The Final Fantasy VII victory fanfare blared from the phone on the desk; the designated ringtone for my kid brother. I knew what he wanted.
The 10th anniversary of our mother’s death is tomorrow & he’s been pestering me to have the three of us- me, him, & our older brother- meet at the lip of the Bronx cemetery while hopefully ending the decade long squabble my older brother & I have been in since her death.
In an interview with Jimmy Fallon to talk about my upcoming novel- a sequel and my fifth overall to be published- it had come to light that I had smoked marijuana. Fans, or anyone for that matter, had nothing to say; they knew via social media. My older brother had a lot to say, however. One in particular had been to say it was my fault our mother suffered the heart attack that took her life, that this news had been too much for her. But not him being in his early fifties still living under her roof, needing her to wake him up for work, to cook his dinner. Like everything else that ever went wrong in our family.
After years of cold war battles the first strike was taken with my fist landing between his eyes, knocking him down. He got his own shot off too but the majority has been dealt by me.
An attempt to end this had been made once, unbeknownst to my kid brother. It ended in the same fashion it began with. Our mother’s biggest fear- the two of us never speaking again- came true. Poor woman must be rolling in her grave.