To You and Back

Chapter 20: Why Stop Now

"I only asked for one plant, Charlie," said Michael. "How many did you bring?"

"Ten," replied Charlie, adjusting a small potted fern on the windowsill. "No one has just one plant, it's weird."

The two brothers were in the living room of Michael's new apartment—having had to vacate his rooms when he left the church—which was sparse, to say the least, and painted white. Michael didn't have much to begin with, so there were really only a few chairs, a sofa, a coffee table, and a stack of boxes in the corner of the small room. A kitchenette lined the wall beside the front door, and a door on the opposite wall led into the bedroom. On the left of the kitchenette were two windows that still had no curtains and let in bright midmorning sunlight.

Standing by his laundry basket on the coffee table, Michael rolled his eyes as he folded a shirt into perfect thirds. "I just wanted something to brighten up the place. I didn't need a forest."

"Everyone needs forests."

Michael sighed and shook his head. "I'm not going to be able to keep up with all of them, Charlie. They'll die, just like the last set you gave me. One is about all I can handle."

"But they need friends," said Charlie, turning the potted fern to get just the right spot.

"Let their deaths be on your head then."

"I won't let that happen to you," he said to the plant, shooting his brother a frowning glare. "Besides, if you can't take care of them, I'll bet Jane can. She did keep a whole person alive for six years."

Michael smiled at the mention of her name and folded a kitchen towel.

"Look at you," Charlie said. "You're smitten. It's disgusting."

Rolling a pair of socks together, Michael hurled it at his brother's head, who laughed as he ducked.

"I'm not picking it up," Charlie said, as the socks hit the wall and bounced to the floor behind the couch.

"You're such a brat," Michael said, going to retrieve the socks himself.

Charlie smiled and turned back to the fern. Picking up a spray bottle he aimed it at the fern and gave a few spritzes. Tiny water droplets fanned out into beams of sunlight coming through the window, before drifting down onto the fern's leaves. The smell of greenery and damp earth whiffed up into Charlie's face.

"Speaking of smitten," Michael said, returning to his laundry. "I talked to Peter yesterday."

"That's nice."

"He asked about you."

"Hmm."

"How long are you going to be mad at him this time?"

"I'm not mad at him. This is how people who no longer have any kind of relationship with each other behave."

"Ouch," Michael said. "You're being very harsh, don't you think?"

"No, I don't."

"So, you're just never going to talk to him again."

"That's right."

"After twenty years, you're just going to end the friendship?"

"Yep." Charlie sprayed again. "Sometimes friends don't last."

"And what about the other thing?"

"What other thing?" Charlie glanced at his brother and laughed. "Can't you even say it?"

"I can say it," Michael said, over his brother's laughing. "I was just trying to be sensitive to you."

Charlie laughed again. "Well, I appreciate it. But it's fine, really. Sometimes lovers don't last either."