Puzzle by Nora Phoenix
15
The waiting room in Georgetown University Hospital smelled so clean it stung Branson’s nose. He’d turned the volume down of the TV that was anchored to the wall, not in the least interested in watching Good Morning America. The water cooler gently bubbled every few minutes, but otherwise, the room was quiet with him as the only occupant, waiting for his sister to arrive. She’d texted him she was on her way—and knowing Brenda, she’d make it in record time.Need for Speed was like her personal credo.
He paced the room, too restless to sit down in one of the thin-padded beige seats. Hell, the entire room was beige from the walls to the floor and the chairs. He hated beige, in his opinion the most horrendous color on the planet. since it lacked any personality. Bland, boring, beige. There was a reason those words alliterated.
Quick steps in the hallway click-clacked toward him, and seconds later, Brenda rushed into the room. Dressed in jeans, boots, and a bomber jacket, she looked every inch the tough Air Force pilot. She stepped straight into his open arms.
“The circumstances are awful, but I’m so happy to see you,” he said, hugging her tightly.
Brenda held on to him for an uncharacteristically long time. “Likewise, but I'm grateful we get to hang out for a bit,” she said as she finally let go, her voice thick with emotions.
“When did you come in?”
She looked tired, her eyes small and her face pale. No wonder after her travel from Turkey.
“Yesterday evening late through Germany. Spent the night in a motel, too exhausted to drive anywhere.”
“I would’ve picked you up if you’d asked me.”
She put her head on his shoulder, leaning into him. “I know, but I was on a military flight to Andrews, and that’s such a shitty drive for you. Plus, I wasn’t even sure what time I’d be arriving.”
“How long can you stay?”
“I have initial approval for forty-eight hours, excluding travel time, but if something goes wrong during the surgery…”
She didn’t finish her sentence, but she didn’t have to. If their dad didn’t make it through the surgery, she’d get bereavement leave. Branson couldn’t even allow himself to entertain that option. His dad had to make it.
“Mom is with Dad,” he told Brenda. “She can stay with him until they bring him to the OR, which should be”—he checked his watch—“right about now.”
“We’re in for a long day. Did you bring something to do?”
He grinned at her. “Of course I did.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh no, you didn’t…”
“Hell, yes, I did.”
He grabbed his backpack and pulled out Stratego, the board game his sister loved to play, beaming as he held it up.
“God, I love you,” Brenda said. “You’re the best brother I could’ve ever wished for.”
“You’re welcome. Wanna play?”
They set up on the small, somewhat rickety table in the corner, sitting down on wobbly folding chairs that would kill their backs and asses in an hour, but whatever. Branson had just made his first move when his mom walked in.
“How was Dad?” he asked.
His mom dragged a more comfortable-looking chair over, then sat down with a sigh. “He was in good spirits, excited to get this step over with.”
“Did the doctors say anything?” Brenda asked.
“Nothing new. His chances of making it through the surgery are good, but there are always risks.”
“You know how Dad feels about risks,” Brenda said.
Branson nodded. “There can be no life without risk…”
“…and when our center is strong, everything else is secondary, even the risks,” Brenda finished the quote from Elie Wiesel that had always hung in their dad’s study.
They both extended a hand to their mom, and she took them, smiling. “Our center is still strong,” she said, her voice clear. She squeezed their hands, then let go, straightening her back. “Now, who’s winning?”
“We just got started, but obviously, I’ll beat him,” Brenda said with a wink at Branson.
They resumed playing while his mom dove into one of her romance novels, and it seemed his sister had been right, as she quickly gained the upper hand. Not that Branson minded. He’d never taken losing board games personally. In fact, he’d never been as competitive as Brenda and his dad were. He’d mostly played board games because they loved them.
His hand halted as the realization sunk in. Was this another example of what Ryder had said? How often had Branson not even considered an alternative he preferred just because he wanted to please the other person? Brenda loved board games and especially strategic games like this one, so he’d brought Stratego. He hadn’t even debated picking something for himself.
“Bran?” Brenda asked. “You okay?”
He mentally shook himself. “Yeah. No. I don’t know.”
She frowned. “What do you mean? What’s going on?”
“Nothing. It’s something someone said to me the other day, and it keeps playing through my head.”
“What did they say?”
His mom had looked up from her book and was now studying him. He shouldn’t have brought this up. She had enough to worry about. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not important.”
Brenda clicked her tongue. “Yeah, that won’t fly. Cough it up, Bran.”
Funny, before, he might’ve done the same thing, might’ve reacted the same way if the roles had been reversed. But Ryder’s simple remark about not respecting his boundaries had opened his eyes to how others might experience his persistence. “Not to sound like a stubborn two-year-old, but if I don’t want to talk about it, please don’t try to make me.”
Brenda narrowed her eyes. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I told you it didn’t matter, and you put pressure on me to talk about it anyway.”
She blinked. “That’s something new. I’m assuming this has to do with whatever this person said to you?”
Yeah, his sister was smart. Plus, she knew him better than anyone else. Although they were unmistakably related in their appearance, they were different in character, but they’d always been close. Probably because they’d had to start over so many times in their lives. New country, new culture, new school, new language…new friends. They’d always leaned on each other.
“Do you think I’m hard to get to know?” he said after a long pause.
She leaned back in her chair, studying him. “You’re super easy to get along with, but I’m not sure about getting to know you… Maybe that's not as simple as people would expect.”
“Why not? I’ve always made friends easily.”
“Real friends? Or casual acquaintances?”
Dammit, how was it possible she’d immediately zeroed in on the problem? Had she known all along? “How many true friends do you have?” he shot back, then winced at his sharp tone. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Bran, what happened? I’ve never seen you like this…”
Genuine worry colored her voice, and that convinced him to confide in her. “You know what I realized when Dad fell ill? That I don’t have close friends… I have acquaintances galore, but no real friends, the kind I can count on in times like this.”
Understanding lit up on her face. “I know how that feels.”
“Aren’t you super close with Lucia and Melinda?”
She shrugged. “I like hanging out with them, but they’re not the type of friends I’d call to hide a body, you know?”
He knew exactly what she meant. “How did this happen to us?”
Brenda glanced at their mom, who looked guilty. “Mom and I talked about this a few months ago, about the effect moving around has had on me. I loved living in different countries, and it never felt like a negative thing to me, but I can’t deny it’s affected me.”
Branson’s mom nodded. “After that talk with Brenda, I did some research, and it showed that it’s a similar struggle to what Army brats experience. Moving so often can cause bonding issues and an inability to develop long-term friendships.”
Damn. Now that he thought about it, it made total sense, but how had he never realized this? But even then, not having real friends was only part of the problem. “Someone told me I don’t talk about myself, that I always focus on the other person. He said that even though we’d worked together for a while and had spent time together, he still knew little about me. And he was right.”
His mom cleared her throat. “One of the coping strategies I came across was extreme adaptability.”
“What’s that?” Branson tried to picture it but wasn’t sure if he understood correctly.
“It means that you become so flexible that you respond and adapt to others to get accepted, to the point where you forgo developing your own identity.”
Wow. That was… Damn, that hit awfully close to home. Was that what he’d been doing? A wave of emotions rolled over him, then another one, and his throat became tight.
“Bran?”
He held up his hand to his twin. “Give me a moment.”
Extreme adaptability. He’d erased himself in order to fit in. And he had fit in, always finding new friends. But those friendships hadn’t been real because he’d never been himself. He’d presented the Branson he’d thought would fit best, not his true self. In other words, he’d been a fake. All his life, he’d been phony…and no one had ever called him out on it until Ryder. How was it possible that he had seen what no one else had? And that for someone who, by his own admission, wasn’t that socially gifted. Yeah, right.
He took a deep breath, then faced his mom and sister again. “Can we drop this for now? It’s not the best timing. I’m sure we can agree.”
“Absolutely. Let’s continue with me beating your ass,” Brenda said, clearly attempting to lighten the heavy mood.
Hard as he tried, Branson couldn’t let go of what he’d learned. Memories kept popping into his head, occasions where he’d denied himself and had presented what he’d thought was the best version of him, where he’d adapted and changed. Moments where he’d pushed down his feelings, his opinions, where he’d convinced even himself he was interested in something when he hadn’t been. Skydiving and fly-fishing were just two examples of an endless row that also contained playing board games with his twin. How depressing that even with the person who knew him best, he still hadn’t been able to be himself.
They grabbed some food from the hospital cafeteria, dry sandwiches that tasted like wallpaper glue. Branson swallowed them down, years of eating strange food having trained him for moments like this. He could eat anything if he had liquids to wash it down with, in this case, a Sprite.
Just after lunch, his phone beeped with an incoming text.
Ryder:How are you?
Branson smiled.He would bet his year salary that Ryder had set an alarm. He’d texted him at the exact same time over the last three days, and Branson found it adorably sweet.
Branson:Hanging in there. It’ll be a few more hours before we hear more.
Ryder: Okay. Just wanted to check in.
Branson: I appreciate it.
Ryder: Do you want me to text you later to ask for an update?
Branson staredat the words for a while. What was Ryder offering here? Merely attention or was he making an effort for the careful start of a friendship? Branson wasn’t sure, but he didn’t want his pity attention. That was even worse than Ryder’s initial reluctance to become friends.
Branson:Only if you want to. No pressure.
Ryder: I guess my feedback on consent stuck, huh?
Classic Ryder,no filter and calling it as he saw it.
Branson:Yeah. You were right. About more than just that.
Ryder: Yeah? You can tell me if you want to.
Branson: I think I do, but not today if that’s okay.
Ryder: Absolutely. I’ll text you at 5 to check in.
With a smile,Branson closed his phone. He was looking forward to Ryder’s text.
