I nodded robotically. Just because I would step out of the way for Rory, didn't mean I would do so for myself.
“So, Ro, I feel like I've been talking about myself non-stop. What about you two? I don't see any little Rories and Lils crawling around yet.”
I gripped my fork a little tighter.
“Yeah, well, we're taking our time. I'm really busy with work at Generate. Climbing that ladder. I'm up for a promotion soon so I've been putting in some long hours. This heatwave has generator sales booming like you wouldn’t believe.”
I scoffed at his comment, not even realizing how loud I was.
The table went silent as both men looked at me, surprised by my reaction. Since I had already made my feelings apparent and was feeling particularly raw, I went full speed ahead.
“Can't we be honest with Bobby? After all, he is family,” I stated sardonically. I directed my next words at Bobby, shifting to an emotionless tone. “We've been trying for years and it hasn't happened. It will, but it hasn't.”
“Oh,” Bobby replied, realizing he had hit a sore spot.
“What is this?” Rory interjected, fussing with the brown square on this plate. “Didn't I ask for anything but this goddamned meatloaf? This tastes like shit.”
“Woah, come on now,” Bobby butted in. “It's fine. It's very good.”
“No, let's go.” Rory stood up sharply. “Let's get some real food and some drinks. Just us fellas. We should be celebrating.”
Bobby looked at me apologetically, but I avoided his pity by bringing my plate to the sink. The last thing I wanted Bobby to see me as was pathetic.
“Thanks for dinner,” Bobby said, nodding at me. “It really was good. You relax tonight and I'll watch Rory for ya.”
I gazed at the table, topped with one uneaten plate of food, and one nearly finished—Bobby's of course.
It was just past eleven at night when Rory came in through the front door, his shirt nearly transparent with sweat, his hair stringy and in disarray. I was sitting in the living room, flipping through a magazine. I waited a few seconds for Bobby to follow but he didn't.
“Where's Bobby?” I asked from behind the glossy pages.
“He's outside. Talking to a few of the neighbors.” I could tell by the look in his eyes that Rory had plenty to drink. He made a beeline straight for the bedroom followed by him making a fuss in the closet.
Despite my aversion to interacting with Rory in this state, I followed him in.
“What are you looking for, honey?” I asked, pretending to be helpful.
“Got it,” Rory stood up with a pistol in his hand.
“What are you doing with that?” I questioned.
“I want to show the fellas.”
“I don't think that's a good idea,” I suggested. “You've been drinking.”
“I'm fine,” he answered.
“Please don't.”
“Oh for Pete's sake, Lilly. Can you not try to mother me for once?”
“I'm not trying to mother you. I'm simply stating you've had too much to drink and it's not wise to bring a firearm outside like that.” I clenched my jaw tightly as I spoke, trying not let my words sound confrontational.
“Why don't you just take my balls? Keep them in a case so you can just carry them around?” He gestured toward them with the gun in his hand.
“Watch that thing!”
“It's not loaded!” he pointed the gun towards the ceiling and pulled the trigger. A shot rung out and we both ducked away from it. Dust and plaster puffed down from the ceiling. “Aww shit!” he said, shielding his eyes as he looked up at the hole in the ceiling.
The sound of running footsteps halted at the door beside me.
“What the—? Is everything okay?” Bobby looked around frantically, his eyes full of deep panic.
“I told him he was too drunk to handle that thing,” I pointed over. “Please put the gun down, Rory,” I pleaded in frustration.
“Ro, what are you doing brother?” Bobby walked slowly towards Rory and gently pulled the gun out of his hand. I knew Rory wanted to impress his little brother, who had been around the world and blazed his guns in glorious battles. Now he was embarrassed and somehow this would be my fault.
“It was fine until she came in here, getting on my case. She started hassling me and I forgot to unload the gun.”
“This is my fault?” I asked in disbelief.
“When'd you get to be such a fuckin' drag, Lilly?” Rory asked through gritted teeth before exiting the bedroom.
“Where are you going?” Bobby asked.
“To get some air. Have fun with the nag!”
Now I was embarrassed. I didn't want Bobby to see how far we had fallen. I didn't want his looks of pity. It wasn't just Bobby who had died years ago. No one was the same since he had left. Bobby must have wondered if he walked into the right house. He left us years ago, a newly wed couple, sitting side by side, so much promise before us. But that promise was empty, and beneath the perfect smiles, behind the pale blue siding and the manicured front lawn, there was despair. I looked down at the floor, using every bit of focus I had not to let the tears flow.
“Lil, you okay?” he asked gently.
“You don't get to come here and think you can fix things,” I sniped. Anger was the only way to keep the tears in. If I told Bobby the truth, at that moment, the levy would burst and the tears would flow. “And you can't come back and expect things to be the way they were. You did a fine job watching him for me, by the way.”
I stepped past the threshold into the bedroom and waited until I felt Bobby leave.
I pretended to be sleeping when Rory came back home. Sleep would diffuse the tension until the next morning. Rory was always better the next day. This night's scene was particularly bad. Rory usually gave a couple of days between nights out. He really tried to keep sober and make it up to me. But Bobby returned and Rory felt the need to be out with the boys. Bobby was already making things worse.
I lay awake in bed, listening to the taunting cadence of the grandfather clock, already feeling a twinge of guilt for snapping at Bobby. This is why people forgave him so easily. He had a way of making you feel like you were his only care in the world when he spoke to you. Anyone watching the past day would look at me and think I was the cruel bitch. Bobby took the verbal jabs without a single swing back, and it made me feel like the bully. But it was Bobby who was truly the most vicious and I tried to remind myself of that. His kind words and smile didn't change the choices he made. Someone smiling at you while they rip your heart out doesn't make it any less painful.
Once the clock read past three, I knew it would be another night with just a couple of hours of sleep. Rory's snores had stirred me out of my light slumber. The heat and tension clawed at me unrelentingly. I rose out of bed and headed for the backyard, which was a nice quiet place to sit on a night like this and often cooler than the house. I opened the door and was shocked to find Bobby sitting on the porch swing, nursing a beer.
“Oh—I—I didn't know you were out here. I'll leave you be,” I said, stepping back to close the door.
Bobby sat up tall. “No. Lil. Come out here. Can't we just—can't we just talk? Not about anything, but just be in the same space together?”
My internal debate raged. I was already exhausted by the constant offense I was running against Bobby, and I had cooled off a bit from the gunshot incident.
“Fine,” I relented, stepping outside and leaning noncommittally against a pillar just a few feet away from him.
The dim porch light spotlighted Bobby. I tried not to look, but it only took seconds to fall in. He took a swig out of the long-necked bottle. His sandy brown hair was knotted back carelessly, most of it not long enough to reach the ponytail, so that the locks collapsed in reckless waves. Until his return, I had never seen him like that. The Lightlys always kept their boys clean-cut. He was almost twenty when I saw him last and in those few years he had transformed into a man. His stubble framed a sharp jawline, and only made his roguish smile more mischievous. No one around here dressed or kept their hair like Bobby. And like his fits of quiet, it added to his mystery. Outwardly he would be silent, but quiet Bobby was always the loudest to me. I could almost hear his mind racing with thoughts, a tension that swirled around him like a silent storm. So while he didn’t say a word, I always felt like he was tearing the space apart. I could feel the air pressure change as Bobby raged internally. For all of his yapping growing up, during these silent “fits” was when I felt closest to him.