thank you, but no.”

  I glanced over at Darren, who alone was still staring at me. His grey-blue eyes searching mine. I tugged my attention away from him and focused again on my plate.

  “No,” I whispered. “No.”

  Darren

  If there was a computer in all of Dublin older than the one at my shop, it was the one sitting in front of me atop the little wooden desk in Ma’s tiny study. We boys had tried to convince her to get a new one, even going as far as buying one as a Christmas gift a few years ago, but each time she insisted hers was just fine and the money could be put to better use, namely in the kitchen.

  So each year for Sunday lunches the roasts came out juicier, the pies crumblier, the breads fluffier, and the Google searches slower…slower…slower…

  Amongst stacks of childhood books, overflowing picture albums, and more cookbooks than I could count, I rocked back and forth in the old faded leather office chair and I waited for the Dublin Chamber of Commerce website to load.

  My family’s laughter from the living room next to the warm crackling fire barrelled down the narrow hallway and crashed into me like a sledge hammer to the chest. In the cold blue light of the computer screen, it hurt more than usual because I could make out Kayleigh’s giggles, sweet and infectious, amongst the rest.

  I had offered to do the dishes, all the dishes if that’s what it took, just so I could escape that sound. When Ma shooed me away and insisted she would do it, I tried talking with Michael, but the moment he sat down on the couch he received one of his quintessential “I have to take this” calls. I suggested I could do a check-up on Aubrey’s car out in the garage, but she thought it was a joke because I looked it over two weeks ago.

  “Go keep Kayleigh company in the living room.” She shoved at my arm. “I’ll bring hot chocolates.”

  At the very sight of Kayleigh in the dancing glow of the flames, I knew I couldn’t be alone with her. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders like liquid amber and her green eyes caught specks of gold as she watched the mesmerising fire. Maybe I could have handled her beauty. Maybe I could have sat there and not stared greedily at her profile, stealing the sight away like a jewel thief to admire later. Maybe.

  What ultimately turned me away was the reflection of light off of the necklace Eoin gifted her.

  So I found myself alone in the study, where I decided to take the opportunity to research again what it took to change the shop’s name. A part of me foolishly believed that if I used the new sign, if I cleaned up the garage, if I worked on branding and marketing and social media like Kayleigh suggested, that maybe the shop could one day be successful enough so it’d be me who could afford to buy her diamond necklaces. Foolish, I know.

  It was still a tantalising enough dream to wait a near lifetime for Ma’s computer to pull up the information. I was scrolling through the list of requirements when the door to the study swung open and Noah, followed by Michael and then Eoin, crammed inside.

  “Daz, you’ve been hidi
ng in here while I’ve been dragging England up all by myself!” Eoin complained.

  Startled by the intrusion, my fingers fumbled for the mouse to hastily, and not so subtly, close out the window. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was embarrassed for my brothers to see. I much preferred them thinking I didn’t have ambitions for the place. Or, even better, I preferred them not even remembering that I owned it in the first place.

  “Ma, Darren’s watching porn!” Noah cupped a hand over his mouth to shout back into the hallway, a bottle of whiskey held in his other hand.

  Sighing, I spun around in the creaky office chair as Michael grabbed the cushioned footrest and Eoin pushed aside some framed grade school photos of us to sit on the edge of window sill.

  “I wasn’t watching porn,” I said, my voice emotionless and monotone as always.

  Noah came over and leaned against the desk, crossing his ankles over one another as he rested his elbow on my shoulder. “I know you weren’t watching porn.” Noah grinned. “You were pining.”

  Noah raised his eyebrows up and down as I stared up at him.

  “Pining?”

  He nodded and jabbed a finger at my chest. “Pining.”

  “Don’t think we haven’t noticed that something is up,” Michael said, looking ridiculous as he sipped his expensive sherry in his expensive suit while sitting cross-legged on a fringed floral footrest. He took a thoughtful sip and regarded me in the dim light of the standing lamp. “Spill the beans. Who is she?”

  “The juicy details,” Eoin said next as he struggled to pop the cap off the first of two beers he brought in against the edge of the bookshelves. “Bra size, favourite position, any interesting tattoos. You know, the usual.” With a grunt, the cap tumbled to the floor along with a cascade of white foam. I shook my head as Eoin busied himself trying to catch as much as he could before it hit Ma’s rug.

  “I have no fecking clue what you all are talking about,” I said with a shrug of my shoulders.