STEVE CONNERS

I can’t say no to my nephew. But as soon as DeVante and his friend arrive, I know this was a terrible idea. They’re college boys, roaming free. The last kind of influence we need on Will.

Over dinner, the conversation is politics, protest. DeVante is well versed in the issues. His mother, my sister, made sure of that.

Will hangs on his every word.

DeVante’s friend is something else. He’s that guy. The one we all know, and like, and trust, until we don’t. Call me assimilationist, an oreo, whatever you want—I know who I am. There’s a difference between doing what you have to do to succeed and being some kind of Uncle Tom, shucking and jiving at the knee of some master. This Robb guy is destined to be a master, whether he can see it right now or not. All the marching in the world doesn’t take away the damage he’ll do when he finally steps up to daddy’s corporate table. And of course he will.

“Fight the power,” Robb says. I wonder if he understands the irony. That’s a Bulova on his wrist. He’s wearing custom-tailored Diesel jeans. I know my high-end apparel.

“Right on,” say Will and DeVante in unison. I wonder if someone is trying to bring back the sixties. Because that went so well for everyone.

Robb and DeVante banter back and forth, and their energy is high. My wife is laughing, delighted, and I force myself to smile when she meets my eye. She doesn’t know what I know. She cut her political teeth on the streets of Underhill. It’s different. Me, I remember those days. College days, the late-night talks, the vibrant debates. Safe in those ivy-covered halls, where everything is theory, you can spout off anything.

I don’t know how to tell them. This is the real world. Tough talk is dangerous. Just being right, being smart, doesn’t get the job done. Tomorrow, it’s real.

WILL/EMZEE

Steve puts Robb in the guest room, and DeVante takes my second bed. We putter around getting ready for bed.

I like the quiet of just the two of us. There are things I want to say. But instead I hand him my toothpaste and sit on my bed to wait while he uses my bathroom.

He comes back out, puts the toothpaste back on my bookcase. I like to walk around my room while I brush, which I guess is weird or something. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, of course.”

We’re not real cousins, we’re slant cousins. DeVante’s mom is Steve’s sister. We were close until his grandmother died. There were Christmases, summer visits back and forth, a lot of time spent at her house. Since then, not so much. It’s been a few years.

We sit around in our boxers, looking at our phones and stuff. I wonder, not for the first time, if this is what it’s like to have a brother.