"Maggie, Susy, Andy... this is Lance, your half-brother. He'll be living with us from now on!"
Way to go, dad. We never knew dad had a son in a previous marriage, and all of a sudden he drops a bomb on us and places this stranger in our home, expecting us to just accept him and move on?
OK, so we did... in a way. Sure, Susy had to start seeing a shrink, and Andy suddenly became interested in girls (at a much too young an age, in my opinion) and stayed out every other night, but on the whole, things worked out well. Mum and I treated Lance with respect, although we were never really close to him, and dad... well, he was as preoccupied with work as always. No news there.
Lance was an odd one. I never felt like he was my half-brother, more like he was a distant relative. Susy and Andy and I are all blond and chubby, whereas Lance is tall, gangly, and dark. Apparently he got it from his mum. She died in cancer, and that's why Lance came to live with us. He was always quiet and withdrawn, and we never got to know him. He kept to himself most of the time, like a house guest. And now, 3 years later, he was moving out.
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It was kind of typical that our family was scattered in different activities the day Lance moved out. Mum and dad were at work, Andy was out on a date, and Susy was at the mall with her friends. Me, I was supposed to go over to a friend's house, but she got the flu, so we cancelled it. I felt a little sad when I came home and saw Lance packing, so I offered to help him. His gloomy face lit up.
"Thanks, Max," he said, calling me by the nickname only he uses, a boyish form of "Mags".
We carried the bags and boxes out to the car. Lance didn't own very much.
"Do you wanna... come along and help me move into my new place?" said Lance. "Unless you're busy..?"
"No, I mean, sure, I'll come!" I said.
When we drove through town looking for Herald Street, I looked at Lance's bony hands on the steering wheel. When did the skinny little boy grow up into this mature handsome man? He was only 19, one year older than me, but he seemed so much older - like, 30!
"There it is!"
His voice was manly too, not breaking like Andy's. We were lucky; there was an elevator in the building. We pinned the door open with one of Lance's heavy boxes of books to keep it in place, then we unloaded the car and went up to the 8th floor with all his stuff. Lance's apartment was small and dark, and the walls were nothing but bricks and concrete.
"It used to be a textile factory in the 40'ies," said Lance. "Cool, huh?"
And when I saw it through Lance's eyes, it did look cool. Raw and primitive and bare. Like a clean slate. I helped him put together his IKEA bookcase and blow up his inflatable bed, and Lance put the books up. Even though we didn't say much to each other except for "where would you like this?" and "I think those would go nice over there, don't you think?", we still had fun trying to create a home out of Lance's few worldly possessions.
"I'm hungry," said Lance, when we were almost done. "Come on, let's take a break and go for pizza. My treat!"
Half an hour later, we were back in the apartment, sitting on top of the inflatable bed eating pizza with our hands.
"You have to get a kitchen table and some chairs," I said. "And cutlery and glasses!"
"I'll go shopping tomorrow," said Lance. "Hey, Max... thanks."
"No problem," I said. "It feels a little weird. You moving out, I mean."
"Well, now everything will be back to normal," he said. "Just... the family."
I felt guilty.
"But you ARE family!" I said, but it sounded lame in my ears.
"I've never felt like I was a part of the family," said Lance, without a trace of bitterness."It's like I've been on the outside, looking in through a window."
"I'm sorry."
"Why?"
Lance suddenly looked at me, actually LOOKED at me, and I felt pierced by his deep, brown eyes. I couldn't understand why I suddenly felt so... so... weird, in front of Lance. We'd never been good friends or confidants, but we'd never argued either. We were polite strangers. Why then, did my heart beat when he looked at me?
"Why are you sorry?" Lance repeated.
"Well, I... I think it's sad that you felt like you were an outsider," I said. "I mean, after all... you ARE our half-brother."
"That's just genetics," said Lance. "I think it's more important what you FEEL. I have close friends who feel more like my brothers to me than Andy ever will."
"It's not that we don't like you," I tried to explain. "It's just that... we never even knew you existed, and all of a sudden you're living with us! But... I think you're OK. I like you."
"It's getting dark," said Lance. "Come on, I'll drive you home."