One message would say, “You made your point, man. Can we just talk?”
And the next would read, “You’re such a bitter little loser. This is why dad never respected you.”
That one made me laugh.
Then came Emily.
She wasn’t hostile, just confused.
“I know he can be dumb, but he didn’t mean it. He was just trying to make a joke in front of his family. He really does appreciate you, Marcus. We both do.”
I stared at that message for a while.
I almost believed her.
Almost.
But then I remembered how she smirked when Josh made the maybe you’ll make the guest list comment. How she didn’t say anything. How she only reached out after the rent was gone.
Nope.
That Sunday, I went to the building not to confront them, just to make sure things were in order.
The unit was quiet, blinds drawn, no signs of packing. I knocked once just out of courtesy.
No answer.
As I turned to leave, the door opened behind me.
Josh stood there in sweatpants, eyes bloodshot, hair a mess.
“Seriously,” he muttered. “You’re going to throw us out over a joke.”
I looked at him and, for the first time in years, I didn’t feel anything. No guilt, no second guessing, just a weird peaceful detachment.
“It wasn’t a joke,” I said calmly. “It was a mirror.”
He frowned.
“What does that even mean?”
“It means,” I said, “that what you said at dinner, that wasn’t some off-hand comment. That was the truth you say when you think you don’t need me anymore. And you were right about one thing. I don’t belong on your guest list because I’m not your brother anymore. I’m just the guy you use when things get hard.”
Josh shook his head.
“You’re overreacting.”
I smiled.
“And you’re underreacting to the fact that you just burned the last bridge that ever carried you.”
He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but nothing came out.
Instead, he just leaned against the door frame, defeated.