Free Let's Be Frank by Brea Brown Page A

middle-child rot by only having two,” Dad pipes in when Mom takes a breath. “But Nate’s thwarted those efforts, exhibiting many tendencies of middle children. He’s a blend-into-the-background guy, and he’s also the peacemaker.”
    Yes, I’d like to remind everyone here that I’m nearly thirty-three years old, and my parents still talk about me to people like I’m a child in a psychological study they’re conducting, like I’m not even in the same room. I prefer this, though, to the way they used to act when I was younger and would introduce them to girls I was dating. At least they haven’t asked Frankie to take a Myers-Briggs test or any other psychological profile quizzes, “just for fun.”
    Frankie squeezes my hand. “Well, I’m excited about having kids someday with someone special…” My heart lifts and races at this information, something she’s never shared with me before. Coyly looking away from me and back to my parents, she continues, “But I’m an only child, so the dynamic between siblings is fascinating to me. Psychology, in general, is really interesting.”
    “It’s a pseudo-science,” I mumble, earning a glare from Dad.
    “Being an only child comes with its own set of issues,” Mom says cheerfully, as if it’s such a wonderful thing there are enough psychoses to go around.
    I quickly intervene. “We don’t have to get into them today, though, right? We should save that for a special occasion, like Easter.”
    Mom rolls her eyes. “Oh, Nate…”
    “I mean it. Why can’t we talk about the weather, like normal people?”
    “I think Nate’s worried we’re going to tell you something embarrassing, like about his bedwetting, which is actually common and not anything to be ashamed of.”
    “When I was a kid!” I hasten to clarify. “Not now.”
    “I think that went without saying,” Dad says, as if I’m the one being inappropriate.
    Frankie laughs behind her hand, then says to me, “It’s okay. I knew what she meant.”
    “What would you prefer we talk about, your brother marrying the woman you were going to marry a few years ago?” Mom asks, as if she’s been doing me a favor by talking about my need for plastic sheets well into elementary school. (I was a deep sleeper, alright? Like she said, and I know from my work in medicine, a real science, bedwetting is a widespread issue, especially with young boys.)
    “Oh, I already know all about Nick and Heidi,” Frankie casually assures my parents.
    Mom laughs. “I should hope so. You’ll be Nate’s date to the wedding in May, right?”
    There are so many awkward assumptions in that question that I don’t even know where my pique should begin.
    Fortunately, nobody requires my participation in this conversation.
    Frankie winces. “My dad’s sixtieth birthday is that weekend, and I already have plane tickets to Arizona to visit them.”
    “What crappy timing!” Mom laments.
    Dad begins clearing the dessert dishes. “It’s probably for the best.”
    I’d love to ask him what he means by that. How could it be for the best that I go alone to the wedding of my brother to my former fiancée? How? I’m dreading it. And I can’t think of any way that it could be for the best. But I’d love more for this conversation to end, so I decide to table that discussion for another time, when he and I are alone. Now, I merely stare at his back as he walks away from the table into the kitchen to set the dirty dishes by the sink.
    Frankie sips her coffee, then says, “I know it’s going to be a hard day for Nate—”
    “Only because everyone’s going to be staring at me, waiting for me to make a scene,” I try to explain to a room of people apparently not interested in a single word I have to say on the topic.
    “I wish I could be in two places at once. It would take a lot of the pressure off you if you had a date,” she states the obvious.
    “It’s a long time from now.” I try to make it sound authoritative, like