My Brother's Girl

by Sienna Blake

  He looked slightly surprised, but he recovered quickly. “That’s alright,” he said. “So it’s right here next to the fuel rail and—”

  “I don’t remember that either,” I interrupted.

  Darren straightened next to me. “Kayleigh?”

  “I think you’re right,” I said.

  Darren frowned, concern darkening his eyes.

  “This is too hard,” I admitted, swallowing heavily. “My body already hurts and I’m dirty and I can’t remember anything you just said and I’m…I’m just not right for this job.”

  Darren responded in a low voice, “You just started.”

  I shook my head and rested my chin on my chest, staring at the grease beneath my fingernails. “I know,” I said, “but if it was what I was meant to do it would be easy, you know?”

  I glanced up and looked at Darren through my eyelashes.

  “And it’s just not,” I whispered. “It’s not easy for me.”

  “Maybe it’s not supposed to be easy,” Darren said. He reached out his hand for me, but I pulled back.

  “I think I’m going to go back to my job,” I said, trying to keep the emotion from my voice. “Working on cars…with you, it just isn’t right.” I turned and walked toward the office.

  “Kayleigh!” Darren called after me. “How can you know if it’s not right if you only just started?”

  At the door, I glanced over my shoulder at Darren. He looked mad and hurt and confused all at once.

  “But I didn’t really get started at all, did I?” I said sadly. “All I did was get my fingers dirty.”

  Inside the office, I sagged against the door and sank to the floor, tugging my knees up tight against my chest.

  Are you sure?

  “N” I can’t reveal the truth to Eoin.

  “N” I can’t do that to him.

  “N” I can’t do that to his family.

  So why did I hit “Y”?

  And why was I so terrified that I was going to hit “Y” again and again till it wasn’t the computer catching fire, but the O’Sullivan family?

  Kayleigh

  It turns out that if you let them sit long enough untouched, the bubbles of a 1984 Dom Perignon in a hand-blown Swarovski crystal flute sitting on a pressed white tablecloth fizzle out almost as quickly as the bubbles from the cheapest bottle of sparkling wine bought from the local corner store (that also sells Cheese and Onion Taytos and Cadbury Starbars) and served in a “Doolin Cave Rocks!” souvenir mug.

  I’d dreamed of fancy restaurants with waistcoated maître d’s, crystal chandeliers, polished steak knives and decadent chocolate souffles that melt the very second they touch the tip of your tongue. But in reality, a fancy restaurant meant pinched toes. It meant salad instead of pasta because you’re still wearing the tag of your exorbitantly priced dress, and if you stuff your stomach with sage and butter gnocchi you’ll bust the zipper in the back and, well, you can’t exactly return that, now can you?

  Turns out a light bulb is just a light bulb, a steak knife is just a sharp knife, and a souffle is just expensive cotton candy without the fun colours.

  I had just finished ordering my fifth salad seated stiffly in my fifth waist-pinching gown in the fifth restaurant whose name I couldn’t pronounce when Eoin reached across the white tablecloth to push yet another glass of ’84 Dom Perignon toward me beneath the dazzling light of yet another chandelier.

  “Should I have ordered the ’83?” he asked.

  I shook my head (careful not to shake it too hard so that my tedious up-do didn’t come undone). Then smiled as I carefully placed my fingers around the delicate stem to take a sip.

  “No, no,” I insisted, squeezing his hand. “It’s lovely. Thank you, Eoin.”

  He beamed from ear to ear and a pang of guilt stabbed at my chest. It was obvious that he was in love, “head over heels”, “stars in his eyes”, “wrapped around my little finger” love. He was blinded, stricken, obsessed by it. There was no doubt that Eoin O’Sullivan’s heart pounded out faster and faster, over and over these four letters: L - O - V- E - L - O - V - E - L - O - V - E!

  Those letters were beautiful, but they weren’t K - A - Y- L - E - I - G - H.

  Did Eoin love me or did he love romantic dates in nice restaurants with the snow falling gently outside the candlelit windows? Did Eoin love me or did he love the fairy tale story of his soulmate saving his life and then falling into a lifetime romance? Did Eoin love me or did he love…love?

  Or was this my way of feeling better about the letters my heart beat out?

  “What do you think of the restaurant?” Eoin asked, glancing around the spacious room. “Do you like it?”

  I nodded without taking my eyes off of the golden bread in the basket that the tag digging into my right shoulder blade reminded me not to touch.

  “It’s wonderful,” I said, trying to smile. “It’s really lovely.”

  In reality, I wasn’t even quite sure whether we’d been here before or not. All the expensive restaurants Eoin took me to for our seemingly endless dates ran together at some point. Shining, cold marble floors. Grand gold-framed paintings. Red velvet couches in the waiting areas you weren’t sure whether you could sit on or not.

  I shifted uncomfortably in my itchy sequin dress I desperately wanted to rip off in favour of leggings and fuzzy socks and smiled over at Eoin, who looked equally out of place in his stuffy black suit instead of his grey sweats and sleeveless training hoodie.

  “Thank you,” I repeated.

  It was all I could think of to say to him. He brushed his thumb along my hand. “You’re my soulmate, Kayleigh Bear.” He grinned. “How could I not give you the whole world?”

  What if I didn’t want the whole world? What if I just wanted one quiet, solemn corner of it where broken things go to get fixed by a broken soul?

  I shoved aside those thoughts and instead said once more, “Thank you.”

  I winced because I sounded just about as genuine as a politician repeating it for the ten-thousandth time as she shook the ten-thousandth hand with the ten-thousandth pearly white, shite-eating smile. But Eoin’s grin widened nonetheless and we held hands in silence and watched the bubbles in our champagne fizzle out one by one, trapped equally by the necklines of our uncomfortable clothes and the expectation of decorum in the fancy restaurant (whatever the hell this one was called).

  We were halfway through our meals when Eoin glanced up from his steak, which he was pretending wasn’t bite size for him. “You’re quiet tonight,” he said.

  My fork paused halfway to my mouth, pieces of unfilling and unsatisfying lettuce hanging suspended over a plate full of yet more unfilling and unsatisfying lettuce. His words surprised me because it was the first time I could remember when Eoin seemed to see me as I was and not me as he wanted to see me: perfect, lovely, loving soulmate. I put down my fork and looked over at him. “Oh, umm...”

  I hadn’t expected to need an excuse, a reason, a lie, so my mind whirled trying to find one. In the end, I decided to give Eoin as much truth as I could.

  “I’m actually thinking about work,” I said finally.

  The expression on Eoin’s face was less interest and much more confusion. “Work?”

  I nodded and reminded him gently, “Yeah, umm, at the shop…with Darren?”

  Eoin snapped his fingers and immediately glanced around apologetically at the other restaurant patrons for his disturbance. “Right, right,” he lowered his voice, leaning forward so only I could hear him. “Is it Darren? He must be terrible to work for.”

  I laughed the first genuine laugh of the night. “He is actually terrible to work for. But that wasn’t what I was thinking about.”

  Eoin sliced another tiny bite of his tiny steak, and I imagined him already thinking about his McDonald’s order after we finished our date.

  “Maybe I could get your opinion about it, actually?” I asked, thankful for something to talk about at last…even if it was dangerously clos
e to the one thing I shouldn’t, couldn’t talk about.

  Eoin nodded while pretending that he needed to even chew that bite.

  I grabbed my glass of now not-so-sparkling sparkling wine. “Today I worked with Darren on the bikes instead of my normal stuff in the office,” I explained. “But just a few minutes in and I was lost. My mind was all twisted around and I had no idea what he was talking about.”

  Eoin nodded along as I went on, telling him everything that had happened in the shop that afternoon. I’d made it through my glass of champagne by the time I was finished, having said more, with more passion than any conversation with Eoin before that.

  “So Darren says I can’t give up because it’s hard, but I say that if it was something I was meant to do, I would have a knack for it, right? It’d be easier. Why fight it, you know?” I said, leaning back in my chair, not caring anymore about the expected posture in a fancy restaurant. “So what do you think?”

  Eoin had long ago finished his plate and started in on the bread basket. He tapped his finger against the crust of the last piece. “I think, Kayleigh Bear,” he said, “that you are one thousand and one percent…”

  I grinned when he paused for dramatic effect.

  “…one thousand and one percent correct!”

  “Thank you!” I smacked the table with my palm and an older couple next to us gasped.

  “You’re either good at something or you’re not,” Eoin added, pointing a beefy finger at me.

  “Exactly,” I said excitedly. “That’s exactly what I was trying to tell him.”

  “Like take me, for instance.” Eoin laid his hands on his crisp white shirt, and I was too pumped up to worry that he might leave buttered finger marks. “From the very start I was shite at math, just shite. Numbers were like Chinese to me. But rugby? Fuck, I got that from the very second I stepped onto the pitch.”

  I nodded along emphatically after lifting a finger to request more champagne from the maître d’.

  “I was a natural. That’s what everyone said. A goddamn natural,” Eoin continued. “Why would I struggle with math when I could dominate with rugby? That makes no sense at all.”

  “Exactly.” I waved my hands for emphasis. “That’s it exactly, Eoin.”

  Eoin blushed and wiggled in his fancy chair like a puppy who’d just been praised for doing a trick. The maître d’ returned with a bottle of champagne, and I leaned across the table as he poured.

  “Like I’m good at answering the phones,” I said.

  “No,” Eoin interrupted, leaning across the table to mimic my enthusiasm. “No, Kayleigh Bear. You’re the best at answering phones. The absolute best.”

  I hesitated, because despite Eoin’s overwhelming and flattering confidence in me, that wasn’t entirely true. I hadn’t quite nailed transferring calls from the office to the little cordless by Darren’s toolbox. I did find myself missing calls sometimes because my mind was out in the shop with Darren. But those were just insignificant details, I assured myself as I took a swig of champagne. The point was I could (mostly) use a phone while I definitely couldn’t manage a voltage meter.

  “And the coffee,” I pointed out while pointing my glass at Eoin. “I’ve never struggled making the pot of coffee in the morning. First try on my first day, I nailed it.”

  Eoin reached across the table and squeezed my shoulder with his beefy hand. “Because you’re a natural at making coffee, Kayleigh Bear. A natural!”

  “Exactly!”

  I didn’t bother waiting for the maître d’ this time as I grabbed the bottle of champagne to refill my own glass. “So I was right then?” I asked. “I was right that I just wasn’t meant to be a mechanic, right? I mean, what was I thinking? Who did I think I was?”

  The kind of girl who chases after what she wants no matter the hurdles? The kind of girl who sees a challenge and runs toward it instead of away from it? The kind of girl who stokes the flames of passion in her heart so they became an uncontrollable wildfire?

  “No,” I gripped my champagne glass as I stared down at my fancy gown. “No, making coffee is easy. Writing sticky notes is easy. Answering the phones is easy.”

  “Maybe some things aren’t supposed to be easy.”

  Darren’s words echoed in my mind even as I tried to push them away.

  “And someone will always have to answer the phones,” Eoin assured me, winking and pointing a beefy finger at me across the table. “Talk about job security. You can answer the phones for the rest of your life.”

  I looked up at Eoin, and this time I was aware of every muscle it took to raise a smile. Maybe it wasn’t a great sign when expressing happiness felt like weightlifting.

  “Exactly,” I said, enthusiasm dying as quickly as the bubbles in that exorbitantly expensive bottle of champagne.

  I could answer the phones for the rest of my life.

  I could curl my eyelashes and swipe on red lipstick and wiggle into tight dresses for the rest of my life.

  I could drink champagne and smile and rely on the crystal chandeliers for the glow in my cheeks for the rest of my life.

  I could stay with Eoin for the rest of my life.

  Because it was easy.

  “Maybe some things aren’t supposed to be easy.”

  “Hey, Kayleigh Bear.” Eoin’s hand snaked around the bread basket and between my glass and the flickering candle to hold my fingers. I looked across at him as he rubbed his thumb along the back of my hand. “What do you think about taking our dessert to go?”

  I shrugged, suddenly feeling deflated. “Yeah, sure,” I said. “Should I ask for the dessert menu?”

  As I shifted in my chair to find the maître d’, Eoin squeezed my fingers and cleared his throat. “No, no, um.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice, eyes darting conspiratorially back and forth. “No, I, um, I meant…” He blushed slightly and again cleared his throat. “I meant maybe we taste each other’s tiramisu back at my place.”

  My body went rigid. It was my turn to duck my eyes with red cheeks. “Oh, um…”

  “We could make a cake together back at my place,” Eoin added, leaning in even closer.

  I frowned, a tad confused by that particular metaphor.

  Eoin’s eyes travelled down to my chest as he whispered, “Like we could mix up a pudding back at my pl—”

  “Eoin,” I interrupted. “I got it. I got it.”

  “I’m talking about sex,” Eoin needlessly clarified. “Back at my place.”

  I slipped my hand from his and patted it with kindness that felt more motherly than romantic. “Eoin, honey, I knew what you were talking about.”

  Eoin sighed loudly and sagged into his chair in a dramatic show of relief. “Good,” he exhaled. “I’ve been struggling with how to bring it up, you know? We have been dating for almost twelve days now.”

  I smiled. “I know, I know,” I said. “It’s just that I’m feeling kind of tired right now.”

  Eoin did his best to hide his disappointment, but I saw his pout before he forced the corners of his lips back up into a smile. “No problem, Kayleigh Bear.”

  “Thanks, Eoin,” I said. “You’re a good man.”

  And I meant it. I really did. It was part of what was making all of this so damn difficult.

  “We’re soulmates, after all,” Eoin added, sipping his champagne. “We have forever for…that.”

  Forever for nice restaurants and simple conversations and no fighting.

  Forever for chairs held out for me, doors opened for me, bills paid for me.

  Forever for easy.

  “Ready to go then?” Eoin asked, raising his hand to signal the maître d’ for the bill.

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  Yeah, I was ready to go.

  I just had no clue how to tell Eoin.

  Darren

  There was no wafting smell of black coffee in the shop when I tucked my motorcycle helmet under my arm and stepped inside, brushing a few stray raindrops from my hair. On to
p of the toolbox closest to the garage door I found a size twelve wrench, a grease-smudged yellow invoice, and an old copy of Bike Buyers’ Guide, but the normal neon pink stickies with a list of missed calls in Kayleigh’s curly cursive were nowhere in sight. The office door was still shut, the lights were still off, and the phone was ringing with no one to answer. Where was Kayleigh?

  I heard a muffled, “Motherfucker.”

  My wet boots squeaked on the concrete floor as I followed the quiet cursing and the ting-ting sound of metal against metal. I stepped past a motorcycle stripped of its back wheel, around another with dismantled handlebars, and behind a beat-up old junker Volkswagen Polo whose missing tail light was the least of its problems.

  From my place near the rear bumper, I leaned around the side to see a pair of skinny legs jutting out from beneath the car. Next to the flat front tyre and its dented hubcap was a wobbly stack of old manuals that nearly towered past the rusted hood. I watched silently as Kayleigh’s feet squirmed this way and that while she muttered to herself in escalating frustration. I winced myself when I heard her bang her forehead against the undercarriage, having done it at least a million and a half times myself.

  With a sigh, I followed the bumper around the side of the car and stood between Kayleigh’s outstretched legs. Crossing my arms over my chest, I placed the toe of my boot on the edge of the creeper and rolled her out from beneath the car. I kept my lips fixed in a stern line as Kayleigh blinked in the sudden flood of light, but damn, was it a struggle with the way she looked beneath me.

  Her long red hair was twisted into two messy knots on the top of her head to keep it out of the way of my head lamp. She blew her ruffled bangs out of her eyes. There was already a smudge of grease on her cheek, and I wanted nothing more than to reach down and brush my thumb along her soft freckled skin. I’d never found her sexier than she was right then as she held a wrench the wrong way in work gloves at least two sizes too big for her with a manual incompatible with the car she was working on opened across her chest. It nearly sent me over the edge when she smiled up at me on top of all of that.