The Last September: A Novel

“What are you going to name her?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Eli said, then started listing possibilities. But my thoughts had turned back to Charlie. Remembering his face, the way his fingers grasped my upper arm as he kissed me good-bye, I told myself I wasn’t worried. Tomorrow at the latest: the letter would be in my hands. I walked all the way home with Eli, stopping at Delilah’s to buy kitten food, barely talking at all.

TWO WEEKS LATER, NO letter from Charlie had materialized. I checked my mailbox twice a day and started to wonder if I’d given him the wrong address. Or maybe Charlie had lost it in his travels. I tracked Eli down at a Thursday night Pub Club, a weekly party thrown by the Deltas. It took me a half hour to find him. At ten o’clock, in the basement of a packed fraternity house, Eli had just poked a hole in the side of a beer can and was about to bring it to his lips.

“Hey,” I said, tugging on his sleeve.

“Brett,” he said, visibly happy to see me. “Want to do a shooter?”

I could barely hear him over the music. I stood on my toes and yelled into his ear. “I need to get Charlie’s number from you,” I said.

Eli paused and looked around like he wanted to put down his beer can. But he’d already poked the hole, and as soon as he let go it would spurt everywhere. So he shrugged and went ahead with the shooter while I waited patiently. Then he took my arm and led me over to a corner.

“Brett,” he said, yelling over the noise. “Charlie wasn’t even supposed to be there for the party. I didn’t think you would meet him. And you know, there’s a reason I didn’t plan on introducing you two. I wish I’d been there when you did meet, I mean, I wish I’d gone into the kitchen with you.”

The other day, at Dot’s, I hadn’t wanted to hear anything Eli had to say about Charlie. Now I felt like I needed to, but at the same time my heart knocked in agitated protest against everything I immediately knew he’d say. I didn’t want it shouted, here at this party.

“Can we go outside?” I said.

We moved through the crowd together. Eli kept his hand just at my back, not touching me but letting it hover there, like he was guiding me. We stepped through the back door into the parking lot that bordered an alley. People milled about in thinner numbers, and we sat down on the curb. When Eli spoke, it was quiet, cautious, like he knew I didn’t want anyone else to hear.

“I love my brother. He’s a very cool guy. But he’s not reliable. And with women he’s not . . . he doesn’t follow through.”

With women. In my mind, an endless stream of us unfolded, before me, and after. Eli said, “I would have told you before if I knew, if I had any idea you two would get together. But by the time I found you guys—”

“It was too late.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “He’s a helluva handsome guy, Brett. And decent. I mean, he doesn’t mean any harm. But he’s just not so keen on commitment. You know? He kind of lives in the moment.”

I stared at the pockmarked pavement. Eli ruffled my hair, a brotherly gesture.

“Wow,” I said. “I feel so stupid.”

“Don’t. It’s not your fault.” He let his hand rest there on top of my head. “It’s Charlie. This is what he’s like.” A beat before he added, “I should have told you. He’s sort of a womanizer.”

This almost made me laugh. I’d never heard anyone except my mother use that word.

Eli went on. “He doesn’t mean to be, I don’t think.”

“Except we just throw ourselves at him.” The words sounded more bitter than I meant them to, and even as I spoke them I thought: had I thrown myself at Charlie? It hadn’t felt that way. More like, I’d just made it easy as possible for him to reel me in, not the barest struggle on the line.