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Mark never thought he could hate an object this much. Objects have no sentience. They possess only the purpose given by their maker. A physical thing bears no ill will or malice. It's agency is even less than an animal dependent on its base nature. So the pure abhorrence that arises in his chest as he looks upon the monstrosity surprises him.
If it is a monstrosity, then he is culpable, right?
He had taken high school English, he knew the doctor was the real monster, not his creation. He could still feel his teacher boring that message into his skull with all the finesse and subtlety of a jackhammer. This was his creation, his fault as much as he could take credit for anything that happened in his life.
No, that’s not right.
The colors, the hard lines, soft curves, blurred edges, those were his. The abomination before him was too far from his original vision.
The real monster stood beside him.
Far removed from the starched suits, Windsor knots, and glossy shoes of his AM days, Owen Green (because Mark would sooner smash his lenses and exfoliate his eyes with the shards than recognize this man as Owen Thompson- Bryant ) looks like a poster child for a laundry detergent commercial. His collared shirt is glaringly white and it almost hurts to look at. His khaki slacks scream “casual Friday” more than “this is a weekend and I am in my own house”. The most damning bit are the “indoor shoes” that he wears to remain respectable without tracking dirt into the house. Mark Bryant hates that he has his own pair of ‘indoor shoes’ that match. Mark Bryant hates that he let himself be pressured into putting them on. Mark Bryant especially hates that he knows the sweater Green is wearing over his white collared shirt is soft as sin , because Mark has borrowed it before, when he stayed in the last apartment that Green and Joanie .... cohabited in. That hadn’t been his fault. Because his sister had offered him the sweater when he mentioned he hadn’t brought one with him.
“It looks good, right? We just loved the colors of this one.”
Green is looking at him, waiting for a response.
“No, it does not look good . This is an atrocity. It’s mutilated beyond recognition. You have butchered something I took actual pride in, and taken that away from me.”
That’s what he wants to say. It’s what he would say if he didn’t love his sister and respect her choices and want her to be happy. And this man, Owen Green, seemed to do that. Even if he did have a pair of shoes dedicated for indoor use. So Mark swallowed his pride.
“It looks great. The colors are perfect for the room.”
The last bit is true at least. The colors are perfect for this room, but Mark attributes that to the fact that Joanie had chosen paint colors, which meant Sam and Chloe had chosen paint colors. The dark blues and deep purples mingled with the pinks and oranges all work well with the pastel peach of the walls, the white of the furniture.
Joan appears in the doorway and they both turn to look at her. Mark wishes he didn’t catch the way Green’s face brightened when he saw her. As if by force of habit, Joan tilts her head up and Green presses a kiss to her lips, chaste, but still enough to make Mark’s stomach clench.
“Can you help Caleb bring the box in?”
“Of course.”
Green’s voice still sounds like a customer service voice, but now Mark can hear the subtleties. When he talks to Joan, it’s tinged with a softness, an eagerness that it doesn’t have when addressing anyone else. Like he still can’t quite believe she’s there, talking to him, listening to him. Which is fair, because Mark can’t understand how Joanie gives him the time of day.
With Green gone, Mark gets some alone time with his sister for the first time in what feels like months, and what probably actually has been months, with his travel and the way Green has been hovering.
“This is awful,” he says.
“I know.”
“He must be stopped. At all costs. Literally any cost.”
“Mark-”
“Look at the picture, Joanie! It wasn’t supposed to be this wide. Maybe it would have been better if he had cropped it, but even then, it would still be pixelated to hell and back again.”
“Mark-”
“Does that say ⅓ in the corner? Did he just screenshot it from instagram?”
“Yes. He spent days combing through all the pictures you’ve taken to find the right one. He even found your old college portfolio, God knows how, but this is the one he settled on. This whole thing was his idea. He wanted you to be part of the room, even if you were travelling. And I know that despite how good he is on a computer, image editing is not one of his skills. But he tried. He tried for me and he tried for you and he tried for us.”
Mark stays silent for a moment, looking at the picture hanging on the wall.
It’s the city skyline at dawn. He remembered that morning vividly, on one of his rare trips back at the time. Nerves had woken him, and he knew it was silly, it wasn’t even his big day. But Caleb had been nearby, and both Joanie and Green had been worried so Mark was awake, and in need of space. He had borrowed Sam’s car and driven for half an hour until he was certain it was only his emotions he felt, his thoughts in his head. When he had turned the car around, the sun had been coming up behind the city, framing it, and banishing the night with color and light.
He had taken millions of pictures that day, most of them his sister, smiling and radiant. Sam, Chloe and Rose in matching maroon gowns. Caleb, Adam, Frank, and Green all wore matching boutonnieres. But he had known the day was going to be good when he saw the sun rise over the buildings. When he returned, the emotions and thoughts of the others couldn’t crowd him. He had met his sister’s worried face with a smile and a kiss on the cheek.
“Where do you want this Dr. Bright?” Caleb stands in the doorway, carrying one end of a large, long box. “Oh, er, Dr. Bryant? Wait, no, Dr. Thompson-Bryant.”
“Over against that wall. Thank you, Caleb.”
With the other end of the box, Green appeared.
With Caleb closer, Mark is nearly overwhelmed with emotion. Joanie was the loudest, the brightest, standing next to him, but then he could feel Green and the man was brimming with feelings. Excitement, mostly. Love when his eyes met Joan’s. But then his eyes drift over the picture on the wall and he looks at Mark, and the emotion feels so foreign on his skin, directed at him like it is. He’s gotten it from Joan, but that doesn’t count, not really. Green is proud. Of Mark.
Green turns back to Caleb.
“Thank you, Caleb, for your help. I know Adam’s waiting, I think I can handle assembling it.”
“You sure?” Caleb asks.
“It’s fine. I’ll stay and help him,” Mark says, hardly recognizing his own voice even as it came out of his mouth.
Surprise .
That’s justified. He has made his feelings known in the past. He wasn’t ready to forgive and forget, but perhaps he had been harsh.
Green drops the surprise first, with a smile too wide to completely fit on his face.
“Wonderful.”
The chime of a phone alert bids Caleb to say his goodbyes and head out, leaving Mark with his sister and Green. Both seemed to be waiting on something, but Mark just rolls up his sleeves.
“Where do we start?”
“First we find the instructions.”
Mark scoffed.
“Come on, how hard can it be?”
“It is very important that it is done correctly.”
Joan takes a seat in the rocker to supervise. Mark helps get the box open and it takes a while to build, but when it’s done, both he and Green stand back to admire it.
“Now we’re finally ready to welcome the newest member of the family,” Green says.
Mark looks at him, in his khakis, sweater and indoor shoes. And recognizes the truth in his words. He is nowhere near ready to be an uncle, but he is ready to be a brother-in-law, as belated as it is. Mark is ready to welcome the newest member of the family.
Owen Archibald Thompson-Bryant.