I’d have filed that event under Dumb Shit Teenagers Do if not for the thing Bobby’s dad said after graduation. He came up to me and Raymond so he could brag about Bobby heading to Yale. Then he offered it up without any segue: said he’d paid someone to write Bobby’s college application essay. I swear he got off on how disappointed we were, like it had been his intention to tarnish his son’s character. It worked, too—if only a little bit, but only because Bobby never told us himself. A while back, I brought it up to Raymond, but he’d revamped the memory entirely, claiming he always figured Mr. Hart was kidding. I saw the look on Raymond’s face that day, though. There’d been no humor there. He’d been heartbroken to learn Bobby didn’t trust himself enough to apply with his own work. Bobby was smart enough to get accepted on his own, but he went out of his way to ensure he’d always doubt his place there. He let his dad pay someone to invalidate his seat for the next four years—to delegitimize his relationship with an institution that would become his identity. What the fuck?

And still, in spite of the drama, we love our Mowgli. On paper, he’s a pain in the ass, but in real life, he’s our brother. We have history, and we have fun, and if anyone needs proof of his character, they got it the day Vanessa chose him. She’s as good as it gets. I’m sure Elizabeth is lovely. All I know is when Vanessa was by his side, Bobby stopped leaning on Ray to define him. Robert loved bitching and moaning about his stressful residency, never considering the rigors of Raymond’s training—his four-year apprenticeship; his bruised body, shredded muscles, jacked joints; his stress. We really don’t care if Bobby thinks he’s a higher species because of the MD after his name. It’s better he doesn’t know what it took for Ray to earn journeyman after his, or how much money Ray makes, or how much we’ve put away while Bobby strains to hatch his own nest egg. His is on display. Ours is in the bank. Raymond doesn’t brag because he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t complain about his hard work because that’s what he signed up to do. As entertaining as it would be to watch Bobby strap on gaffs and scale a seventy-five-foot pole while holding back puke and vertigo, it’s a good thing he lives in a separate world, tucked away in that old whaling port that doesn’t look all so different from home. This way, things don’t get competitive. And hell, if Bobby’s most lovable quality is the fact that he’s loved by Raymond, I’ll keep loving the guy like a brother-in-law.