My Baby Sister's Boyfriend

You never exactly suggested we do anything. What we did was nothing special; we drove around town a bit, walked a little more and hung out in the park. I got you talking and you didn’t stop; I liked it better, because it meant I didn’t have to talk and embarrass myself while, at the same time, I learned who you were.

It was obvious why my sister liked you. You were funny, kind and simply one of those people who seemed impossible to hate. It was easy to listen to you talk without it feeling like you were overpowering the conversation. I liked hearing about your life back in Boston and about your obsession with music and learning your little quirks. Though, the more I found I enjoyed it, it made me increasingly uneasy. I didn’t understand why I was so intrigued by you or why I liked the sound of your voice so much. It was confusing, to say the least.

“But, really, enough about me,” You said finally. “I’m sick of talking. You talk; you’ve been quiet. Tell me about yourself.”

I froze; my brain went blank and, suddenly, I didn’t know who I was. My palms began to sweat and I messed with my hair anxiously.

“Well…” I trailed off, debating on whether or not to ask a question or say I’m boring. “I’m really not that—”

You cut me off. “Don’t say you’re not interesting. The way Charlie talks about you, it’s impossible.”

I almost cringed at the mention of my sister. I’d almost forgotten that you were her boyfriend. Almost.

“Alright. Well, I’m a senior who listens to a lot of blink-182.” I began, shoving my hands into my pockets and forcing myself to look at you. “My best friend is Jack Barakat and that’s about it.”

You laughed and shook your head at me. You said, again, that I couldn’t be boring and started to coax information out of me with small questions and conversation. I didn’t even notice all that I was telling you until I’d already said it and wanted to take it back. I even told you about my dad abandoning us after my brother died and how angry I was over it. You didn’t give me obvious sympathy. You let me talk and your gaze didn’t falter. When I was done, I bit my lip and felt like I shouldn’t have told you everything. I hadn’t even told Jack as much I had told you. It made me feel like shit for being a cruddy friend.

“I know how you feel, Alex.” You whispered. You touched my arm but didn’t move your hand; just the presence of your skin against mine burned.

You had told me about your mom before you coaxed me into talking. She was a lot like you and had died of cancer nearly three years ago, prompting your move to Maryland. After a long while of silence, I tentatively touched your fingers. You thought I wanted you to move your hand, so you did. I almost—almost—grabbed for your hand, but restrained myself and put my hand back in my pocket.

I took you home not long after. Then I went home and up to my room. I stayed there through the day and up until dinner. I couldn’t bear to look at Charlie. I felt terrible for earlier and part of me wished I hadn’t offered for you to hang out with Jack and I, but I still was happy we’d talked so much. It was… nice, knowing who you were, really.

I made a feeble excuse of wanting to know who my sister’s boyfriend really was. Because, deep down, I knew that wasn’t the real reason.