I woke up the next morning feeling inexplicably sad. My sleep-clouded brain couldn't comprehend this feeling of impending doom and then I remembered. I kissed Bryson. A sentence that should be said with excitement, except he had ruined it by hiding behind his supposed heterosexuality. Here's a hint, Bryson: Straight guys don't kiss other guys that intimately. I lay in bed wondering how long I could hide there without my family noticing something was amiss. Somehow, I doubted they would let me spend the entire two and a half weeks I was there in my bedroom. So, I would have to see him at some point. Which was fine because, as far as I was concerned, nothing happened. That's certainly how he wanted it and I was fine with that.
No, you're not
said the less useful, mutinous part of my brain
you were hoping that kiss would end in happily ever after and instead your time at home is even more awkward now.
My brain had a point. I took a deep breath and looked at the clock. Whew, it was already noon. I hadn't slept in that late in a while. I suppose crying for hours really knocked me out. I cursed myself for acting like a female and rolled out of bed to start my day. I wasn't sure what was on the agenda for today, but I knew that there weren't any major events that had to do with the wedding. If I wanted to, I could avoid Bryson the whole day. I'm not sure if thinking that much about Bryson was actually conducive to the whole ignoring him plan, but I couldn't help it. I'd been thinking about Bryson in one context or another for so long that, at this point, it was like breathing. I pulled on an old t-shirt and pair of jeans and walked down into the kitchen. My family was sitting around the table eating lunch. I wordlessly joined the table and started making myself a sandwich. Even years down the road, my family knew that I wasn't one for chatter when I first woke up. I needed time to get used to being awake before I became a fully functional member of society. After about twenty minutes, we began talking about the plans for the day and Dane told me he was planning on going down to the river and drinking some beer on the boat and asked if I would like to join him. I was ready with a refusal, but it died on my lips as I say the hopeful look on Dane's face. We had been pretty close when we were younger and I could tell at times that it upset Dane that we didn't really talk that much any more. I went and grabbed some shoes and hopped into Dane's truck with him.
I had to admit, the river was nice. It was beautiful out and I was enjoying my time spent with my brother. I hadn't joked or laughed like this in so long. It was different from hanging out with my work friends. Even with the time apart, Dane knew me. He had grown up with me and I was able to be more comfortable around Dane than I was around any of my Chicago friends. I had grown up with Bryson, too. I had probably spent as much time with Bryson as I had with Dane since they were practically inseparable. Yet, I was anything but completely myself around Bryson. Dane excused himself to go to the bathroom so I took that moment to close my eyes and bask in the sun. I had my eyes closed for a minute or two before I got that prickly sense you feel whenever someone is looking at you.
I figured it was Dane, so I said "Keep staring at me and I'm going to charge you."
"It'd be worth it." That deep voice definitely did not belong to Dane.
I opened one eye and looked over at Bryson leaning on a tree. There was a slight flush on his cheeks that signaled he regretted what he had said. He wasn't looking at me any more. Anger filled up my senses. What was this game he was playing? Kissing, flirting and then pulling back as if he was embarrassed by something I did. I was sick of this game and, without any pretense that I was leaving for any other reason than his presence, I got up and attempted to storm off. I've always wanted a good movie storm off. There was no door to slam, but I figured this would do just fine. I, however, did not figure out that Dane had left his sandals by his chair. So when I went to storm past Bryson, I tripped over the sandal and landed face first on the grass with my legs tied up in Dane's folding chair. I suppose it was my fault for assuming I could be that dramatic without consequences. I turned around and sat up. I heard laughter and immediately shot a venomous glare in Bryson's direction. His laughter only served to ignite my anger further. Bryson, with a smirk set solidly on his face, offered me his hand, but I ignored it and managed to disentangle myself from the chair and continue my storm out with just a little less dignity than before.
I passed Dane and, when he asked me where I was going, I yelled, "I'm walking home!"
