Two mornings later, after breakfast, Julian shaves in his bathroom and I stand in the doorway, watching his controlled movements before he notices me through the mirror. He places his razor on the bench and washes his hands.
"Are you alright?" he asks with clear concern.
"Yeah," I nod, my eyes still on him. Julian appears a few years older when he shaves. It's like a magic trick.
"Are you sure?" Usually, I'd be pissed with the continuous questions. But breakfast wasn't easy with Ryan still here and Julian is aware of it. I nod my head again in response, and Julian picks up his razor again and carefully brings it up to his chin.
"Is there anything you wanted then?"
"I need to shave my legs. Can I use your bathroom?"
"Uh, sure," he mutters, making sure not to cut himself on the blade as it touches his skin. I thank him and move to his bathtub. Some of my lotions are still in here from last time. I don't know why I have so many bottles. I don't remember buying all the different types of brands. To be fair, I don't remember a lot of things.
As I pull up my pant legs and lean on the edge of the bathtub, Julian asks me more questions. I'm trapped here and have no choice but to respond.
"Are you going out later?"
"Maybe. Can I take your car to town? I'll pick up the gas tank for you."
Julian looks at me through the mirror. His eyes are so bright and read me so well. "So, you want him to leave now?"
"I guess I do. I thought he'd be here, and we'd mend whatever we lost. I've decided that I don't care anymore."
"Care about what?"
I could respond in a lot of ways. Care about him staying here. Care about him leaving all those years ago. Care about him.
I end up shrugging. Julian does not like my answer. He plays therapist sometimes and frowns as he does when I refuse to open up. He and I would have likely benefited from having a therapist growing up. Our childhoods were far from picture-perfect.
I finish shaving my left leg and move over to the right. I am extra careful because I don't want to get blood on his tub. Julian's holding back his words. He wants to talk more and make me open up more, but he doesn't know how to approach the situation. He does that thing where his right eye squints slightly more than his left eye and he bites the inside of his jaw when he's concerned and curious.
I don't feel like answering his demands, though. I'd prefer to finish shaving and head to town and hang out with Ashton and not face my problems and pretend that my brother is not back after years of being away. Like him, I run.
Maybe it's in our blood. Maybe between fight, flight or freeze instincts, my family is used to flight. It's true with my father, so maybe I picked it somewhere down the line.
Julian does not end up asking about my brother. Thank God. Instead, he asks me, "Did you end up getting a job in town?"
I had completely forgotten. "I will today."
"Then what did you do a few days ago? For the whole day?"
"I don't remember."
"You came back late," Julian points out. He has finished shaving now and he washes his face and turns to me. He crosses his arms across his chest and scrutinises my movements and controlled breaths. "You were happier. Something happened with Ashton, I'm assuming?"
"No," I deny. "I didn't even see him."
"You liar."
I don't ever lie to Julian. Maybe I do without realising. It isn't a lie; I try and convince myself. But it is, and I feel bad.
"Fine," I admit. "I did see him."
"You can't lie to me," Julian smirks, pinching my cheek. I slap his hand away. "Well, how did it go?"
"It was okay. We didn't do much."
"He seemed interested when we went to the diner."
"Nothing can happen," I snap. "I live here. It won't work because long-distance never works."
Julian swallows thickly. "You guys are friends then?"
"Who said that?"
"Long distance relationships don't work, but friendships can."
"You don't have any friends," I grumble.
"For your information, I do, thanks."
I drop the razor and wash my legs. I dry them with a towel after. "Name one."
"Tony."
I burst out laughing, really loud. Julian smiles. I think it pains him to make jokes about it because of the weird situation of his friend having been secretly seeing me. But it was years ago, and I think he's wrapped his head around it and hopefully, he doesn't care that much. He doesn't appear angry.
I jump out of the bathtub and roll down my pant legs. I pass Julian back his spare razor and he thanks me, pulling them away. We then brush out teeth and I mention that I'll need a haircut soon. Julian promises to help redye my roots but I can't trust him because makes a mess with the dye. I remind myself to buy supplies when I head to town.
I stare at myself in the reflection as I brush my teeth. I tilt my head to the side and notice how my face looks different, perhaps skinnier. I slyly turn to the side. I feel the elastics of my pants between my fingers and pull them up my stomach. I reckon I've lost my weight. I don't fit the pants as well as I used to. They used to fit well and now they're slightly baggy. They're a good pair I bought before we left. They're grey and slightly wet from the bathtub.
Julian notices my movements. He always does.
"You've lost more weight," he vocalises my initial thoughts.
For some reason, my response comes out relieved. Happy. Glad. "Really?" I ask because I assume I've put on so much weight since we arrived. Ever since my meals are tracked when I used to be able to skip a few unnoticed because no one ever used to notice.
"May," Julian says slowly, deeply, and his voice doesn't sound happy with me. I hate when he sounds like that.
I spit out my toothpaste and remain in control. I cover up my joy with confusion. "What?"
He doesn't say anything. He just stares at me through the mirror of the bathroom with uneasy eyes that signal the conversation will become something I don't want it to be if I don't flee.
I quickly spit out my toothpaste and wash my mouth with water.
"May," Julian repeats but I'm leaving the bathroom before he can get a better response out of me.
I meet Ryan in the living room. I don't want to talk to him. I really don't. But I know Julian's ready to approach me and I need to avoid him.
So, I ask Ryan, not because I want to ask him but rather to save myself from a situation with Julian, "You said you had pictures of your travels. Can you show me?"
When Julian appears Ryan already has his phone out and is describing each photo in immense detail. He stops in the hallway he narrows his eyebrows at me. I shrug my shoulders at him and turn back to the photos. He won't be happy with me. But he won't approach me while I'm talking to Ryan. I realise when Julian leaves that this is the first time I'm actually putting in an effort to talk to my brother.
Well, if this can be considered an effort. Ryan is doing most of the explaining. He scrolls through the pictures swiftly, almost like he's scared that if he slows down then my attention will disappear and I'll leave. I begin to truly listen to what he's saying then. He explains the food he ate and how he had never tasted anything like it before. He shows images of the temples and deep lakes and high mountains and the eggs he ate that gave him an extra ten years to his lifespan. At my confusion, he laughs and explains the myth.
Sure, Ryan doesn't look the same but my memories confirm that his personality is. He is still a little uncertain, and a little insecure, but very passionate and wild. He has obscure stories but they're funny and informative and everything I remember them as.
When I was ten and he was fifteen, he'd make up stories for me before bed. I was a little too old for them, but I pretended to enjoy them for his own sake. Then over time, my interest developed, and I'd wait for the make-up tales he'd make up for me and no one else. The stories stopped when I was twelve. When he left.
I wonder if Ryan remembers them. I wonder if he knows how I fell apart when he left.
I was only twelve.
I have to remind myself that he was only seventeen. He did not want to leave. He had to leave for his well-being and health. One phone call, though. One message would have saved me, I want to think. To save me from those horrible nights of tears and cries and screams. My father had just left and so had he. Only Ryan leaving hurt worse than my father because my father was never there. He was not negligent, but he had never been there for me like Ryan had.
I stop myself from remembering it all, and recalling who I once was.
Ryan finishes with his pictures. He pulls his phone away and his eyes are still stars. "You don't want to go travelling then?"
"When did I say that?"
"A few days ago."
"Oh," I say. "I guess, yeah."
"Why not?"
I shrug. "I'm content with staying here. Travelling would be too disruptive and unpredictable."
"Are you really content with being here?" Ryan questions, and I hear an urgency and disbelief. As if he cannot fathom why I would be okay living like this.
"Yeah? I like it here. If I didn't, I would have left a while ago."
"Would Julian have let you?"
I snort. "He's my cousin. Not my parent."
"Then again," Ryan nudges my side with his shoulder, jokingly. "You never did listen to Ma."
My breathing quickens. I don't respond to Ryan. My mouth doesn't let me.
"You okay?"
I manage a nod.
He continues, "If I were you, I'd be quite miserable. There's no one around, it's all empty land. Runs aren't interesting either, it's like this house is surrounded by completely nothing. Don't you miss your friends, Maya? Or going to school? I thought you enjoyed the city."
"I did." I don't think I ever did. Ryan has not known a version of me after twelve. He convinces himself that I am still that same person and that I haven't grown to hate the world once seeing what it truly is. I hated the people the most. I hated school, not school itself because I enjoyed the structure and consistent classes, but rather the people inside. I didn't like having to doubt who to trust.
There are parts I do miss. But I've accepted that there had to be a trade-off once moving here. I'll argue with Julian about it, but I am truly happy with our decision to move. I couldn't imagine not having our own space and mornings on the porch and book conversations and our limitless backyard to play soccer.
Ryan won't get it. I don't think he ever will.
Julian returns to the room once our conversation has died down. I'm sure he's heard every word since the walls are thin and our remarks are loud. He doesn't pay attention to Ryan. Only me.
"We're still going to have to talk about it, May."
I swear at him under my breath because of course, he had to bring attention to the situation in front of Ryan. I hope he sees the heat in my eyes.
"Now or later?" Julian proposes.
"Later," I grumble and stand.
"What are you guys talking about?" Ryan asks us.
"Nothing important," Julian says sarcastically. "May's heading to town to grab gas. You'll be able to leave this afternoon."
"You're driving?" My brother asks me. "Wow."
"I'm not twelve," I scoff.
"I know that," Ryan responds. "Do you want me to leave? Or is that Julian's decision?"
"Mine."
"Oh." Ryan pauses. "Okay then."
He doesn't fight my decision. I suppose he respects my decision enough not to argue about it.
I go to my room and grab my phone. Ashton has responded, asking if I'm heading to town today. I tell him that I'll see him in a few hours, and I'll meet him by the diner. That's all I say.
I take the keys off Julian. He reminds me to drive safely and make sure I don't cash. He also tells me to find a job. While he's listing this off, Ryan watches us oddly.
"And if you're going to meet up with Ashton, well, just don't do anything I'd do okay?"
"Who's Ashton?" Ryan asks but we ignore him.
"Fine."
I leave quickly. I hear them speak behind me but once the keys are in the ignition, I'm off and I don't look back.
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