Brother From Another

Dad’s house had olive siding and a big porch with a swing on it—a loveseat that couldn’t support more than 350 lbs., i.e., less than one-half of me. We were three blocks from Mom’s house, and all of the houses looked copied and pasted with different earth tones and a few objects on the driveway and porch to make them look lived in. The whole neighborhood looked like a white town, and appearances weren’t deceiving—my sister Paula and I were the blackest people on the block, and we were only half. My boyfriend made out with me in the car, ignoring my older sister in the back seat. I didn’t rush our make-out sesh, though. We were already late for dinner with my Dad, but I made time for me and Liam.

Liam came around the driver’s side. “H-hold me,” I said. I shifted in my seat to get my belly off the steering wheel. It honked the horn, completely blanketing the steering wheel before it poured out of the open doorway and overflowed my lap. I definitely reaped the perks of working at a candy store—free candy and as much of it as I could eat! He scooped up my stomach and struggled to hold onto it. The real problem was that I was wider than the doorway—the free candy was still worth it. I got a foot down and inched my way out of the door, shimmying and squeezing. I held onto Liam and the frame of my car and staggered to my feet.

Liam’s shaggy brown hair whipped around in the wind. He jiggled my doughy belly with a grin on his face and then let go. My center of gravity dropped, and my belly plopped against my knees. All that weight punched between my shoulder blades and my lower back. Arthritic pain zapped across my body. I yelped and stumbled into him, but he planted his feet and held me steady.

“I’ve got you.” Liam quit fucking around and took my hand. Two sweaty palms locked together. His hand stayed firm, but I couldn’t stop shaking. I should’ve brought my cane or my walker, but I hated them just like I hated my oxygen tank and all that plastic tubing and shit. I let all that stuff collect dust in the corner of my bedroom at Mom’s house, because I only left the house when I felt sexy—none of that stuff was sexy.

“Be-behave yourself in there,” I said. “I’ve never … never introduced a boyfriend to … to my family, so this is kinda a big deal.”

He wrapped an arm around my back and squeezed, unable to get it all the way around my body. Liam’s voice was like a Nerd’s Rope. He sounded kinda upbeat and goofy, but had a rich, gooey, sweet center. “Baby, I don’t care what anyone thinks. It’s just me and you.” That should’ve been romantic, but the dart landed far from the bullseye, off the dartboard, in some sad schoolteacher’s cocktail at the end of the bar.

“Ha! Sure, yeah. Just the two of you and the judgy side of the family. Good luck, Romeo,” Paula said. She wore a security blanket of vodka fumes. Her voice slurred and stretched out words when she spoke, but her tone was sweet with little pockets of bluntness speckled in there—very Hershey’s Cookies and Cream. She propped herself against my car. Neither of us was fit to brave the summer heat, but Dad’s air conditioning would save us from the killer humidity.

I had to rest at the top of the driveway. I placed one hand against the post and turned my head upwards. My hair whipped around me and over my eyes as I stared up at the sky through the wafting white netting of the basketball hoop above me. A basketball goal sat cemented into the driveway, and the little garden around the porch popped in the summer. Whatever those flowers were, I focused on their brilliant colors while I regained my breath—white, red, purple. I’m the girl who doesn’t know her flowers, unless it’s a rose, an orchid, or a lily. My asthma is pretty bad, and flowers are dirty.

Come to think of it, I’d never been given flowers. People, even Liam, assumed I’d prefer a couple of plates at a buffet to a blooming arrangement of flowers. Food is my love language, but I wouldn’t mind a pretty bouquet. Something that will die on its own time, without the guilt that I’ve gone and killed it in its prime.

The door flew open, and a silhouetted, broad-shouldered boy stepped out. Langley dug his hands deep in his slacks’ pockets. His loose necktie flapped in the Kansas breeze—Kansans talk like they don’t have wind everywhere else in the world, but Kansas wind hits hard. “Running late, I see. Everyone’s waiting … ” Boy had a voice like a jawbreaker. He spoke like he aimed to project his voice across an auditorium.

“Dude! I-I-oh my Lanta … ” My calves turned into total jelly. Fatter than most TLC (C-list) celebrities, my joints were on fire, and my back was a few seconds from nuclear meltdown. Each waddle sounded like a loud clap. My belly slapped my knees, even when I kept my back straight. Sweat poured off me and tickled my nose on the way down around my chins and onto my broad chest. I rested my belly on the bottom step and fanned myself. It was sunset, thankfully. In the humid Kansas summer, I’d have melted like a tub of ice cream by daylight.

Paula hung back, wheezing and groaning all her own. “Can you move … your fat fuckin’ ass!” Just under three hundred pounds, my big sister’s legs bowed when she stood, shaky from spending days, nights, and weeks dwelling on Mom’s couch and drinking herself into an emotionless stupor. She wore an oversized pink tank top—most of her clothes were either oversized and out-of-date or new and a couple sizes too small. Her sense of superiority came from her miraculous weight loss and my notorious obesity, but she just came across as bitter. Probably because I could eat whatever, whenever I wanted, and she was on a strictly alcoholic diet.

Liam stood close to me and gave me a shoulder to lean on. Liam was a casual hookup who’d been upgraded to boyfriend status less than an hour before dinner. He’d been goofy enough that I thought it’d be no problem to bring him to family dinner. Besides, I knew none of my siblings brought their significant others to dinner. I wanted to show off my man.

Boyfriend Liam was a totally different animal from hookup Liam. He squeezed my hand in a tight fist. Liam scoffed at my brother. “Who’s this asshole?”

I whimpered, too breathless to answer.

“Hey, man, can you get the fuck outta the way?” Liam stood up tall without much regard for me. My arm, draped across his shoulders, strained and cramped.

Langley smiled and nodded his head. A vein popped in his neck. He towered over Liam from the top of the stairs. He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His shoulder-length blonde hair whipped around his face in the warm breeze.

“If you make me. Do you think you can do that?” Langley brought his hands out of his pockets and puffed out his surfboard chest. Three years younger than me, the kid’d just turned nineteen and had a bouncer’s posture.

“Lang! I’m gonna … I’m gonna pass out.” My legs turned into overcooked spaghetti.

“Oh, shit! Sorry, sis. Come on in.” Langley relaxed his balled fists—such a thespian. He volunteered at the community theatre and worked at an animal hospital. He always played Tybalt and Gloucester, rarely bowing off the stage unscathed or with clean hands. Like me, he had Leo energy.

“No, hold on. Who the fuck are you?” Liam held onto me, but he didn’t move a step.

“H-help me!” My chest pounded, and my voice broke, uneven and shrill from fatigue. Without someone’s help, those three steps up to the porch were a brick wall for me. I lifted my foot, but I couldn’t get it high enough to step up. If Liam wasn’t holding onto me, I’d have wiped out just trying it. I’ve never been very athletic.

Langley stepped down and took my free hand. On the right side of me, Langley put his arm around my back and carried my arm over his shoulder. He acted as a crutch on my right side. “Langley Miller. Paula and Mindy are my sisters.”

Paula walked around the three of us in a big circle, climbing the three steps in front of me. She muttered as she passed me up. “Fuckin’ pathetic.” Her big, wavy curls bounced on her shoulders when she stepped, but she waddled clumsily. If I hadn’t dragged her along, she’d have blacked out on the couch watching reruns of Jersey Shore, but I was “fuckin’ pathetic.”

Langley and Liam guided me inside, but neither of them spoke to one another—only doting, careful questions about if I needed to sit, if I needed a drink, etcetera. Soaked in sweat, I’d have asked for all of the above if I could manage a single word.

The living room couch had been moved into the dining room. Each side of the table normally had three chairs spaced around it, but my stepmom had Langley move the living room couch in and put the three chairs from her dining room set in one corner of the room. They accommodated me for the sake of my comfort and the life expectancy of the dining room furniture. Langley and Liam helped me to the couch. They were both there for me, which I thought was sweet.

Dad sat at the head of the table with his wife on his left and an empty couch on his right. Dad got up and pulled the couch away from the table, while the boys lowered me onto the cushions. “Are you okay, Mindy?” Dad asked. His brow wrinkled, and he frowned.

I stuck my tongue out and panted—the fastest way to tell him that I couldn’t talk. I tried to shift myself over to make room for Liam. I pretty much filled it out, but a small gap between me and the right arm of the couch left Liam enough room to squeeze in. The couch cracked beneath me and slumped towards the middle. I yelped, but wasn’t so surprised, honestly. It wouldn’t be the first couch I’d busted. Everyone pretended not to notice, but Liam and Paula couldn’t help themselves.

“Did you break the couch?” Liam asked in a whisper. I decided against answering him.

“Classic fatass Mindy, making a scene just waddling into the room. So sad … ” Paula chortled into her wine glass at the opposite end of the table from Dad and my stepmom. Winded and gasping for air, I wasn’t exactly doing cartwheels or juggling fire. She scoffed at me and rolled her eyes. “RIP to the couch.”

Seated next to my stepmom, my stepsister Cynthia waved to me. She had her mom’s slender, pointed nose and wavy, untamed hair, but the heavy eyelids and freckles must’ve come from Dad. Weirdly enough, we almost looked related, despite pigment disparities. She straightened her blonde hair every day—it would rebel into discordant zigs and zags—and put a little pink bow in the back.

“You’re late, Mindy,” Agatha said. She swirled red wine in a glass, pinched between her fingers. Langley got his theatrics from her. Her voice came through like an Atomic Fireball: sharp, spicy, crisp, and a little punchy for the average consumer. She wore a black dress with a cropped jean jacket over it. She had these big silver hoop earrings and a little too much red lipstick caked on. Her wavy, black hair moved heavily, closer to the fur of a wolf than human hair, as her hair had the texture of my own. I took better care of my hair than hers, though. My stepmom looked young—no tired eyes or bags. The subtlest crease in her smile hinted at a wrinkle waiting for the right time to strike.

“Sorry, Agatha,” I said.

She smiled back at me. “Just text me if you’re gonna be late, Melinda. Dad gets nervous when you’re late.” She didn’t address Paula at all. It’s easy not to love Paula if you have a choice.

“Well, we’re here, aren’t we? What’d you cook?” Paula rested her double chin on the back of her hand and batted her eyelashes at Agatha.

“Today’s menu is a summer squash medley, honeyed carrots, bacon-wrapped jalapeno poppers, a summery bell pepper and feta mixed green salad with a honey-lemon vinaigrette, and a pan-fried lamb center leg slice. It pairs with a Cabernet Sauvignon,” Agatha said. She worked as a chef at a fancy restaurant on 4th and Hopper called Limestone. Dinner with Agatha was as rare as a day off for a chef.

Dad put his hand over Agatha’s bony, red knuckles. Slowly, Agatha warmed up to a smile.

“So … nothin’ good.” Paula fanned herself, still exhausted from the walk up the driveway.

“Paula, honey, please … ” Dad’s smile danced on his face, uncomfortable and restless.

“Got anything to drink that isn’t wine?” The star of the Paula Show treated us as her background characters—props for her skits.

“Can you stop whining, Paula? How’s that for a drink?” Liam said. He laughed at his own comment, too. The room got so quiet that the ragged sound of my panting dominated the conversation. I kept my eyes locked on the platter of pan-fried lamb, afraid to catch the scowls from my family members.

Thankfully, Agatha cleared her throat and passed around platters and dishes.

“Now that everyone’s here … how’s work?” Agatha asked no one in particular. She looked between her two blonde babies. “Uh … Cynthia?”

“The fuck you doin’?” I whispered to Liam. I didn’t want to alert anyone, but this didn’t sound like the Nerd’s Rope-textured, Sweet Tart goofball I’d been casually fucking. He’d gone Smarties: a chalky collection of pellets with unpleasant textures and unpleasant flavors.

“Look, fuckboy, you just got here. Mind your manners,” Cynthia said, instead of answering her mom’s question. She tumbled a fork between her knuckles.

“What did she say to me?” Liam shifted next to me on the couch, thankfully too wedged between my belly and the couch’s arm to jump up.

“It doesn’t matter, Liam. You haven’t even met her yet. She’s my sister. Cynthia.” I kept my voice hushed.

“She called me a fuckboy.” He reported directly to command. Stand down, soldier. Those are friendlies.

“Introduce us to your friend … or let him introduce himself. He seems talkative.” Agatha offered a soft smile and matte, dead eyes. The look was less-than-kind. She often scrunched up her face when she tried not to laugh, she’d get rosy cheeks when she became angry, and she talked louder when she got anxious—her “tells” were illegible to newcomers.

Liam must’ve mistaken her invitation as a good omen. “I’m Liam. I work in IT and I’m a software engineer. I’m also Mindy’s boyfriend.” Unless he kept secrets well, I didn’t think he actually did software engineering, but it sounded more impressive than IT.

“Nice to meet you, Liam,” Dad said with his rich, 100 Grand voice. He spoke with purpose and gravity, but he also had the perfect disappointed dad inflection. “Perry Miller. How long have you and my delightful daughter been dating?”

Dad was stocky and short with a bit of a belly. His freckles hinted that he’d dyed his hair for the salt-and-pepper effect, but his full head of hair quietly ran off on him. But he was all about body language. Dad reached over with his left hand and made Liam stand up to reach across the table, and me, to shake his hand. Liam’s bony knee stabbed into my belly. I yelped, dropping a few Reese’s Cups I’d been snacking on. Dad shook his head and shook Liam’s hand. He didn’t usually request a handshake from strangers. He already hated Liam.

Langley folded his fingers together. He rested his nose atop a mess of knuckles; his elbows pressed into the table’s surface and wrinkled the floral tablecloth.

Cynthia twisted her lips tight and pursed and stared at Liam.

Paula held the wine bottle captive at her end of the table for a minute or two. She overpoured her glass and overslurped her wine, chugging carelessly.

I’d almost forgotten Dad’s question. How long had Liam and I been dating? “Just today.” I didn’t give Liam the chance to answer, “just today.”

Paula snickered from the opposite end of the table, drumming her hands on the surface, while my stepsiblings passed the food around. She’d only set two jalapeno poppers on her plate, saving room and calories for liquor.

“Paula! … Please, be kind to my table. It’s an heirloom,” Agatha said.

“You know, it’s not easy for Mindy to meet decent guys, being, like, super morbidly obese and, like, super weird.” Cynthia should’ve known better than to ask me about my weight, but she’d point out that I was “very stylish for (my) size” and making “fat look pretty.” She was five-foot-five and barely over one hundred pounds—I knew, because she’d track her weight and post it on Snapchat every week. She considered herself “overweight” when she teetered over one-twenty-five and would work herself down to one-twenty. My point is, Cynthia Spencer had no idea how much words can hurt. She was a Grape Tootsie Pop—more palatable before you get to that cheap, waxy core.

“Yeah, but she’s sexy, too.” Liam squeezed his arm behind me on the couch. His fingers snaked under my tube top and fiddled with my bra’s elastic extenders. I tensed up at his touch, totally turned off. I’d grown up building my own walls. One brick at a time.

“Paula, why couldn’t Malaysia make it to dinner?” Dad asked. He probably didn’t like the direction of the conversation. Neither did I, so thanks, Dad.

“Yeah. She’s at Rad Rat with Mom’s boyfriend,” I said.

“It would be nice if you brought her to dinner, Paula. I haven’t seen my granddaughter in a long time.” Dad pretended that the answer came from Paula. His fork danced back and forth across a pile of squash medley he’d scooped onto his plate. Paula swayed in her chair, her eyelids heavy and lips quietly moving. She mouthed unkind words she had for her daughter: “fat,” “stupid,” “brat.” She drank more wine to snap herself outta it.

When the platters came around to me, I loaded up my plate with everything good. I piled as much lamb as I could onto my plate and went for those honeyed carrots and jalapeno poppers, as well. Squash tastes like waterlogged packing peanuts. I dragged my plate onto my belly, using its surface as a table. I leaned back on the couch and went to town on all that deliciousness. I barely finished chewing before going in for another bite.

“How did you two meet?” Langley’s eyes narrowed.

“I saw her working at Candy’s, and I had to come in and talk to her. I’ve never been attracted to a girl like her, but she seemed so … exotic. Kinda like a princess from somewhere faraway.” Liam did better when he didn’t speak.

I smiled. “Kansas. Born and raised.” I hated what he said. The phrase tumbled out clumsily, battling a mouthful of jalapenos and cream cheese to exit.

“Cool, but is there any real reason you like her?” Langley asked.

“How about because she’s got big tits and I like fuckin’ her?” Liam said.

He had to be stopped! Through a mouthful of lamb, I yelled. “Liam! What the fuck!”

I ate faster. Anything to distract from the discomfort. My family didn’t need to know about my sex life—abso-fuckin-lutely not. Each bite turned more violent, tearing meat from the bone.

“Don’t talk about my sister like that.” Langley leaned forward.

“Wh-why? Do you wanna fuck her, Lang?” Liam chuckled. He laughed alone. The nature of the conversation had gathered the attention of my family. Even Paula appeared stern as an Easter Island Head.

“Am I too close to the truth, Lang? Is that what this is really about?” Liam said, so pleased with himself that he patted my stomach and chuckled.

“Liam, get the fuck off me,” I spoke with my mouth full, but I don’t think he misheard me. I scarfed down the last of my food and licked my plate clean.

Liam opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Dad sighed and set his napkin on the table. “I think it’s time for you to leave.” His knees and ankles popped when he stood up. The old man moved with the rattle of a bag of popcorn.

“Mindy, let’s get the fuck outta here. We don’t need this shit.” Liam grabbed my arm. I pulled away, but couldn’t break his grip.

Langley’s chair fell flat against the dining room carpet. He cracked his knuckles. “Mom, Dad: sorry about this.”

Cynthia and Agatha hopped up.

“What’re you gonna do, meathead? You fuckin’—” Liam was mid-sentence and in the middle of standing up when Langley skirted around behind Paula. Langley wrangled and pulled Liam off the couch. Liam kicked the lip of the dining room table and scratched my shoulder, flailing and screaming.

“Ow! What the fuck!” I screamed, hoping he hadn’t drawn blood with his claws.

“Langley! I can handle this!” Dad shouted.

Dad came from behind and took Liam’s left arm to restrain him. Agatha followed closely behind Dad. Together, Langley, Agatha, and Dad dragged Liam out the front door.

“Paula! Help me up!” I said. I was too low to the ground to get up without help.

Paula got up like a fuckin’ geriatric robot with low batteries. I held my arms out, waiting for her to gimme a hand. She peddled her way over to me at Mach-turtle. I heard back and forth yelling on the front lawn, and every second passed with grueling monotony. By the time I got to the door, there would be a stain on the driveway where Liam Knoap had once been.

Langley Phoenix Miller got bullied a lot as a kid. In a small town, they don’t need very many good reasons to pick on you in school. Too fat, too black, too white, I learned how to put up walls. Langley didn’t learn how to build walls. He learned how to throw punches.

When I entered the doorway and leaned against the frame for support, Langley jumped, spun in the air, and raked the heel of his foot across Liam’s face. Like some kinda abstract art installation, Liam spun in the opposite direction, boneless as both of his feet left the ground and his torso twirled and the rest of his body followed into a gruesome twist.

Langley landed on his feet like a cat.

Liam landed in the dirt like an overfilled grass bag.

“Oh, my Lanta!” I yelped and snorted, my belly so heavy that it almost led me a few extra steps forward and out onto the porch. I filled the doorway, as my ass pressed one side of the doorframe and my gut rested against the other, almost wedged. The frame gave me enough support to stand.

“Langley, that’s enough.” Agatha waved Langley over to join us on the porch.

We all stood by and waited for Liam to crawl up from the lawn. His impact had torn up some of the grass and left a bald patch. Liam’s arms and legs were shaky, and his face was bloody, beaten, and bruised.

“We missed all the good shit,” Paula said. She peeked over my head and went back inside, but Agatha and Cynthia stood with me. Cynthia burrowed her skinny fingers into my arm-fat and held me tight, almost pinched into the doorframe with me. Agatha took hold of my left hand. Her bony grip tightened. Dad and Langley stepped up on the front porch in front of me, Cynthia, and Agatha.

Liam fell backwards and leaned against my car for support. He threw his head back, bleeding from his lips and his right eye and his right ear. Blood pooled down the right side of his head and ran off his chin in long, red, spindly webs. He looked like a zit to me—a leaky whitehead.

“Mindy … let’s get outta here. I’ll take you to McDonald’s for some decent food.” It terrified me, but it made sense that he couldn’t recognize what he’d done. The way he’d approached me at the candy store, as if he couldn’t imagine a reality where a fat girl slinging candy wouldn’t fall head over heels for a skinny white boy like him. He expected me to fall into orbit.

“You can fuck off,” I said.

“Baby, you’re better than these people. You don’t … you don’t need them.” Each of Liam’s words slowed to a drawl. The blood from the wide gash in his lip continually filled his mouth.

“I don’t need you.” I wanted to cry. I wanted him to be more than this. I wanted a lot of things that weren’t bleeding on Dad’s front lawn. Liam was just an indulgence that I’d given too much space to breathe and grow.

“Sounds like you need to leave, Liam. Sounds like no one here needs you,” Langley said. Sweat beaded on his forehead, yet his lips were closed tight and he breathed in measures. His big sister, Cynthia, nodded along with him.

“Baby, you—we can talk about this in the car. Let’s just—” Liam’s posture bowed, and his back arched.

It would be cruel to let him continue. He’d already gotten his ass beat up and down the front lawn. I felt Agatha’s hand on my back when I interrupted Liam. My family was all around me. “My family is everything to me.”

“No! Fuck that!” His right eye and the right corner of his mouth started to swell up. “You pig! You fat fucking pig! You used me!”

“Sure. Believe what you want, but we’re done.” I thought I could fall in love with him a few hours before dinner, but I’d pretended that he’d been someone he wasn’t.

“I loved you! I fucking loved you!” He pounded his chest and shouted into the sky.

We had a silent, pathetic conversation. Liam jimmied the handle of my car’s passenger side door. The handle snapped back in place with each unsuccessful pull. Liam turned back to me, as if he expected me to unlock the car and drive him back to my mom’s house. My family held onto me, tight around me.

Liam slumped against the passenger door. His shoulders shivered and pinched tight. He tilted his head back and sobbed. He balled his hands and pushed closed fists into his eyes.

“Langley, help Mindy inside. Dad and I are gonna get Liam home,” Agatha said. She stepped down from the front porch and tossed her jean jacket onto the grass—her heels melted away from her feet, but she didn’t look any shorter without them. Her earrings popped out with a practiced dismount before she tossed them onto the little pillow of denim next to her. Agatha pulled her wavy black hair back into a messy ponytail with a single fluid motion. The scrunchie she wore around her wrist fell into place like a soldier standing at attention.

Dad followed her. Even with his bad leg, he stayed right beside Agatha.

“Get the fuck away from me!” Liam staggered away from my car and backed down the driveway. I stole a glimpse of Liam scrambling off into the darkness. Langley closed the front door once Cynthia and I were inside. He walked me back to the dinner table.

I thought of lonely, beaten Liam dragging himself home in the dark. I fit the couch better without anyone sitting next to me.

“Sis, if you see him again …call me if you see him. I’ll bury that guy if he lays a hand on you.” Langley helped me back to the couch and handed me my plate.

The plate didn’t have even a morsel left on it, but I could go for seconds after all that excitement. I wiped my eyes on the back of my hand and sniffled. “Can you get me a Coke?”

“No problem, sis. No prob.”

Langley brought me a two-liter and set it next to me on the couch. I made my new plate, loaded with the good stuff. Dad and Agatha came back inside a minute later.

Liam Knoap said how he really felt. I opened the two-liter of Coke. When I finished my plate, I grabbed Liam’s plate and finished it, too—even the squishy squash—and I licked it clean. No trace of Liam belonged in my life, now. I believed Langley: if Liam put a hand on me, Langley would do worse than rearrange the guy’s face. And his promise was far more than I’d ever have asked of him.