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Stepbrother Dearest(58)

By:Penelope Ward


Thoughts of him still consumed me everyday. I’d wonder if he had asked Chelsea to marry him. I’d wonder whether he was thinking of me. I’d wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t gone to my own room the last night we were together. So, even though I was back to my home base, my mind was constantly elsewhere.

My life in Manhattan was pretty predictable. I worked long days at the office and got home around eight each night. If I didn’t go out for drinks with my co-workers, I’d spend the weeknights reading until I fell asleep with my kindle on my face.

On Friday nights, my neighbor Sully and I would have dinner and drinks at Charlie’s, the pub underneath my apartment. Most women in their mid-twenties would spend their Friday nights with a boyfriend or a group of women their own age. Instead, I chose to spend it with a 70-year-old transvestite.

Sully was a petite Asian man who dressed as a woman and in fact, I assumed he was a woman until one night a pair of spandex revealed some disproportionately massive junk. I sometimes thought of Sully as a he, other times, as a she. It didn’t make a difference because by the time I figured “it” out, I’d already fallen in love with her as a person, and it didn’t matter what gender she was.

Sully was never married, had no kids and was extremely protective of me. Any time a guy would walk into Charlie’s, I’d turn to Sully and say jokingly, “What about him?”

The answer was always the same. “Not good enough for my Greta…but I’d do him.” Then, we’d just have a good laugh.

I’d always been hesitant to talk to Sully about Elec because I was seriously afraid she’d want to hunt him down and kick his ass. One particular Friday night, though, after one too many margaritas, I finally divulged the entire story from start to finish.

“Now, I understand,” Sully said.

“Understand what?”

“Why you’re here with me every Friday night and not on a date with some man, why you’ve been unable to open your heart to anyone. It belongs to someone else.”

“It used to. Now, it’s just broken. How do I fix it?”

“Sometimes, we can’t.”

Sully stared off, and I suspected she was speaking from experience.

“The trick is to force yourself to open it even though it’s broken. A broken heart is still a beating one. And there are many men who I’m sure would like an opportunity to try to fix yours if you’d let them.” She continued, “I’ll tell you one thing, though.”

“What?”

“This…Alec?”

“Elec…with an e.”

“Elec. He’s lucky I won’t set foot on a plane. I’d set his balls on fire.”

“I knew you’d feel this way. That’s why I was afraid to tell you.”

“And I don’t know who this Kelsey is…”

“Chelsea…”

“Whatever. There is no way she’s better than my Greta, more beautiful or with a bigger heart. He’s a fool.”

“Thank you.”

“Someday, he’ll realize he made a big mistake. He’ll show up here, you’ll be long gone, and the only bitch greeting him will be me.”



***



That weekend, I felt better for the first time since Elec left. Even though it didn’t really change anything, Sully’s words of encouragement had helped bring me out of my funk a little.

On Sunday, I’d finally gotten around to replacing my winter clothes with summer outfits. I’d always put off the wardrobe changeover until it was almost too late when half the summer was already over. I spent the entire day doing laundry, purging items to donate and neatly organizing my drawers. The weather was dry and warm, and the windows in my apartment stayed open.

I decided I deserved a glass of Moscato wine after my long day of housework. I sat on the balcony and stared out at the street below. There was a gentle summer breeze as the sun started to go down; it was such a perfect evening.

I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of the neighborhood: traffic, people yelling, children playing in the small courtyard across from me. The smell of barbecuing meat trickled over to me from an adjacent balcony. It reminded me that I hadn’t eaten anything all day, which explained why the wine had already hit me so fast.

I told myself that I loved my independence: being able to do whatever I wanted, go wherever I wanted, eat whatever and whenever I wanted, but deep down, I longed to share my life with someone.

My thoughts always seemed to travel back to him no matter how hard I tried. What I didn’t expect on this quiet summer night was reciprocation.

When my text alert sounded, I didn’t immediately check it. I was sure it was Sully inviting me over to watch something on television or my mother checking in.