Impact of Collision Ch. 07

"I don't want him looking at us," I explain as she tosses it to me. She raises her eyebrows suggestively, as I drop the pillow at my end.

"We may not have a wall, but at least this way I have an armrest," I say as we shake out the duvet.

"For what?" Wes asks from behind me.

"Chicken butt," I reply reflexively. I turn around to see him. He's pulling a sour face. I laugh. I've been making the chicken butt joke since he was five. It still drives him mad. I hug him, feeling the bones of his shoulders and back. Dressed for bed in a baggy t-shirt and pajama bottoms I can see how skinny he is - so skinny. He'd used his hands after dinner to make his shirt tight and show us how his stomach was so full it made his ribs bulge. Mom says all he does is eat.

"You may not sleep naked," I whisper to Claire as we brush our teeth. She gives me a peeved pout but shrugs.

"What's the use of the armrest?" she deadpans.

As revenge Claire chooses a black baby-t to go with her little black boy shorts to sleep in and makes a point of bringing Wes a glass of water and asking if he needs anything else before walking around the far end of the couch to get back to the kitchen, giving Wes an eyeful before turning out the lights and coming to bed

"You're terrible," I whisper to her as she climbs into bed.

"What?" she whispers back, feigning innocence.

"If you keep teasing him, he'll pop on the sofa," I warn her.

"I hadn't thought of that," she says, wistfully. "He's so cute - I think I like the idea of him popping on the sofa?"

"Stop it!" I scold, stifling a laugh.

I wake up to the sound of the toilet flushing. The room is full of sun. Claire and I are embracing, legs interlocking, our faces almost touching. I untangle myself as the bathroom door opens and Wes pads back into the living room. He's careful not to look at us.

Claire had gotten up early and made us all crepes. She'd chided me for fussing too much with Wes's collar and hair, and sent us off with two wet kisses each.

I'd dropped Wes off for his interview at 9, telling him I'd wait in Washington Sq, by the dog park. I watched the puppies and their yuppies and read the paper. It took longer than we imagined. It was after 2, when he finally found me, looking downcast. My heart sank.

"Hey, you ok?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said softly, looking away.

"What happened?"

"I got in."

"Wait, what!" I'd grabbed him by the arm and he couldn't help smiling. "I thought it was just an interview?!"

"Me too! I got in!"

"Tell me everything," I commanded. "Start at the beginning."

"I need to eat."

I took him to the Shake Shack in Madison Sq Park. Claire had told us to go there, that he would love the burgers and that an artist named Roxy Pain had sculptures installed there which we should see. All she would tell us was that it was really fantastic. She was of course right, we were blown away on both fronts. The sculptures turned out to be life-sized stainless steel trees that looked like frozen lightning.

He took a ton of pictures with his phone but his screen was so badly cracked I couldn't understand how he could see what he was doing.

"There's a place by my apartment," I told him. "We'll get it fixed."

"I can't-"

"It will take an hour," I explained. "And this weekend is on me."

We sat in the sun eating while I made Wes walk me through the interview word for word. Afterwards I took him to see the newsroom and our little office.

"Why does the door say NERD DIVAS?" Wes asked.

"Just because."

"Why are all of the toys having sex?"

"Again, just because."

And then finally we dropped his phone at the uBreakiFix, then I walked him over to my apartment to kill the hour.

"You live here?" Wes asks, eyeing the surrounding buildings and then my entrance way, with a concerned expression. "What's with all the stickers?"

"I know, I know. But it's cheap and really close to work and it's really just the entrance that's gross," I promise, leading him up the stairs. "...and the stairs and the hallways," I admit, "but my place is really cute. You'll see."

It made me happy to see his expression when I opened the door. My apartment is full of light midway. And even though we weren't staying there I'd cleaned it more thoroughly than I had since I first moved in. I was happy to see that he approved. I watched him looking around and smiling and I realized that, even though he is so much younger than me, I've always looked up to him. He looks so much like dad but he has mom's smarts - and a confidence that neither mom or dad have. I was so proud to show him my place.

"Cool poster," he says when I show him my bedroom.

"It's Paula Sher, she's a graphic designer. I interned for her summer after my sophomore year, and worked on that campaign. She gave me it to me as a gift"

He looked at the giant Julius Caesar poster like he's searching for clues.

"That's the summer you didn't come home... at all."

"It was a crazy year, Wes. Come on, you haven't seen the kitchen and you must be starved by now."

"I could eat..." he admits, leaving the poster, and the memories of that summer behind.

We laugh at how small the kitchen is.

"Washroom?" he asks, I point him at the door.

I cut up my baguette, took out the hummus, baba ganoush, olive tapenade, carrot sticks, and labna I'd gotten with this moment in mind. I put everything into my little Heath serving bowls and poured us each a pint of ice tea.

I heard Wes coming out into the living room just as I arranged everything on my big cutting board. I used the board as a tray to carry everything on. I see him going through my things on the little oak table.

"You hated taking French," he laughs, holding up my Rosetta folders.

"Put that stuff on the loveseat," I tell him, moving in with the cutting board as he does. Then hoping to change the subject I asked, "What do you think of my apartment? Cute right?"

"I love it Sarah, and I'm super glad I didn't have to sleep on this," he laughs, looking at my tiny loveseat.

"I know!" I agreed. "I was going to buy an air mattress but think we would have had to stand the loveseat up on end in the kitchen to make room for it? And Claire offered..."

"She's really great," he tells me as he helps me arrange everything on the table. "How long have you known her."

"I don't know, like a month... why?

"Nothing, you two just seem super close," he says, eyeing the tapenade suspiciously. "What's that?"

"Black olive spread, it's good"

I was afraid he might reject the dips, but he was already tucking into the hummus. I left him to take my turn in the washroom.

It's only when I was done and washing my hands that I noticed the glass on the sink. My toothbrush was there with Claire's, their bristles pushed together so they looked like they were kissing. I moved to seperate them then stopped myself. He either saw it or didn't.

When we get back to TriBeCa, Kwasi is waiting for us. He and Claire are drinking wine and visiting, clearly getting along like a house on fire. She pours Wes and I each a glass. It's Cabernet Savgnon from a winery called Ridge. I recognize the simple mid century design of the label and assume Kwasi brought it, because I can't imagine Claire serving Californian wine. She seems to read my mind.

"It's quite good actually," she tells me, smiling at Kwasi. Who laughs. I assume they've been talking about it.

"I tried," he says with a wan smile as he comes over to hug me and then Wes. "You're almost as tall as me!" he tells Wes.

Kwasi and Claire both want to hear all about the interview and begin to grill Wes, which is good because they get details out of him that I didn't. And Wes does a great job of telling the story, really drawing it out.

"That's amazing!" Kwasi declares, holding his glass up for a toast. "Early admissions is a really big deal!"

"We should celebrate!" Claire says as we touch glasses

"Thai disco fries or pork crab soup dumplings?" Kwasi asks.

"What or what?" my brother asks, laughing but clearly confused.

Kwasi looks at me and Claire, narrows his eyes, then smiles as he makes a decision. "You're right, soup dumplings!"

On the street Claire takes Wes by the arm, and the two of them lead the way to Chinatown. Claire babbling happily.

"What happened to Darci?" I ask Kwasi

"Oh you know," he says. "Work stuff."

It's bullshit, but I let it go. Darci and I had been close friends once upon a time. I had been the one to introduce her to Kwasi. but something happened to our friendship after the two of them started dating. She'd grown cold.

My gut says she's jealous. Kwasi and I have been good friends since our first night at Brown. We bonded over our love of cooking and lived together for four years, first in the same dorm building, then on the same floor, and then a big group share off campus. He was always there, like a big brother. But I think of the night we'd all played that stupid drinking game, how out of hand it had all gotten.

We walk in silence for a long time. I was thinking about the kiss. I can't remember which one of us was dared to kiss the other, we'd been so drunk. It started as a joke, trying to be sexy, but we'd kissed so long and gotten into it - or at least I thought Darci had. I remember humping her leg. Things had been so awkward the next morning, her coming out of Kwasi's room. I almost stumbled, caught myself on Kwasi's arm.

"Got you," he said smiling, steadying me and taking my arm in his. We walk that way in silence. Claire and Wes giggling about something ahead of us.

I was blushing, and tried to shake it off. I wonder if he's thinking about Darci too, if they've ever spoken about it. I never can, too afraid to open that can of worms.

"Oliver says you haven't called. He's not a master of the universe, but he's a really good guy."

"I know," I say. "I like him, he's super nice."

"But..."

"But I think I may have met someone?"

This stops Kwasi short. We're at Canal, which is snarled by Saturday night traffic. And we are now standing in the middle of the sidewalk, crowded with busy people who angrily push past us. Kwasi is unmoved, he's like a giant boulder dropped in the middle of a rushing river.

"Who?!" He asks, oblivious to the turmoil we're causing. "Kip?"

"I've told you a thousand times, Kip is gay."

"Yeah well, Kip's interest in you isn't entirely platonic." he grumbles. "So then what, from the app?"

"Come on you two," Claire shouts from the corner, "You'll miss the light!"

"No, not the app - come on," I plead, trying to pull him forward. I may as well be tugging at an actual boulder. "I'll tell you, but not yet. I'm... not ready. It's too soon!"

He gives me a suspicious look, but starts moving again, and we make the light. Reuniting with Claire and Wes, who are talking to a man selling fake Rolex watches.

The dumpling place is on Mott, the block is a mix of little shops spilling out onto the sidewalk selling vegetables or seafood, or gadgets. There's a big Chinese grocery with plastic stops like a butcher's freezer rather than doors. The street is clogged with cars and delivery trucks. The sidewalks are even more crowded. There are boxes of produce stacked into towers higher than I am tall. An endless press of old women with shopping carts, men smoking, and women dragging small children, broken only by pockets of lost looking midwesterns.

I watch Wes as we navigate the sea of humanity. His eyes are wide, taking it all in. I'm certain he's never been in a crowd this dense outside a sports arena. Never a crowd like this one.

The restaurant is not at all what I expected. It's a hilariously divey spot that looks like it was partially redecorated in the late 80s - the ceiling is frosted corrugated plastic over long curving red, yellow, and blue neon tubes. It reminds me of a Duran Duran album cover. But under the Blame It On Rio ceiling the place looks like every other restaurant in Chinatown - and it is PACKED.

Shockingly, we only wait fifteen or twenty minutes to get seated at a booth. And once we're seated - Wes squeezes in with Kwasi on one side, Claire and I on the other - everything moves very quickly. We've hardly sat down when a waitress comes to take our order. Not really looking at the menu Kwasi rattles off a long list of dishes, as well as four beers, asking to keep the menu just in case.

I can't imagine what else we could possibly order as our table is quickly covered with serving plates piled high with noodles and stacked bamboo baskets filled with steamed dumplings. But again Claire seems to take delight in seeing how much she can get Wes to eat and drink, and now she's spurring on Kwasi as well.

There's a pork shoulder in brown sauce that looks like a huge Cinnabon she wants to see them eat first. It's so tender Kwasi pulls it apart with his chopsticks, he and Wes attack it and I can tell my baby brother is in heaven.

Wes, who has never been an adventurous eater and has always scoffed at using chopsticks is following Kwasi's lead and eating everything on the table, even my baby bok choy - and struggling mightily to do it with his chopsticks.

"He makes it look so easy!" Wes laughs as he drops his soup dumpling into the dipping sauce for the third time.

"Like this, like this," Kwasi tells him, holding up his hand with just one chopstick held firm, then placing the second chopstick so Wes can see exactly how it's held he says, "and this one does all the work."

"Has there ever been a bigger or more mutual man-crush than these two?" I ask Claire, looking at my all time favorite guys laughing and wrestling dumplings.

Claire meanwhile, and without any fanfare, passes on the Cinnabon and the pork-crab dumplings, keeping herself to the vegetarian dishes with me. I don't say anything, but it all makes me feel so good. So good, I feel like I might cry.

"What's wrong?" Wes asks, looking at me with concern.

"Nothing!" I tell him, waving at my eyes, but Claire and Kwasi are giving me concerned looks as well. "I'm just.. I'm just... moved. My baby brother, all grown up... having all of you here together... it's just a little overwhelming, that's all."

"Young Sarah is verklempt," Claire murmurs, squeezing my thigh under the table.

"Young Sarah?" Wes asks, breaking the moment. "How old are you?"

"Wesley Adam!" I scold. "Manners!"

This makes Wes and Kwasi and even Claire go still for a moment. But I'm frozen too. I sounded EXACTLY like my mother, and am struck by the horror of it - which must show on my face because all three of them explode in laughter. I laugh too but feeling my skin burning with embarrassment, I have to cover my face with my hands. This of course just makes them all laugh harder.

"No, no, it's ok. It's ok," Claire says, pulling at my hands, trying to catch my eye. And then turning to Wes she says, "I don't mind at all. I'm thirty six."

You could have knocked me over with a feather. I drop my hands, and judging by Wes' and Kwasi's expressions, I'm not the only one caught off guard.

"What?" She asks, taking in the surprise.

"I thought you were my age?"

"I never would have guessed..." Kwasi says.

"Is it bad?" Claire asks me, still smiling, but concerned.

"No," I tell her. "No not at all I just.. I don't know, I just didn't realize."

"You think I became the director of one of the most prestigious galleries in New York at twenty eight?"

"I'm twenty four."

"Oh." Claire is the one who looks surprised now.

"You said you were a gallery girl..."

"I said I was an overblown gallery girl!" Claire laughs, but there's an edge. "But my card says gallery director, no?"

"You guys ok?" Wes asks. He and Kwasi are watching us, both looking weary.

"Yes!" Claire and I both say at once, triggering a new round of laughter - although nervous laughter this time. But just then our waitress appears to clear our empty plates.

"We need another round of beers, and do you have those little ice cream balls?" Claire asks, with a conspiratorial smile at Wes.

As we leave the restaurant, and spill onto the street, I'm walking beside Claire wishing I knew what to say, Wes and Kwasi are walking ahead.

I'm watching the boys, arms around each other's shoulders, singing to the night.

Wes turns, shaking the fake Rolex I'd bought him in Kwasi's face and shouts out, "I got the Rollie on my arm and I'm pouring Chandon. And I roll the best weed 'cause I got it going on."

"Alright Little Man, you're drunk if you think you can out perform me," laughs Kwasi.

As we walk towards Bowery Kwasi spins Wes, the bromance on fire. They look like they are having so much fun.

I look at Claire, and she's watching the boys, smiling, but it's missing the spark of her real smile. I feel like I should reach out and link our arms, but I think of the way Kwasi looked at us, and hold back.

"The whole club was lookin' at her. She hit the floor," sings Kwasi.

"She hit the floor," harmonises Wes.

"Next thing you know," continues Kwasi.

They look at each other laughing and together they sing "Shawty got low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low."

"We should take them dancing or something..."

"I know a great karaoke bar near here," Claire says with a mischievous smile. "I bet we could get Wes in..."

Wes, it turns out, is a lightweight - the wine, beers had him going, but it was the karaoke cocktails that did him in - which only makes me love him more. After pressing him to drink a pint of water and setting another on the coffee table I get his shoes and pants off and tucked in on the couch. Pulling up the duvet, I glimpse the head of Wes's penis poking out the leg of his tighty-whities. He's semi-erect.

'Not so small any more,' I think with a smirk as I kiss him on the forehead. I realize part of me still thinks of Wes as the little boy I lived with before I left home, that in my mind he's perpetually 12.

This weekend has been so fun. But I realize that something shifted, that for the first time we were meeting as adults, and that I really like him, that he's someone I want to be friends with.

I turn out the lights and pad over to the four posters.

"Thank you so much for dinner," I whisper to Claire. "He had such a good time."

"He's wonderful, and very funny." She whispers back. "I see why you hold him in such high regard."

I can already hear Wes snoring softly. Claire and I are under the covers, curled up on our sides facing each other. Her breath is warm against my lips.

"Growing up it sometimes felt like I had a demon on my tail."

"How do you mean?" she asks, her lips almost touching mine.

"He seemed to know who he was and what he wanted from day one."

"And you didn't know what you wanted?" She is pushing my night shirt up, slipping her hand under it to touch my bare waist.

"No, not like Wes," I admit. "Being the oldest I was so beholden to our parents... I think I knew what I didn't want at times - but even that, not always."

"She does as she's told."

"Yes."

Claire's hands are stroking my breasts. Her movements slow and subtle, nothing Wes could see even if he hadn't passed out facing in the other direction. And while her touch is gentle it is also meticulous. Her finger tips seem to read me, like a blind person touching someone's face, seeing them. I feel seen as she guides my shirt up, I raise my arms obediently, letting her strip me.

"But-"

"Shh," she soothes. Setting the shirt aside, and pulling me to her, her mouth beside my ear. "Do as you're told and be very quiet for me."