Casey trimmed the heads of dead flytraps and frowned around his cigarette. This was just getting embarrassing now. Twelve, maybe thirteen tiny faces had shrunk together in a huddle of withered black mouths, spines like prison bars folded shut. They were fine the night before, he could have sworn. It had been warm enough to leave them out. Now they made him think of his mother, her framed portrait hanging up in the hallway. His mother could grow anything, he was told. She had a backyard of little faces to prove it. Mariska had a shoe box of pictures to prove it.
He snipped at dead faces under the patio fixture’s dim yellow light, circled by humming insects, and sighed. It was the story of Casey’s life. One shoe dropped, the other took out the neighbor’s window, and he was always left with the mess on his hands. It was dark outside by the time he heard the door open and Joel slip out, making his way across the patio on bare feet to wrap his arms around Casey’s neck. He closed his eyes to the brush of Joel’s lips against his ear, held a breath.
“You still mad?” Casey asked.
“No, I’m not mad.” Joel sighed, slid his arms down to Casey’s waist. “Hey.”
“Hey, what?”
“Just come to bed now, okay?”
Abandoning the shears on the planter stand, Casey did what he was told. Followed as Joel retreated to the bedroom, locked the patio door behind them before he did so. Turned off the light, looked at his mother’s picture, and looked away. Down the hallway to the threshold of their room Joel was already undressing himself, opening his vest and button-up, skin white and clean under lamplight. Casey stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand and slipped out of his t-shirt, tossed it at the corner hamper. He reached for Joel at the foot of the bed, taking him by the chin to kiss him, first softly then firm. It was easier than saying sorry or trying to explain. He didn’t want to talk about anything at all.
“I didn’t mean to be snotty to your sister,” Joel said sincerely.
“I think she’s used to it at this point.”
“Rude.” Joel punched Casey’s shoulder lightly. Casey smirked. “I mean it.”
“I know.” Casey cupped Joel’s face and kissed him until he was quiet. “I really don’t want to talk about that right now, okay?”
“Casey.”
“Hey.” Caught Joel’s bottom lip between his teeth, held him by the base of his throat with fond fingers. “Don’t be sorry. Not right now.”
They undressed between kisses, touching without looking. Sex came easily after four years together, the steps familiar, gestures measured in cause and effect, action and reaction. Across the mattress and under the sheets, Joel pressed his cheek to the pillow, breathing the smell of shampoo and Casey’s hair. He opened easily to Casey’s curled fingers and the kisses Casey dotted across Joel’s shoulders, letting out a pleased sigh when Casey withdrew his fingers in exchange for his dick. Casey pressed again, hip-to-hip and chest-to -back, keeping Joel close. Slow rhythm, steady in the span of short breaths, all tensile strength and whispers. Easy together until each of them came, one after the other, shiver, grunt, sigh. They uncoupled, Casey’s left side of the bed and Joel’s right, and closed their eyes.
“You’re thinking about going, aren’t you?” Joel eventually said, breathing into the fleshy part where Casey’s shoulder joined neck.
Casey opened his eyes. “I’m thinking about it.”
Joel pushed himself onto his elbows. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go back to that house.”
“I know.” Casey sat up, rubbed at his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Believe me, I do. But Mariska wants me to go, and I think she really needs to do this.”
“Casey, I know you, alright? She drags you out every year to go over this and you end up right back where you started. It doesn’t help.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“But do you want to go?”
“This isn’t about me.”
“Of course it’s about you,” Joel insisted. “It has to be about you some of the time.”
Casey didn’t answer. Joel sighed.
“I’m not trying to start a fight, Casey. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Casey shook his head. “After what our parents did to us, we’re responsible for each other. You know that. And if she needs me, I’ll go.”
“If Mariska needs to do this she can go with Billy. She’s not alone. It doesn’t all have to be on you.”
“Yeah, but, that’s the way it’s always been for us.”
“You’re her baby brother, Casey. She needs to understand your reasons and let you get better.” Joel pressed his temple to Casey’s shoulder blade, listened to the clockwork of his breathing. “You need to think about yourself for once. That’s all I want.”
Casey shrugged. “It’s not your fault, you know, all this crap. You wanted me in therapy again, on the pills. I know I’ve been shitty about this, but I’ll stop fighting, okay? I’ll go back and I’ll be better about it this time, I promise.”
“No. If you don’t want to see Paul, then don’t go back,” Joel said. “I’m serious. I know I pushed you to go but if you don’t want to, then don’t. We’ll try something else. We’ll figure this out.”
“Joel, don’t. If you want me to see Paul, I’ll do it. I owe you that much.”
“I don’t care about that anymore.” Joel squeezed Casey’s skinny bicep, held there by Casey’s hand on his wrist. “Just promise me you won’t go with Mariska, okay?”
Casey eventually nodded and closed his eyes again. He was tired of lying, tired of notes and messages. Tired of the pills and doctors and writing in his survival journals. His sister was going to have to let him keep his promises this time.
“Yeah,” he said, and meant it. “Okay.”
