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GAIL
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“I deserve so much more than this,” Ben muttered.
“What more do you want?” I said. “We’re in a prime fireworks viewing spot. I got here early enough to get us great seats. We have an amazing picnic.” I indicated the spread of food arrayed on the blanket at our feet—meats and cheeses and crusty bread and grapes. “And you get the pleasure of my company. Which, as you complain about almost constantly, you don’t get enough of.”
I paused my lecture when a woman walked over our blanket, stepped on the corner of it, and didn’t apologize. She didn’t make eye contact, and normally I would have chalked it up to typical New Yorker behavior. But something about her stride—the way mine was the only blanket she stepped on in a sea of colorful cloths laid out across Roosevelt Island—made it feel intentional. She looked vaguely familiar, and I tried to place her as she walked away. I dragged my eyes back to my brother.
“Ben, can you please stop pouting? It’s embarrassing.”
“What’s embarrassing is that I’ve been trying to talk to you for ages, and you can’t seem to make time for me.”
“We’re here now, and you have my full attention. What do you want to talk about?”
“We need some time alone. When I said I wanted to see you, I meant just you. Not you and the beefcake of the month.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the empty folding chair next to me.
“He’s not a beef—” I started to argue, but then I saw Michael approaching and jumped out of my chair.
Suddenly I regretted this outing even more than Ben because I wanted nothing more than to be alone with Michael in a very private room. Any room. A broom closet would have made me happy. Right at that moment, I didn’t want to share him with another soul.
He sauntered across the park toward us, a slight smile on his face, dressed in chinos and a denim button-up. Sleeves rolled to the elbow, naturally, because he was still a secret government assassin, out to end me. I was almost certain of it. Why did he always look so delicious? There was nothing remotely interesting about a man in chinos and a button-up. Most of the men in the country were wearing the exact same thing at this very moment. But Michael’s clothes always looked like they had been custom tailored and stitched right onto his body. Even in the sweltering early summer heat, he looked cool and comfortable. His shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and nipped in at his waist, and his pants curved over his ass and showed off the bulge of his—
“Get your tongue back in your mouth.” My brother interrupted my casual objectification with a laugh.
I waved so Michael would spot us, and he nodded and grinned back at me.
Michael gave me a hug and quick peck on my cheek. I could tell that he wanted to do way more than that when his hands clenched the fabric at my waist, but he pulled back and held his hand out to my brother.
“You must be Ben,” he said. “Michael Andrews. Nice to meet you.”
Ben stood up, and his polite smile didn’t hide his cool appraisal. His eyes traveled from Michael’s head to his toes and then back up again. He had slowly reached out his hand to meet Michael’s handshake when their eyes met, and I saw my brother’s eyes narrow.
“Benjamin Sommers,” he said, his voice oddly locked.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” Michael said.
Ben didn’t bother replying with one of those usual remarks a person makes when someone says that. He didn’t bother with a Same here! Or I hope it was all good! Or Don’t believe anything she said! Even for my brother, it was awkward.
Michael, however, didn’t seem to notice the absence of a return cliché. He pulled a bottle out of the messenger bag he wore over his shoulder. “Gail told me she’d manage the picnic. But I passed my favorite wine shop on the way here, and I remembered she told me you love French champagne, so I stopped in to pick this up. I hear this vintage is great, and I’ve been eager to try it.”
Ben didn’t take the proffered bottle or make a move, so I replied for him. “What a great idea!” I exclaimed, a little too eagerly. “It’s a perfect night for something bubbly.”
“That’s what I thought,” Michael said, and he turned his attention back to me and ran his eyes over my new outfit. “You look especially lovely tonight.”
“You like?” I teased, twirling the skirt of my sundress like a five-year-old and tingling in the glow of his admiring stare. “I decided to dress up as a pretty girl.”
“A pretty girl who wears black dresses and combat boots?” he said.
“Well, come on. I got a new outfit. Not a new personality.”
We settled into our chairs, and Michael reached over and took my hand. I saw Ben’s eyes narrow again.
Stop it! I mouthed. He was taking his protective older brother role a bit too far this time.
“So, Ben,” Michael said, “Gail tells me you teach Cultural Anthropology. That sounds fascinating. How did you get into that field of work?”
“How does anyone get into any field of work?” my brother replied, his voice acidic. “I was interested; I studied it. Here we are.”
“Yes, Ben, everyone knows how school works,” I snapped. “That’s not what he asked.”
Michael didn’t seem to notice our rudeness. He pulled three plastic champagne glasses out of his bag and cut the foil off the bottle cap. “I’ve always thought the best and worst parts of anthropology are that every step leads you to a new mystery,” he continued. “It’s the ultimate investigation, isn’t it? I would think that every time you learn something, you have fifty new questions. And since, by definition, there is no one to answer your questions, you have to keep digging. Or you get to keep digging, depending on how you see your work.”
There were very few ways to bewitch my brother, but Michael had landed on the one method that guaranteed success: think deeply about an intangible subject. My brother would take this kernel and talk all night. Michael was a genius. I turned to Ben, expecting him to match my enthusiasm, but to my surprise his face remained stony. I felt my wide grin falter.
“You’ve both written books,” I announced. I was starting to stab around for random subjects they had in common as if that could save us from the awkwardness.
“Oh, really? What do you write?” Michael asked, his voice still placid.
“Academic books,” Ben replied. “Nothing you would have seen.”
“Probably not.” Michael grinned at me when he said this. “I spend most of my time in the horror section of the bookstore. But I do love reading nonfiction. That’s how Gail and I met—maybe she told you?” He picked up my hand and sent electric shocks through me when he absentmindedly stroked my palm with his thumb. “I’m in the middle of some heavy-duty research.”
“Yes, I heard,” Ben said, condescension dripping from his mouth. “How convenient that you just happened to find my sister.”
“I lucked out,” Michael agreed as if Ben was complimenting him.
“We both did,” I said.
“Why you, Gail?” Ben turned his narrowed eyes on me. “Of all the people in New York City, don’t you think it’s odd that he came to you?”
“No, I don’t.” My falsely cheerful tone had disappeared. “Michael’s the best at what he does, and his publisher asked me for help because I’m the best at what I do. It’s not hard to understand.”
“Excuse me.” Michael stood up. “This food looks marvelous, and I’m hungry. I saw a washroom back there, so I’m going to go clean up before we eat.”
He ambled away, hands in his pockets, looking like he was enjoying a garden party with the Queen, not watching two petulant adult siblings sling jabs at each other across a picnic blanket.
As soon as Michael was out of earshot, we turned to each other and hissed accusations.
“Gail, are you out of your mind?
“Ben, what the fuck?”
We stared at each other for a full minute, and I could not remember ever seeing that kind of vitriol on my brother’s face before.
“Way to go. I’ve spent the last two months telling him how close we are, how well we get along, how you’re the nicest guy I know, and you’ve known him for all of fifteen minutes and already proven me wrong on all counts.”
We were standing up, though I didn’t remember leaping to my feet to yell at him. A vein stood out on his temple, and his fists were clenched at his side.
“You don’t have a clue what you’ve gotten yourself into,” he said.
“I knew I shouldn’t have introduced you.”
“Oh, no, you absolutely should have introduced me. I only wish you’d have introduced me months ago. This is catastrophic.”
“You can’t stand it that I’m having a good time for once in my life, can you? It’s no fun for you if your sister actually gets her life together.”
He let his breath out in a long, slow exhale and looked up at the sky as if someone up there could provide him with answers. “Gail, this has nothing to do with whatever good time you think you’re having. Which will end, by the way. You can’t see it yet, but this good time will end.”
“I think you have been spending too much time with Mom.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because you sound just like her. You’re critical, judgmental of my choices, and rude to people I love.”
“Love? Two months in with this guy, and you already think you love him?”
“That’s not what I said.” Though I realized right away that it was exactly what I had said. The words had slipped out of my mouth so easily. I made a mental note to examine that statement later. For now, I had a fight to win. “I mean anything I even remotely like. Mom is never satisfied, and frankly, neither are you. Lately everything I say pisses you off.” I brushed away the angry tears that had suddenly filled my eyes. “I don’t know why you’re so mad at everyone all the time.”
Ben hesitated, but then his face softened, and he took my hands in his and pulled me in to him. “This is what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said. “I’m worried about you, and we need to talk about why. It’s a long story.”
“What’s a long story?”
“The time I’ve been spending with Mom, I’ve learned a lot of things about our family,” he said. He opened his mouth to continue, but his eyes darted to something behind me, and coldness descended over his face again. “He’s back,” Ben said flatly.
“Tell me.” I yanked on his hands so he wouldn’t pull away from me. “Ben, tell me what you are talking about.”
He gripped me so tightly that my hands tingled. “Gail. You are in grave danger,” he whispered.
“Grave danger?” I laughed. “What on earth does—”
But my brother walked away without another word.
Before I could call out for him to stop or ask another question, Michael rejoined me. I turned to look at him, and his smile was faint.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” I said shortly. “I’m...I’m sorry, Andrews. My brother is—well, I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. He’s not usually so melodramatic.”
“I do.” Michael pulled me to his side, though he didn’t kiss me. “He loves you. He knows what you’ve dealt with, and he’s worried. It’s natural for him not to like me.”
“That’s the part I can’t figure out,” I said. “You’re so alike. I thought for sure you’d hit it off and go off on some random topic of conversation, and I’d sit here alone all night.”
“I guess I’ll have to earn his trust. I’m willing to try.” His arm was firm around my waist—firmer, I thought, than it really needed to be. His eyes kept roving over my head, checking out the crowd.
“He’s not coming back,” I reassured him. “You won’t have a chance to earn his trust tonight.”
Michael looked back down at me and seemed to make a decision. “Do you want to leave?”
“But what about the fireworks? And we haven’t even eaten.”
“We’ll pack it up and eat at my place,” he said. “It’s not as great a view, but we can go to the roof and watch the fireworks.”
“Come on, Michael,” I said. “You’re not going to let my brother ruin our night, are you?”
“It’s not just him.” He turned to face me. “I think I just saw someone who recognized me. I’m not sure.”
“A fan? Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Usually it is, yes. But this one is different. I think she may be...off, somehow? I don’t know. But I’m not comfortable.”
“She can’t possibly be bigger than you, Andrews,” I said, trying to tease him into a better mood. “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”
“I don’t like it,” he said. “Let’s go. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
By that point, I was sick being treated like a damsel in distress. All of the men in my life needed to stop swinging their dicks around and let me make my own decisions. But something in Michael’s eyes made my blood run cold, and I gathered up the food I had laid out without any more questions.
* * *
“Not that it matters, but I have told everyone that you are the best lover I’ve ever had. I’m not sure why you decided to prove me wrong.” I brought the ice pack up to my forehead and winced when it touched the lump that was already turning purple.
Michael looked away from his reflection in the mirror, where he was dabbing blood off the gash just under his right eye. “Everyone?”
“Literally everyone. I told my mail carrier. I brag about it every day. How our sex is so good, the neighbors have orgasms. Now I guess I need to admit it was all a lie?”
He patted a bandage over his cut and sat across from me on the bed. “I hardly think this makes all of it a lie,” he said, taking the ice pack from me and looking at my forehead.
“Tell me the truth, Andrews. Are you sleeping with anyone else?”
His mouth dropped open. “No! Why are you asking that?”
“Because my brother trusts everyone, and he doesn’t trust you. Because you got weird at the park, and I think maybe you saw an ex-lover. Or a current lover. Or, I don’t know, your wife? Are you married? I’ve never even asked. And because now we can’t even seem to fuck, and that is our thing, Andrews. We’re practically the world champs of fucking. But we tried tonight, and now you’re bleeding and I’m seeing double. Something is wrong.”
“Wow,” he said. “Okay. First of all, your brother is protective of you. I have nothing but respect for that. Second, I’ve never been married. Third, a few months ago, I met a strange woman who seemed like a stalker. She came on to me and was creepy when I turned her down. I could have sworn I sme— I saw her at the park tonight, and all I could think was what if she came after you? I wanted to leave. As for the making love—”
I bit back a smile when he said this. I secretly loved saying the f-word in front of him, mainly because he refused to refer to the act as anything besides making love.
“I’m just tired. I’ve been working too much.”
“Do you think we should go to urgent care and have these injuries checked out? Your cut looks deep. You might need stitches,” I said, gently touching his cheek below the bandage.
“Nah,” he said. “I’ve had way worse injuries. This’ll heal.”
“Well, I don’t want to go either,” I said. “It will be full of drunk tourists with homemade fireworks burns. Going in there and admitting I got injured while attempting to have sex would be humiliating. Why is your skull so hard?”
“Why is yours so spiky?”
We stared at each other for a moment, then laughed.
“Well, let’s just admit tonight’s not the night for fireworks,” he said, and he pulled me into him.
We settled back on his pillows. I rested my head on his chest, closed my eyes, and let my breathing match his.
After a while, he spoke. “Gail?”
“Mmm,” I said, already drifting off.
“Will you spend the night with me?”
“Of course.” I lifted my head to look at him. “I always stay the night with you.”
“No, I know, when we are, you know. Doing things.” I smiled at his sudden, inexplicable shyness. “This night has been kind of a bust. But I want you to stay anyway. I just want to be with you.”
“I want to be with you too,” I said, and I buried myself deeper into him. I had just drifted off when I heard him speak again.
“There is no one else, Gail. I don’t want anyone else. I only want you.”
I was in that floating part of the night, awake enough to barely register his words, not awake enough to answer him. But it seemed impossible that he couldn’t feel my heart pounding inside my chest, up against his. I couldn’t tell if I was answering him out loud or just dreaming the words, but I heard my response clearly.
I only want you too.