I nodded. “They have programs in Charleston, don’t they? I recognize the name.”
“The Charleston chapter has been very supportive,” Alex said. “They put us in touch with the Thrive national leadership team, who recommended a corporate event planner who has coordinated charity events for them in the past.”
“We have a meeting with him tomorrow,” Isaac said.
I studied my brother carefully. He was excited, that much was clear. But something didn’t add up. Not with the Isaac that I’d always known. My confusion over his mature handling of our parents’ roof repair suddenly tripled.
“So, what’s in it for you?” I asked.
Isaac stared without blinking. “You would ask that, wouldn’t you?”
“I’m not judging, I’m just asking. Surely there’s a benefit to you if you’re going to all this effort.” Maybe I was judging. But this was Isaac we were talking about. Isaac who, in my mind, wasn’t all that different than he had been eight years ago at age seventeen. His show and channel had evolved over the years, but it was still basically the same thing, none of which struck me as very adult-like. Climbing into an ice bath full of lemon-lime soda. Setting his own hair on fire. Fitting fifty-seven cinnamon bears into his mouth at one time. A massive charity event just for the sake of charity didn’t feel very . . . congruent.
It was Rizzo that finally volunteered an answer. “Money,” he said smoothly. “An event generates attention. Attention brings subscribers. Subscribers bring hits, hits bring cash. Simple as that.”
Isaac didn’t look up. “That’s not—” He sighed. “Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Obviously exposure is never a bad thing,” Alex said cautiously, “and there will be multiple internet personalities involved so Isaac’s fan base does have the potential to grow, but we’re trying to approach this as more of a giving back scenario.”
I was momentarily distracted by the soothing lilt of Alex’s voice, the way his g’s were almost silent, the way his words rolled into each other like tiny ripples of sound. Isaac and I sounded Southern—but not next to Alex. Our mother was from Maine; we grew up sounding more like her than our Lowcountry father. But Alex was all South Carolina. A longing deep and intense swelled inside my chest. I missed home.
I forced my brain back to the conversation in front of me. To the way Alex had called Isaac an internet personality instead of just a YouTube star. Somehow, he’d managed to give the entire thing an air of professionalism I’d never associated with Isaac before.
“So, will . . .” I wasn’t sure how to formulate my question. “I mean, I think it sounds amazing, but do you think there’s that kind of money in your viewership? The kind of money that attends charity events? Or buys stuff at an auction?”
Isaac looked at Alex. “See? I told you she wouldn’t get it.”
I backpedaled. “I didn’t say I didn’t get it. I think it sounds amazing, like a really good idea, I just—”
“No, it won’t be the kind of event where people wear LeFranc dresses,” Isaac said with a measure of contempt that made me uncomfortable. “I know it’s hard for you to imagine life outside your fancy, high-end fashion world, but the point of this entire event is for it to be accessible. It’s going to be for regular people. For regular fans. Anyone who can get to New York.”
“And anyone else who wants to watch the live stream,” Alex added. “We had a photoshoot today with Isaac, Rizzo, and the three other hosts to create some promotional material. We’re confident the event will be well-attended, and well-watched from home.”
I had so many doubts. So many questions. So many reasons to think this was a terrible idea, headed for miserable and certain failure. But I knew better than to doubt my brother again. At least not out loud. He had a lot riding on this; I could tell. “I think it sounds really amazing,” I said.
Isaac looked up and met my gaze, a question in his eyes.
“Truly. It’s a good idea.”
He shrugged, noncommittally, but the lift of his eyebrows told me he was pleased to have my approval.
The rest of the evening was easier. Lighter. Oddly enough, Rizzo influenced the mood for good. For a brief moment, I almost forgot I was at a table with a brother I didn’t really get along with and my ex-boyfriend. I didn’t even mind the stories Isaac told about growing up as a twin.
“So many stupid questions,” Isaac said. “Do you have the same thoughts? Do you have a secret language?”
“Are you identical?” I chimed in.
“Oh, that one always killed me,” Isaac said. “And then when we’d say no, people would come back with something like, ‘oh, yeah, I guess your eyes aren’t the same color.’ Right, right. Eye color is absolutely more definitive than gender.” He pressed his hands against his forehead. “I mean, seriously, people.”
“I’m intrigued by the idea of always having someone around like that,” Alex said. “I was mostly an only child, at least when I was in Charleston with my dad.”
“But you had your stepbrothers in New York,” I said.
“Who were genuinely awful at every turn.”
“That about sums up having siblings,” Isaac said.
Rizzo and I laughed, but Alex didn’t. He just sat there, his lips pressed into a tight line. From what he’d told me about his childhood in the past, and it wasn’t much, I didn’t think the awful he’d referenced was the same kind of awful Isaac and I had been to each other. We’d fought like only siblings could, but ultimately, we came from a loving family. Our parents taught us to respect each other, to love each other. We didn’t have to like the same things or have the same friends, but we had to have each other’s backs, no matter what. That’s what being a family was all about.
I only half-listened as Isaac started another story, my thoughts stuck on Alex and his relationship with Victor and Gabriel. Alicio’s sons both worked at LeFranc so I saw them around the office occasionally. Gabriel, I didn’t mind too much. He was the quieter brother, always polite and quick to say hello when he passed by, but Victor made me want to jump out of my skin. The way he looked at me. The way he spoke with entitled arrogance and contempt. Even worse, the way he looked at Sasha, who would soon be his stepmother.
“I seriously thought I was going to have to throw a rock through the window to get their attention,” Isaac said, pulling me back to the present. He scraped up the few remaining crumbs on his dessert plate with the back of his fork. We’d already paid the bill, but Rizzo had ended up ordering a bottle of wine for the table and desserts all around. “There I was, trying to do the kind and decent thing by giving them a heads up,” Isaac continued, “and they don’t even look up. They keep going at it, hands and tongues going everywhere. So I keep banging, louder and louder, and they finally look up literally seconds before Dad walks in.”
“Wait, what are we talking about?” I asked.
Isaac laughed. “Prom night, junior year. When I saved your make-out session from a Dad-flavored interruption.”
I raised my hands to my cheeks. “Oh my word! I was seriously so grateful for you that night. But in my defense, we did have a movie on, and the volume was up pretty loud which is a really good reason why we didn’t hear you knocking the first time. Also, there was no going at anything. We were just kissing. And badly. Jeremy had braces and I was scared I was going to hurt myself.”