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Petunia doesn’t dance anymore. Little Pete insists she’s dead, and Pete knows it’s to make him sound more grown-up, but it really just seems sulky and childish. They don’t share a bunk bed anymore though, so there’s no place for late-night critiques like there used to be. And Little Pete doesn’t want to listen to him anymore, regardless.
Pete finds his brother building an animatronic elf in the garage a few days before Christmas, fitting shovels in for hands. “What’s that for?” asks Pete.
“Throwing snowballs,” replies Little Pete, not even turning to look at him.
“There isn’t any snow.”
“Then throwing rocks. What are you doing here?”
Pete picks up a spring and bends it between his hands. “I live here.”
“No, you don’t. You live in a dorm someplace. Put that down.”
Pete rolls the spring across the scarred worktable. “Did I do something to you? You’ve hardly even spoken to me since I got home.”
Little Pete is silent for a long time, like maybe he’s going to pretend he didn’t even hear the question. Then he says, “This isn’t your home.”
Pete’s tried so hard to be civil and understanding, but there’s a point where you just can’t anymore. “It is my home. It’s been my home for even longer than it’s been yours, and at least I never tried to sell it when I was mad at my brother.”
Little Pete looks up finally, and his eyes are colder than Pete’s ever seen them. “Fuck you.”
Not even an original insult, not even a word he’s ever heard Little Pete use, and then he turns back to his elf like Pete’s not even there. Pete watches the way Petunia wiggles under Little Pete’s rolled up sleeve for a moment. Then he walks out of the garage.
***
Pete doesn’t know when things changed between him and his brother, so maybe that’s part of what Little Pete’s mad about. That he didn’t even notice whatever it was that made it so they couldn’t talk anymore. That probably makes him as much of a buttweed as Little Pete says – or as he would say if he talked. But there’s no place to even apologize. So he doesn’t. And they don’t talk. But he can see Little Pete closing himself off, and Petunia is only a small piece of it.
He’s in high school now and that’s a whole different world. The kids who didn’t know him in middle school think he’s weird instead of cool, and he often sits alone in the cafeteria in his hunter’s cap and his too big clothes, years of hand-me-downs – not even Pete’s old stuff but Dad’s, all of it frayed and out of date – making him different in a way that no one seems to appreciate or want. Pete doesn’t know all this because Little Pete tells him, of course, but Wellsville High is small enough that Pete still has eyes and ears there, people watching out for his little brother, even after the creamed corn incident with the hygiene singers. Maybe because of it.
In some circles, Little Pete’s a legend, but those aren’t the circles that make you friends in high school, so he’s still all alone come lunch period. Nona Mecklenburg has the lunch period after his, and although they trade notes stuck to the gum under their usual table, it’s not like they really talk in school. Little Pete doesn’t tell him all that either, but Nona seems to think it will interest him when they run into each other at the convenience store on Walnut, a truly coincidental meeting place. He is surprised that Nona remembers him to talk to him, but not that she has things to say about Little Pete. “He could fit in if he wanted to,” Nona says seriously. “He knows how, he just doesn’t want to.”
Nona’s calmed down a lot since the last time Pete saw her, before he went off to college two hours away down the turnpike. She doesn’t have that same manic energy pouring off her, and the more Pete sees of his brother’s other friends over Christmas break, the more it seems like they’ve all gone that way. Little Pete’s friends are growing up.
***
The longer Little Pete goes without talking to him, the more sick Pete feels, like something’s broken, not in his body but in his life. Ellen is on a trip to Disney World with her college marching band, and the only person who calls him to hang out is Teddy. Pete can’t handle Teddy right now.
On Christmas Eve he sneaks into Little Pete’s room while he’s still asleep, limboing under the booby trap for invaders and stuffing a clean sock into his brother’s mouth before he can yell. He follows it up with a blindfold and a rope around his wrists. Little Pete can still kick, but Pete’s hoping he won’t. Pete leads him by his bound hands like a leash, while Pete mumbles curses – or something – behind the sock. “We’re going to settle this,” Pete says in his firmest voice. He grabs Little Pete’s elbow to keep him from falling down the stairs.
He gets Little Pete into the car, and he bangs his feet against the glove compartment in protest. “If I take the sock out of your mouth are you gonna bite me?”
Little Pete growls. Pete decides not to take the chance and starts the car. It’s barely past dawn, the horizon pink and orange above the treeline. Pete drives out to the lot by the Ringing Phone, and he can see Little Pete relax when the noise tells him where they are. Pete yanks the sock out with a quick jerk. “Chowderlicker,” says Little Pete, and that’s so much better than “fuck you” that Pete nearly smiles.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Pete says. He’s never really tried being forceful with his brother, and maybe he’s not very good at it.
“No,” replies Little Pete sullenly.
“Tell me,” Pete says again.
Little Pete scowls behind the blindfold. “No.”
“Look, it’s not like I can’t tell you’re mad at me. I just want to know what I did. Is it because I went to college? You knew I was going to go. And I’m only two hours away.”
“Eat sludge,” says Little Pete.
“Okay, I’ll wait.” He folds his arms and turns up the radio. He doesn’t know what else to say, but he doesn’t have anything else to do today, so he waits.
“Staring contest,” says Little Pete finally.
Pete turns down the radio. “What?”
“Staring contest. House rules. If you win, I’ll tell you whatever you want. If I win, you go back to college tonight.”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” Pete says.
Little Pete frowns. “Take it or leave it.”
Pete takes it. It’s been months since he made Little Pete laugh, but he knows how to do it, knows all Pete’s weak points. Of course Little Pete knows all his too, but Pete’s serious enough about not going back to school tonight that he keeps his cool.
They sit out on the cold hood of the car, and Pete figures they can stay there at least until their butts go numb. They just stare for a minute, sizing each other up. Then Pete pulls a particular kind of tongue wiggle he’s been keeping in reserve, and Little Pete’s eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. It’s a challenge, but it also means Pete’s getting to him. At least a little. He looks more closely at his brother’s face than he has since he got home, sees the ways Little Pete’s changing, no matter how hard he tries not to. The shape of his jaw and the way his cheekbones sit under his skin. He’s not going to look like a kid forever.
Little Pete blows a perfect wet raspberry, but Pete’s concentrating on getting the tip of his tongue up his left nostril. He’s not sure if it’s that or the look on his face while he’s doing it, but just like that the contest is over. Little Pete breaks into a big startled laugh that echoes in the still morning, where the only other sounds are the rustling of the scrub in front of the old drive-in, the endless ringing of the pay phone.
And then his face goes still and closed off again, and Pete’s stomach knots up with worry.
“You left me.”
“I didn’t,” Pete argues. “I said you could visit any--”
Little Pete interrupts. “You asked, okay, jerkweed? Now, listen. You left. Just like everybody else leaves. I needed you around. And you didn’t even bother to call.”
Pete glances at the phone, almost involuntarily. Hub Callister called their mom on that phone for 27 years before she ever answered. For a symbol of eternal love and devotion, it’s pretty lonely. “I’m sorry.”
“Save it.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing, okay?” Little Pete folds his arms. “Let’s just go.”
“There must be something. Come on, Pete, I’m your brother.”
Little Pete kisses him so hard he nearly falls off the hood of the car. He puts a hand back to steady himself, but Pete pulls away again before he gets his bearings. “I needed you,” says Little Pete again, fiercely, and Pete tries to think of something to say.
“I thought you thought kissing was gross.”
Little Pete shrugs sullenly. “Sometimes I change my mind.”
Pete rubs his fingers across the hood of the car, the metal so cold it’s almost sticky. “I didn’t know. I really didn’t.”
He puts his hand out until their fingers are almost touching. Little Pete looks at him skeptically. He thinks it should probably bother him more than it does, kissing his brother, but Pete’s done weirder. They both have. Of all the things that are changing about their lives, that probably won’t be one of them.
He kisses Little Pete with his eyes open, so they’re staring at each other again, this time at close range. Little Pete’s mouth is soft and chapped, and it’s warmer than anything else about the morning.
When he pulls away, both their cheeks are pink. “Do you want to hang out here for a while?” Pete asks, leaning back against the windshield.
“Sure,” Little Pete replies. He tucks his sleeves up, and Pete sees Petunia peeking out.
“How’s she doing?” Pete says.
Little Pete wiggles his arm in the opening steps of the Tijuana Shimmy. “She’ll be fine.”