He’s crying.
Brett tries to play it off like he’s been reading the textbook on his lap, but the framed picture he’d been holding clatters as he sets it back on the desk.
I walk to my side of the room as if he isn’t wiping his face. I put my bag on my desk, lie back on my bed, and stare at the ceiling. I listen and wait for Brett’s breathing to return to normal.
After I minute, I say, “Do you wanna talk about it?”
I’m expecting him to say no. I’m expecting him to pretend he wasn’t just crying.
Instead, he says, “I’m sorry if I’ve been so weird.”
I glance over. He sits at his desk, in profile to me. He picks up the framed picture.
“The only person I’ve shared a room with before was Todd, my twin brother. He died when we were fourteen.” He wipes at his eyes.
I am such a jerk.
Why didn’t it occur to me that his parents had a reason for being so emotional about leaving him? Or consider that maybe there was a reasonable explanation for that Little League photo?
I wish I could apologize for the way I judged him and his parents, but first I’d have to explain my assholery.
“I’m so sorry,” I say and leave it at that.
“It’s the kinda thing that never really leaves you, you know?” Brett says.
“Yeah,” I say.
Perhaps he can hear how I do know, because the rest of Brett’s words come out in a rush.
“I’ve had four years to adjust, but whenever I hear you shift in your sleep or get up in the mornings, for a second, I think you’re him. So I’ve been icing you out. You’re this big reminder that he’s not here with me.”
“No, I get it.” I think of telling him about Finn, but this isn’t the time. “What was Todd like?” I glance over in case it was the wrong thing to say, but his face lights up and reminds me of Angelina at the wake.
Todd could have been an actor, Brett swears to me. He knows they were kids, but if I had seen Todd act, I would understand. Todd could turn on something inside him and become someone else. He did all the junior theater stuff in Kansas City. It didn’t matter what the role was, Todd flipped that switch and became George Gibbs or Mercutio or the Tin Man, it didn’t matter.
Todd also loved baseball and wanted to coach at any level he could.
“I asked Todd if he wanted to be an actor once,” Brett says. “He shrugged. He said he only liked it. He loved baseball. And he wanted to be a dad, and being an actor could delay that.” Brett pauses. “And I was like, we’re fourteen. I thought it was a lot to ask about careers, and here he was talking about being a dad.” He pauses again. “He would have been a good one though. A great coach too. He had a way of being happy for other people that was contagious. When the team won, he was happy for the whole team, and when they lost, he was happy for the teammates who had made good plays.” He laughs. “There was a joke at school, ‘You’d have to be a real asshole to hate Todd Carter.’”
It sounds like Todd and Finn would have gotten along well.
The way Todd died, Brett tells me, was stupid, and when he explains it, I have to agree. Todd was coming home from a practice with their dad, and their car was stopped at a red light. A drunk hit another car in the intersection, and that car was pushed into their family car, which caused an airbag malfunction that broke Todd’s neck.
“Then he was…” Brett holds his hands open as his voice trails off.
“Gone,” I finish for him, nodding. “Just like that.”
Brett looks up at me expectantly.
“It’s funny, but—I mean, it’s not funny at all, but…” I fumble. “This room was open because my best friend died. Last month.” My face feels hot. “It’s not the same as a brother, especially not a twin, but I kinda get it.”
Suddenly tears are in my eyes. Trying to be respectful of Brett’s loss, I feel like I’m diminishing my friendship with Finn.
Before I can be embarrassed about crying, Brett is saying, “Last month? Dude, I’m surprised you didn’t punch me on sight.”
Which makes me laugh and cry a little more.
“What happened?”
Then I’m explaining how Finn’s death was so unfair, how he was always so cautious.
How he was great at soccer, unfailingly kind.
How he’d loved this girl his whole life and had only just gotten to be with her.
How the funeral home was packed.
It’s not like Brett and I instantly become friends.