The Best Next Thing

“I’ve never gotten out of the habit of preparing these sandwiches to Hugh’s exact preference. Even though I can’t remember the last time I made these for him. They bring back some pretty great memories though.”

“You and your siblings are so close,” Charity said, touched by the story and what it said about the man sitting across from her.

“I don’t think we are,” he responded with a nonchalant lift of his shoulders. “Hugh and Vicki are tight, they share a flat and talk all the time. I fed them, dressed them, disciplined them, helped them with their homework and school projects. I think they find it hard to think of me as a big brother when I was more of a parental figure than our mum. Don’t get me wrong, she tried her best, but she had her hands full keeping food on the table and a roof over our heads. Looking out for the little ones was the least I could do for her.”

“But…who looked out for you?” she asked, her voice tentative. The question seemed to flummox him, and he stared at her for a long moment as if he couldn’t quite fathom the meaning behind her words.

“I didn’t need…”

“You were eleven,” she interrupted.

“I was old for my age. By that time, I’d already spent a year taking care of my terminally ill father, while helping mum with the kids.”

That was heartbreaking. He had never had a childhood. And as far as she could tell he rarely allowed himself time to let loose now either.

“What do you do for fun?”

“Fun?”

“You know, fun. Something you do for the sheer enjoyment of it.”

“I have my audiobooks. And I like to hike. And the thrill of a new acquisition can’t be beaten.”

“When did you start listening to your fantasy books?”

“I used to read them when I was a kid. But as I got older, I got busier and I didn’t have much time for reading. About eight years ago, I happened to see a commercial for my favorite author’s new book. When I saw it was available on audiobook, I didn’t hesitate. I haven’t looked back since.”

“Why fantasy?”

“You’re full of questions tonight,” he said, with a tiny smile, taking a nibble from his fourth sandwich. Charity was still on her second.

“Just interested.”

“Why do you think I love fantasy novels?”

“Because it was so very distant and different from your reality?”

He didn’t reply but his smile widened.

They were both silent for a few moments as they polished off a few more sandwiches.

“I think you underestimate the strength of your relationship with your siblings,” she said, and he lifted a quizzical eyebrow.

“Why do you say that?”

“I’ve seen the way they vie for your attention, and constantly try to include you in their activities. I always thought you were just being a total douche when you’d brush them off and sit in your corner with your headphones. I assumed you were working and didn’t have the time or patience to spend time with them.”

“No…I…” His voice trailed off, and his brow puckered into a formidable frown. One that would have had her running scared a week ago. “I was listening to my books. Not working…I always thought they were just inviting me along because they felt they had to. I’m not exactly Mr. Hip and Cool.”

She chuckled. “The fact that you used the words ‘hip’ and ‘cool’ kind of highlights the point you were making about being neither of those things. They weren’t inviting you out of some sense of duty. They always looked so crestfallen whenever you rejected their invitations.”

“I wasn’t rejecting them,” he denied, his voice heating defensively.

“I’m just telling you how it looked to me. And possibly to them?”

“Fuck.” The word was rife with remorse, self-recrimination and frustration.

Feeling terrible for pointing out what had seemed so obvious to her, Charity covered his hand on the table with her own and squeezed reassuringly. She didn’t speak, lending silent support because she could sense that he needed that more than any words.

He flashed her a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I sometimes—” He stopped and cleared the gruffness from his throat. “I’m not always great around people. Not even my own family. When I was a kid, I kept my emotions under lock and key. My mother did so much for us, she didn’t need to be burdened with my fears and frustrations. Not when she had so much to deal with already. Work, Hugh’s needs, and then Vicki started acting out when she was older. She needed to be able to depend on me, you know?”

“I know.”

“I was old enough to understand what it would mean for us if she lost any of her jobs and couldn’t make the rent. We’d all be out on the streets, or worse, the kids and I would have been taken from her.” Charity found it telling how he often referred to his siblings, but not himself, as kids. He really had been old before his time and she found that knowledge more than a little tragic.