Darius stood beside Miles.
Not best man because of blood.
Because they were best friends by then.
That surprised both of them.
There had been years when brotherhood felt like the source of every comparison.
Eventually adulthood let them build something outside their mother's fear.
Darius married two years later.
Miles spoke at the reception.
“I spent half my childhood thinking my brother got everything.”
The room laughed nervously.
Darius covered his face.
Miles continued:
“Turns out he thought I did.”
Renee cried immediately.
Miles looked toward her.
“Mom is going to hate this speech.”
Everyone laughed.
He continued:
“Our dad once wrote, ‘Do not turn love into math.’”
He looked at Darius.
“We were terrible at following instructions.”
Darius smiled.
“But we got better.”
Simple.
Enough.
Renee became a grandmother.
That frightened her.
Not babies.
Fairness.
When Darius had his first daughter, Renee began buying gifts.
Then Miles and Lena had a son.
Renee kept receipts in separate envelopes.
Miles noticed.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“Stop.”
“I'm making sure it’s even.”
He stared.
“Do not turn love into math.”
Renee froze.
Then laughed.
“Your father is haunting me through you.”
“No.”
“Therapy is.”
She threw away the envelopes.
The grandchildren received different gifts.
One got art supplies.
One got soccer cleats.
One got books.
One got a ridiculous plastic dinosaur bigger than his bedroom.
Nobody compared retail prices.
Mostly.
Family habits died slowly.
When Renee turned sixty-five, Miles gave her a box.
She looked suspicious.
“What?”
“Open it.”
Inside were the old white, black, and red Nike sneakers.
Cleaned.
Worn.
Creased.
Sole repaired.
Renee stared.
“You kept these?”
“One.”
She lifted them.
“Why are you giving them to me?”
“Because you're the only person in the family who still looks guilty every time you see Nike.”
Darius burst out laughing.
Renee hit him with tissue paper.
Miles continued:
“I don't need them.”
“I didn't need to keep them forever.”
Renee's eyes filled.
“I almost gave these away.”
“Yes.”
“To Darius.”
“Yes.”
Darius raised both hands.
“Involuntary participant.”
Renee laughed through tears.
Miles said:
“Dad told me to wear them out.”
“I did.”
He pointed toward the cracked sole.
“Mission accomplished.”
Renee touched the leather.