“Sunshine is my best friend.” I sang a made-up song as I made my way down the street. “No rain today. It’s a beautiful day.”
There was something about New York; the buzz of people was palpable. It made me feel alive. I decided to cut through the park on my way to see Susie. I spotted a man with a cart selling roses and I ran over to him.
“I’d like three roses, please.”
“Which colors?”
“Well, what do the colors symbolize?” I wanted the flowers to mean something to Susie. I wanted her to know that I was putting thought and care into our meeting. She wasn’t just getting simple red roses from me.
“Red for love, purple for passion, light pink for congrats, orange for fascination, white for new love, cream for charm, and yellow for friendship.” He pointed at each rose. “So which ones do you want?”
“I’ll take a white one, a yellow one, and a purple one, please.” I grinned. “I’ll be unique.”
“That’s thirty dollars.”
“Wow, okay.” I reached for my wallet and pulled out some cash. As I was waiting for my change, two young boys came running toward me.
“Hey, there. Are you Brody Wainwright?” asked the older of the two boys as he stopped next to me. He tugged on my jeans, and I nodded as I smiled down at him.
“Yeah, I am.”
“Our dad says you’re the best pitcher in the entire MLB.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” I shook my head modestly. “Perhaps one of them.”
“You are the best. Oh my gosh. I can’t believe we’re meeting you. Can you believe that Patrick?” The boy spoke to who I assumed was his younger brother, who looked up at me with big blue eyes. I froze for a second as I stared down at him. The name Patrick always did that to me.
“Hi,” the boy said. “Can I get your autograph please?”
“Of course.” I nodded. “Do you have a pen and paper?”
“No.” He stared at me with big, wide eyes, and I looked over at the flower man.
“Don’t suppose I could borrow a piece of paper and a pen?”
“That’ll be five dollars,” he said.
“For paper and a pen? I’m going to give you the pen back.”
“Yeah, but paper is expensive these days. You know what the pandemic has done to—”
“Fine. Fine. Just add it to my bill.”
“All right then, Mr. Wainwright,” he said with a wink.
“Okay, so you’re Patrick. And what’s your name?” I asked the older boy.
“Michael.”
I stilled as I stared at them. There was just no way. Michael and Patrick? The names of my older brother and my younger brother.
“Okay. So should I write one to both of you or individually?”
“I’d like my own, please,” Patrick said. And I nodded.
I wrote “Patrick, keep on pitching. Brody Wainwright.” And then I wrote the same thing to Michael. I handed them the papers and turned toward the flower guy.
“Here’s your pen. Can I have the flowers?”
“You got the flowers, sir. They’re in your hand.”
“Oh yeah. Thanks. Well, it was good seeing you both,” I said to the boys.
I walked away quickly, my brain frazzled. What were the chances of meeting two young boys by the names of Michael and Patrick? It wasn’t as if those names were unique, but still.
And then I looked back, and Patrick was throwing a ball to Michael, and they were staring at me. They probably would’ve wanted me to play with them. Kids loved it when you threw them a ball, something they’d be able to talk about for pretty much the rest of their lives. But I just couldn’t.
I rubbed my forehead and looked to the sky. The blues suddenly seemed gray and my mood was changing. I didn’t want to sing. In my gloom, I had a flashback to when I was a child, and my brothers Patrick and Michael had been playing with a ball.
“Hey, go further, Michael.” Patrick had shouted. “Further, further.”
“It’s too far,” Michael had said. “You can’t throw that far.”
“I can. I’m going to be the best pitcher in the world. I have the quickest fastball in all the land,” Patrick had said as he’d thrown the ball to Michael. Michael had chased after it as it fell to the ground.
“Yeah, you can throw far, but you’re not that fast.”
“I am too,” Patrick had said. “I’m going to be a professional baseball player, and everyone is going to come and see me.”
My memory drifted off. I’d been sitting on the grass about fifty yards from them, a book in my hand. I think it’d been about Tom Sawyer or Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain. I’d loved reading in those days and much preferred to be with a book than to be playing sports. My brothers used to make fun of me. But they’d learned over time that nothing was going to change.
I was the odd one out. The ugly duckling. The black sheep of the family, so to speak.
And then another day, when we’d all gone blackberry hunting. After we’d picked and eaten as many blackberries as we could, they’d wanted to go swimming in the creek. I’d wanted to go home, because I was tired and hungry. I also wasn’t much of a swimmer. They’d teased and provoked me, said I wasn’t their real brother if I didn’t go with them.
And so we’d gone, and it’d actually been fun. And that had been one of the only times in my life where I’d actually felt like I belonged, that I was actually a Wainwright. That Michael, Brody, and Patrick were The Three Musketeers and not just two brothers and their third, the odd man out.
I blinked as a fly flew into my eye, and I walked over to a bench and sat down. I was discombobulated. I stared at the roses in my hand and placed them on the bench next to me.
“Patrick,” I said, looking back at the little boy who was now gone. Not sure where to, but it seemed fitting. “Patrick, where are you?” I stared up at the sky. “Are you there? Are you watching me? Do you think it’s ironic that I’m a baseball player now? Or do you hate me? Do you hate me for living your dream? For being better than any of us ever would’ve thought possible?”
I was getting choked up. I wanted to cry. I picked up my phone and decided to call my brother—the one that was still available to answer my calls. The phone rang five times, and then he picked it up.
“Hey. What’s up, dude?”
“Michael, it’s me. It’s Brody.
“I know. Long time no speak. You don’t call a brother back.”
“Sorry. I’ve been busy.”
“I know I read about it in the papers. You’re a Yankee now.”
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
“Thought you would have gone to Philly, personally. But who cares what I thought.”
“You didn’t put money on it, did you?” Though I already knew the answer to that. He’d definitely put money on it.
“Sure did. Felt like a fool when I lost my thousand dollars, and my friends also weren’t happy when they lost money too. I mean, how does the brother of one of the top baseball players in the country not know who he’s going to play for?”
“I didn’t know. And I didn’t know you bet on it. So.”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s not your problem. It never is.”
“Hey, now. I didn’t call to argue.”
“I’m just surprised you called, to be honest.”
“I know. I haven’t been in much contact lately.”
“Yeah. Mom and Dad said they haven’t heard from you in a while.”
“I’m going to call them soon, but…”
“But what, Brody? They’ve already lost one son. Now they feel like they’ve lost another.”
“I do my best.”
“Sending them money doesn’t make up for the fact that they never hear from you.”
“It’s just… You know, Michael. You know why it’s hard.”
“They didn’t mean what they said. They were grieving. It was a bad time for all of us.”
“I know, but I can’t help but think they wish it had been me instead of him.”
Michael sighed. “You can’t think that hasn’t crossed everyone’s mind, Brody. It is what it is.”
“I blame myself. I…”
“Let’s not talk about it, Brody. Okay? It’s no one’s fault.”
“Do you ever think about him?” I said.
“Of course. Every day. He was my best friend.”
I knew when he said that he didn’t mean to hurt me or exclude me. It was just a simple truth. Even though he and I were closer in age, he and Patrick had been together every moment of the day. It had almost been like they were twins.
“But anyway. How are you, Brody? I see you in the papers a lot. Looks like you’re getting a lot of tail. Ironic, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess so. How are you and Nancy?”
“She’s fine. Pregnant again, of course. Three boys, two girls, and another one coming. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to—”
“I can send you money. I can help out.”
“I don’t want your goddamn money, Brody. And anyway, it doesn’t matter. I think we’ve only got a few years left.”
“What are you talking about? What do you mean a few years left?”
“I’m in love with someone else, Brody.”
“What?”
“Remember Brittany?”
“Brittany? Brittany from high school?”
“Yeah. Well, she’s back in town, and she’s taken a liking to me again, and let’s just say she misses the good ol’ days.”
“You’re not cheating on your wife. Please tell me you’re not cheating on Nancy. She has been there for you—”
“She has no time for me, Brody. She’s always with the kids. She doesn’t even shower half of the time. She stinks. Of course I can’t tell her that because then I’d be a bad husband, but she’s really let herself go. She must have gained like fifty, sixty pounds.”
“Hey, Michael. You sound like an absolute douchebag right now.”
“What? You’re my brother, right? And didn’t you say we should always tell each other the truth?”
“Yeah, but that’s not cool, dude.”
“Who are you to talk? I see you with models every fucking week online. I’d love some pussy from an actress or a model or, shit, any woman that hasn’t let herself go.”
“You know what, maybe this wasn’t the right time for me to call you, Michael.”
“Yeah, maybe not. Maybe you can send me some tickets to make up for it.”
I sighed. “I’ll put them in the mail.” And then I hung up.
I sat there for a few seconds, not knowing what to do, but knowing that I felt like absolute shit. Suddenly I realized that I was supposed to be at Susie’s place to take her for breakfast and tell her about my sordid past.
But in that moment, that was the absolute last thing I wanted to do.
I hated myself and I hated my family. I wouldn’t tell anyone that out loud because I felt ashamed. But what had happened all those years ago had ruined everything. It had absolutely ruined everything. And I felt desperately sad for myself, for Michael, for my parents, for Nancy, and for Michael’s kids. Everything was shit.
I knew I couldn’t see Susie. All I needed right now was a drink. Just to forget. Just to feel numb again. I knew I’d be disappointing her, but maybe it was for the best. Maybe I really wasn’t ready. Maybe I was meant to be alone. I didn’t deserve happiness after everything that had happened. I had been given the world and yet none of it meant anything.
I wasn’t happy, and there was nothing I could do to change it. There wasn’t a time machine. I couldn’t go back in the past. I was screwed, and I wasn’t going to bring another person into my fucked-up life. I wasn’t going to bring another person into my inner turmoil. Susie deserved better than that. She deserved a good man. And that wasn’t me.