Dangerous Boys

Would we be like this too? I wondered, watching Annette take his coat and shoo him out to set the table. Me in the kitchen when Ethan arrived home from work; the daily pleasantries, the safety of family and home.

The vision should have been a comfort. Instead, I felt a faint shiver. I’d wanted those things too, but after. After life out in the world away from this town, after I’d lived a little, achieved things on my own.

‘Can you grab the potatoes?’ Annette called back, not even pausing for breath before turning and bellowing, ‘Ethan! Dinner’s ready!’

I shook off the flash of my possible future and brought the serving bowl as instructed, taking my seat next to Ethan’s empty chair. He bounded downstairs and slid into it a moment later, dressed in a T-shirt and sweats.

‘Couldn’t you at least try to dress for dinner?’ Annette sighed.

‘What, you mean like a suit and tie? C’mon, Mom.’ Ethan rolled his eyes. He reached for the nearest plate, but Annette made a tsking sound.

‘Grace first.’

It was the same as always: the rituals and routines that threaded through their every day, like a safety net. Annette made some comment about Ethan’s clothes, Derek always said grace before the meal. Ethan always reached across to hold my hand under the table as they all bowed their heads and Derek opened his mouth to speak.

But that night, before he could launch into the short prayer, a noise came from the foyer, the sound of a key in the lock; the door opening.

I caught a flash of something on Annette’s face and then a young man arrived in the doorway. He had a shock of golden blonde hair and eyes as clear blue as Ethan’s, stubble on his face and a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder that he dropped to the ground with a thump as he took in the frozen tableau. The stranger lifted his eyebrow with an arched smile.

‘What, you didn’t save a seat for me?’

From the moment you’re born, people start folding you into neat pieces and tucking you inside a box of their own design. No, it starts even before then, the moment the sonogram shows a faded blur. Blue for a boy, tractors and race-cars, big and strong and brave. Pink for a little princess, pretty and sweet. They dress you up in their own expectations, before you even have a chance to understand the constrictions of your fate. That box becomes so cosy and warm, you never really notice that you’re bent double, fighting for room to breathe.

I was the good girl. A hardworker, diligent in class. My letters were laborious and perfect; my homework always handed in on time. They told me I was doing it right, rewarded me with cookies and new dolls; bright red ‘A’ grades and a 3.9 GPA.

I was the sweet girl. I took care of my mother, and kissed Ethan goodnight. He told me how pretty I was, how special and kind. I felt like I was doing it right, on track, just as I should be.

But Oliver . . .

Oliver didn’t fit in a box. He would rather burn the whole world down that spend a moment of his life caving to other people’s expectations. He took one look at me, smiling and neat and good, and he knew.

He knew I was pretending, before I even knew it for myself.

Because we were the same.

There was a split-second silence: the family around me, frozen in prayer, and this newcomer watching us with a smirk. Then Ethan pushed back his seat and greeted him with a hug, slapping his back enthusiastically. ‘Olly! What are you doing here?’

The stranger laughed. ‘What, I need a reason to swing home for a visit?’

‘Chloe, this is Oliver.’ Ethan turned back to me, grinning.

I realized who he must be. ‘The mysterious older brother,’ I said slowly. I realized I hadn’t known what he looked like. He wasn’t in any of the family photographs displayed around the house.

‘The lovely new girlfriend,’ Oliver replied, tipping his head in a nod. His eyes drifted over me, lips curling in a smile. ‘Well, look at you, guess little brother finally did something right.’

I felt myself blush as Oliver grabbed Ethan playfully around the throat, bending him over to ruffle his hair.

‘Hey!’

Ethan ducked out of the hold and then they were rough-housing, shoving each other around until their mother’s voice broke through in a high-pitched scold. ‘Boys!’

They broke apart and, for a moment, Ethan looked like a child caught misbehaving. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered, sliding back into his seat.

Oliver raised an eyebrow. ‘What, no welcome home for your prodigal son?’ he teased.

Annette caught her breath. ‘Of course, darling. It’s good to see you, you just took us by surprise.’ She bobbed up to kiss him on the cheek. ‘There’s plenty of food. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll set you a place?’ She darted back to the kitchen with an anxious look on her face.

Oliver shrugged off his coat and took a seat at the head of the table. I watched him, curiously absorbing the fall of his blonde hair, overgrown and scruffy against the crisp white of his Oxford shirt, tucked into slim black jeans. He had something about him, a nonchalant energy that seemed to crackle in the cosy room.

‘Why didn’t you call?’ Derek looked concerned. ‘We didn’t think you’d be back until Thanksgiving.’

‘It’s a long story. Dull, boring, superfluous. That means unnecessary,’ he added towards Ethan with a conspiratorial whisper.

‘Dude, relax.’ Ethan looked embarrassed. ‘You’re not sucking up to your Ivy League friends now.’

‘Nope,’ Oliver laughed, ‘but I do need to impress your girlfriend with my eloquence.’ He caught my eye across the table. ‘What do you say, Chloe? Is it working?’

‘Umm, sure,’ I said, immediately wishing I’d come up with a better response, something witty and sharp. ‘I mean, maybe.’

‘Ah, she’s withholding judgement!’ Oliver announced, dramatic. ‘That just means I’ll have to prove my prowess.’

Ethan groaned. ‘Don’t mind him. You can always count on Olly to use five words where one would do.’

‘And you can count on Ethan here to substitute grunts for actual conversation whenever possible,’ Oliver replied, as Annette bustled back in with a plate and cutlery, laying them out for him.

‘It’s good to have you home,’ she said hurriedly, taking her seat again. ‘You don’t call as often as you should. We missed you.’

‘Say, Olly, why don’t you say grace?’ Derek suggested.