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Seeing Antonio on the doorstep with eyes red from crying, and a scowl fierce enough to frighten off any salesman, João realised very little had changed. Older they were, but different? Not so much. João continued to take life at his own pace—found a nice flat, a job which paid the rent, while Antonio raced head-first and forgot about the breaks, never stopping until something, another incident, occurred.
João regarded the holdall by Antonio's side. The sign of weekend plans gone awry.
“Coffee or wine?” he offered.
“Coffee first. I need to rant sober,” Antonio clarified, uttering thanks when João stepped aside, ready to host his unexpected guest.
If João had to pinpoint one flaw with his brother, he’d say that the man cared too much. He threw himself into everything, everyone, with passion, leaving nothing for himself when things fell apart. Antonio was open, loving; willing to try and try again when it came to others, whereas João suffered a few burns and said nope, that’s enough, preferring to put lips around a wine bottle.
Antonio looked a sorry state in the living room, barely coaxed from his shell with a plate of biscuits. João set down their coffee, joined him on the sofa. He exhaled through his nose and resisted a sigh. Like similar visits in the past, he didn’t regurgitate hopeful advice. That approach was best left to the elder generations, to parents and grandparents who’d been there, done that, or aunts and uncles who had no clue what to say, and would therefore spout anything which sounded right.
João supposed that was why he was here. Why Antonio came to him without delay. The poor soul munched on a biscuit, said it tasted good, and João kept his replies as simple. Honest. No fuss or pressure involved.
“They’re orange and vanilla,” said João. “I might bake a lemon batch next.”
“Can I have some when you do?”
“Of course. I’ll bake you some bread as well.”
The sentiment helped. Antonio sipped at his coffee, impatient, then poked out his tongue upon finding it too hot. He’d try again in less than a minute, insist it’s the coffee’s fault, not his, and true to João’s predictions he did the lot. Antonio swore and laughed at his own dismay, putting the cup down to rub his face.
“Ah, João. What am I like? I made such a bad call with this guy.”
“I thought this one was going well,” João stated. “You were meeting in the park today, right?”
“Which we did, sort of.” Antonio chewed his lip. “Or rather I, the silly romantic, turned up early, and discovered that my man had other plans. I found him tonguing some woman on one of the benches, threw a fit and here I am.”
“Toninho-”
“Bullet dodged.” Antonio forced a smile. His eyes bore a wet sheen framed by angry pink, the product of rubbing them too hard in his frustration. “Before you say it: yes, I deserve better. He’s nothing but a waste of my time.”
“However...?”
“You know me too well.” Antonio sighed, grabbing a cushion to hold. “I can’t help but wonder what I’m doing wrong. Am I too much, or- don’t glare like that.” He extended a finger to poke João’s cheek. “I know you’re gonna’ tell me I’m wrong, and I’m gonna’ realise in the middle of the night that once again, my brother was right, but for now... let me dwell in my pity. I’m angry at him, and all the others.”
João held up both hands. “You know I’m not fond of them, either. I pray that their pillows shall never be cool, and for earphones wires to tangle in their pockets.”
Antonio stared. It meant nothing good. “I hate to drag you into the future, but a lot of people go wireless these days. Your prayers shall get you nowhere.”
“What’s wrong with wires?”
“Well, as you said, they tangle.”
How true and yet annoying. Alright, João wasn’t wireless, and he was sick of getting earphones caught on every handle in his flat, but there was something to be said for the old ways, right? If his earphones fell out, they weren’t condemned. They merely dangled, awaiting rescue.
CDs and vinyls had their charms, like the cassette tape. Many a pencil had been chewed by tiny spikes in those things, or João’s finger as a last resort, and how could one not love the concept of A-side and B-side—of flipping over to hear the rest of an album?
Indeed, João liked the past. Things which the youths considered retro. Antonio, on that note, liked the way that João drifted without warning, starting to snicker as he fetched another biscuit.
“I was right to come here. Thank you, João.”
“I didn’t do much.”
“You’ve done plenty. But enough about me: how’re you?”
João shifted his weight on the sofa. “Fine, I guess.”
“Oh please, there must be something. Someone.”
“The two accountants at my work are a thing now.”
“I knew it! Wait, no. No distractions!” Antonio moved in close, caring little for the concept of personal space. “I asked about you. If you’re not happy, then I’ll... I’ll sort whoever is causing you problems, just like you would for me.”
“Your fears are misplaced.” João leant against the sofa arm, his smile likewise angled. “As you can see, I really am fine. I have my humble abode, my freedom, and plenty of workplace scandals making my life look perfect. What more could a person wish for?”
Judging by Antonio’s airy laugh, he had an answer to that like everything else. He granted João some space at least, mimicking his pose on the opposite sofa arm. A hand swished about while he feigned ignorance, starting with a drawn-out “oh, I don’t know... Perhaps you’d like to share this palace with your fan from the DIY store? What was his name again?”
“If you’re no longer sad, I’m throwing you out.”
“Abel.” Antonio beamed, clicking his fingers. “The able Abel who sells cables. He loved that you knew your screw heads, and when you started talking dovetail joints? Wow. Just wow.”
“Stop right there.”
“I can almost hear him.” Antonio squinted. “Not his voice, mind you, the man hardly speaks at the best of times, but I’m pretty sure he’s making a wedding ring out of wood or something.”
João stared, incredulous. “A nut would be a better starting place. Already metal and ring-shaped.”
“Adorable. You’re meant to be.”
No verbal protest came. João slouched over the sofa arm instead, half-hiding and grumbling into his palm. What a terrible turn they’d taken, an abrupt dive into matters he’d yet to sort. Yes, he liked the able Abel, and yes, he visited the shop often, but that was irrelevant. A fanciful footnote. He needed to focus on Antonio, not this. João glanced down to the holdall packed with good intentions.
“Guess your plans have changed for tonight.”
“Yeah.” Antonio brushed it off. “Wasted effort, but it’s okay.”
“Not wasted. Stay here.”
“Really?”
João nodded. “Today is for us, for siblings. We’ll finish these drinks, grab dinner from the supermarket.”
Antonio perked up. “Yes? Then what?”
João extended an arm to the TV. “Then we’re going to sit here with wine and a film, and embrace a happy, single life.”
Antonio remained the consummate actor, scratching the back of his neck. “Okay, that sounds amazing, but… when do we discuss your blooming love prospects? The passion in the paint aisle?”
“There's been no such thing!”
“Not yet,” Antonio teased, back to his happier, better self. In the wake of that sight João forgot everything; who was older, younger. In need. He forgot who came running after a terrible not-date, seeking aid from someone who cared, and when faced with Antonio's confidence, João believed his brother was right. He did have a chance with Abel.
"We can talk about him," he surrendered, smiling. "But supermarket first."
"Supermarket now," Antonio declared, making a dash for the front door.