I had texted Tom the night before, asking if we could do the video call that morning. He was an early riser, and I was fairly sure that by nine A.M., he was several hours into his day, but when the call connected, he looked like he had just rolled out of bed. I suddenly felt weird about dressing up but resisted the urge to undo the tie.
“Hey, Tyler,” Tom said. “What’s happening?”
“Hey, Tom. Is this a bad time?”
“No, no, it’s fine,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “Amanda is making me take occasional days off work. Something about being a workaholic.” He laughed. “So, what did you need little brother?”
“Well, I wanted to pick your brain a little bit,” I said.
“Sure. Fire away.”
“I was thinking about going back to school,” I said quickly, hoping to blow right past it. “And I was wondering what it takes to get into the tech field. Or if you think I’m too old to be getting into the game now?”
There was a moment of silence where Tom’s eyes narrowed in confusion.
“You don’t want to work at the bar?” he asked. It wasn’t accusatory, just questioning.
“It’s not that I don’t enjoy being at the bar,” I said. “I’m just not in love with it. I have no passion for the restaurant business, and I am kind of tired of slinging drinks, you know?” Tom nodded on the other end. “You know I was interested in tech right out of high school? I just never stopped being interested.”
“I remember,” Tom said. “It was a shame about that scholarship. But then it just seemed like you didn’t care about it anymore.”
“I know, that’s on me,” I said. “But I’ve gotten over that now. I just worry it’s too late.”
“Well,” Tom said, “have you kept up with how things are changing?”
“Yeah, I’m on a few message boards, and I read all the news.” It was an understatement. If I wasn’t at the bar or with Nick, I was usually posting in one of those message boards or doing my own coding experiments at home.
“I’ll tell you what,” Tom said, seeming interested. “Sign up for some online classes. See if it’s something you really want, and if it is, keep pursuing it. If you get the basic education stuff out of the way and you still want to work in the sector, I’ll hire you at my company.”
Tom was not someone who would just hire someone because they were related. He wouldn’t jeopardize his company that way. If he was willing to hire me, it wasn’t charity.
“Are you sure about that?” I asked.
“A thousand percent,” he said. “I know you, and I know that if there is anyone smarter than me, it’s you. You just need to apply yourself a little bit, and I am sure you can and will.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I don’t know what else to say but thank you.”
“Of course,” Tom said. “I just want my little bro to be happy.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m going to sign up for some classes up here and let you know what I’m taking.”
“Sounds good,” Tom said. “Tell everyone I love them, and I’ll be down next week or so for a day to check in.”
“Will do,” I said, then hung up.
I should be elated. My brother believed in me enough that he was willing to take a risk on me, even if I didn’t go through all the educational hoops most people had to. It was a huge opportunity, and something I should be happy about.
And yet, I wasn’t. Still. There was unfinished business, and I had to take care of it before I could feel better about anything else. But I still didn’t know how to handle it, and that weighed on me more than telling my brothers about going back to school ever did.
22
Becca
There was no way around it. I’d ruined everything.
It had been another whole week. Seven more days, making fourteen total mornings, afternoons and nights of me being a coward. Every single second that I avoided him was another nail being hammered into the coffin of our would-be relationship. And every time I woke up, pulling out my phone and pulling up his contact information, then put it back under my pillow and curled into a ball, was another layer of fear added to the rest. I couldn’t call him. It had been too long.
That’s what I said yesterday.
And the day before.
Whatever relationship could have formed out of the insatiable attraction and incredible comfort we had with each other was thrown in the garbage. Because I couldn’t woman up and make the phone call. Then, every time I thought, no, I could still fix it, I chickened out again.
Fourteen days. Fourteen nails. One relationship in the coffin. Dead on arrival.
In the meantime, I had slept on the couch at Melissa’s, avoiding calls from my brother and my parents. They called reliably once a day, and I hit the Silent button reliably once a day. It was our routine. But something about the day before had me hit the wrong button. By accident or on purpose I wasn’t sure, even still, but I did it anyway. Dad answered, surprised, stumbling over his words. He was shockingly nice. He didn’t apologize, but he came right up to the edge of it, saying empty phrases that meant “I’m sorry” without actually saying it. He invited me to dinner at their house the next night. I accepted.