But he hasn’t, and he won’t.
There’s a good chance he won’t even remember this conversation in the morning.
“Dean’s pissed at me for hooking up with his sister and pissed at Quinn for hooking up with me. He’s getting married two days before Quinn is due.”
Bobby’s eyes widen. “Man, that’s fucked up,” he says and bursts into laughter. I look at him hard for a few seconds, and then the knot in my chest loosens. “What about the rest of them? They think they’re better than everyone, don’t they?”
And the knot tightens back up. “No. They don’t. They—” I stop. I don’t owe Bobby an explanation. He’s not going to change. I’m never going to get my big brother back, and I’ve already accepted it. Sighing, I turn away to get my phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Mom and Dad are looking for you.”
“I’m not a baby,” he rushes out and I work hard to bite my tongue. “Can’t we hang out? Catch up? Look at you, little bro! You’re a motherfucking doctor with a baby on the way.” He looks around, almost as if he’s realizing where he is for the first time. “Where is your baby mama?”
“Don’t call her that. And she’s at home.”
“Fuck. You weren’t kidding when you said you just started dating, huh?”
I get my phone from the coffee table and sit on the couch. Bobby starts to walk forward, but I hold out my hand. “Take off your shoes. And your socks. Actually, hang on.”
I hurry down the hall and grab a pair of socks from my drawer and a sheet from the closet. Call me paranoid, but the time Bobby brought home bed bugs is still seared into my memory. He’s still standing in the small foyer when I get back, looking around the apartment like he’s trying to figure out where he is.
“Bobby?” I extend the socks. Still not sure of his surroundings, Bobby takes the socks from me and puts them on. Our roles have reversed, and he’s not the older brother looking out for me anymore.
I spread the sheet on the couch and motion to it. “You should sit. Get something to eat. I need to call Mom and let her know you’re okay.” ‘Okay’ is a relative term here.
“You always were a buzz kill, doctor,” he spits as an insult.
“I’m always looking out for you.”
“Are you, Arch? Are you looking out for me?” He wobbles his way to the couch and plops down. I text Mom, letting her know Bobby showed up and is alive.
“I shouldn’t have to.” I sit on the armchair across from him. I don’t trust my brother at all. He might mean well but will end up leaving with anything he deems valuable, desperate to sell whatever he can for drug money. “What the hell happened to you, Bobby?”
“You,” he sneers.
“Me?” I huff, leaning back.
“Yeah. Do you know what it’s like living in your shadow? Mom’s always bragging to anyone who’ll listen about her son the surgeon. It’s fucking sickening.”
“You started using before I even graduated high school, so don’t even try to put this on me.”
“You’ve always tried to one-up me,” he goes on. “And now all I hear about is my son the surgeon,” he says in a high-pitched voice, imitating Mom.
I think of Quinn’s pretty face. Of the sound of our baby’s rapid heartbeat. Stay calm…stay calm…stay calm…He’s sick. It’s not right to take it out on him. But, fuck, it’d feel so good to let loose. To tell him how I really feel while throwing a few punches.
I missed senior prom.
Mom and Dad almost didn’t make it to my pre-med graduation.
They were out of town and out of touch when I started my residency.
I didn’t tell them about my child because they were busy dealing with his shit.
He. Hurt. Quinn.
“It’s not my fault you pissed away your future. I worked my ass off and went to med school.”
“You think I wouldn’t like to be a doctor? I could do it, you know. If I really wanted to I could,” he rants. “But I’m not a sell-out like you. I stand up for what I think is right, and the healthcare system in our country is bullshit. I refuse to be part of it.”
“Okay,” I say with a nod. I can’t disagree about our healthcare system needing work, but I’m not even going to get into it with him. Bobby becomes the world’s greatest debater when he’s drunk or high.
Mom replies to my text, saying she and Dad are on their way.
“You think I’m a loser, don’t you?”
I look at Bobby and the anger turns into pity. “No, Bobby, I don’t. I think you’re sick and need help.”
“I don’t fucking need help!” He stands up, eyes getting more and more bloodshot. I let out my breath, wishing I were back in Chicago with Quinn. Hell, I’d even take Eastwood over this. Dealing with Dean and his petty drama would be a welcome change.
“Okay,” I say again, knowing there’s no reason to go round and round with Bobby. He’s under the influence of something and he’s losing whatever small touch with reality he has. “Sit down.” I motion to the couch. When it comes to Bobby, I can either be angry and pissed or disconnected. It’s how I deal, and I know it’s not healthy.
I just don’t see the point in investing more.
“Are you hungry?” I continue. “I have leftover tacos in the fridge.”
“Yeah. Sure.” He sinks back down, shoulders twitching up and down. Hurrying into the kitchen, I take Quinn’s leftovers that she couldn’t finish and pop them in the microwave. I move back, needing to keep Bobby in my line of sight.
He leans back on the couch, and I can’t tell if he’s twitching or shivering. The microwave beeps, and I grab the tacos and go back to the living room. Bobby looks at the plastic take-out container and narrows his eyes.
“What’s wrong with this?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, still holding out the tacos.
“Who the fuck doesn’t eat their tacos from a restaurant?”
I wish I could laugh. “Quinn.” Saying her name is like taking a pill, and I instantly relax. “She’s been having a lot of morning sickness.”
“Oh yeah. You fucked her and got her pregnant.”
“Don’t talk like that. She’s the mother of my child and I love her.” The words escape me before I have a chance to think about them.
But they’re true.
I love Quinn.
“Sorry, dude.” Bobby holds up his hands, shaking his head, and then goes back to the taco, eating as if it’s his first meal in days. It probably is. “Didn’t realize this shit was serious.”
“It is. She’s having my baby.”
“But she’s not here.”
Leave it to my junkie brother to get under my skin. I run my hand over my face and stand, wondering if I should hide all the booze in this place before Bobby finds it. Watching the minutes crawl by, I sit back, waiting for Mom and Dad to get here and deal with their firstborn.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I came to apologize,” Bobby says with his mouth full, looking at me as if I asked what color the sky is.
“Before then. When you threw the door open, hurt Quinn, and almost hurt my baby.”
“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” He licks taco grease from his fingers.
“No.”
Picking up Quinn’s half-eaten burrito, he meets my gaze. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
I keep my eyes on him, waiting for him to go on. He’s lying, and it’s painfully obvious. He twitches again, and sweat breaks out along his forehead. Something isn’t right.
“Hey,” I say and sit up. “Stop eating.”
“Fuck you.” He stuffs the food in his mouth. Dammit. It’s frustrating enough to deal with patients who eat before surgery. The last thing I need is for him to start seizing with a mouthful of Mexican food.
“No, really. Stop.”
He shoves the rest of the food in his mouth just to prove a point. I stiffen, trying not to let myself think of the dangers of
throwing up while unconscious. Mom and Dad aren’t far, but time is crawling. I wait for what feels like an hour and check the time on my phone again. It’s been two minutes.
Bobby finishes the food and sets the empty container on the coffee table. He leans back, brows furrowing, and looks at me.
“I am sorry, Arch. I’ve been a shitty brother.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “You have.”
“It’s just…it’s so hard, you know?”
“No,” I say honestly. “I don’t.”
He rubs his forehead, becoming agitated. “I can’t explain it. It’s just there. Inside. Deep inside.”
Shaking my head, I exhale. I wish I could understand what he means. Maybe I could help him.
“Forget it,” he says and leans back, hands twitching even more. Then he brings his hand to his chest, pressing hard.
“You need to go to the hospital.” I stand, phone in hand.