After retiring, my mom became a full-time travel blogger, posting a dozen times a day. One afternoon, scrolling through her feed, I saw my ex-boyfriend. In the video, the two of them were chatting like old friends. My mom was clearly charmed by him. I immediately texted her, trying to be subtle. “You know how you’re always telling me to get out there and date? I think I’d like to date the guy in your video.” She replied instantly. “Date him? Don’t be ridiculous. That’s my son. Your brother.” I died. My ex-boyfriend was apparently the son my mom had with her first husband. Still in denial, I texted back, “So… are you trying to set up some kind of weird family reunion, Mom?” Her response: “No, but it looks like you’re trying to set yourself up for a trip to the emergency room.” 1 The day my mom finalized her retirement paperwork, she booked a solo trip to Italy. No me, no stepdad. My dad and I still had jobs. Before she left, she patted us both on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said solemnly. “I’ll be sure to share all the fun with you two.” My idea of “sharing the fun” involved delicious souvenirs. Her idea of “sharing the fun” involved a twenty-post-a-day, minute-by-minute travelogue on social media. She’d post sixteen updates during a thirty-minute hike. Even the MLM huns in her friends list couldn’t keep up and started unfollowing her. I dutifully liked every single post, because if I missed one, she’d repost it in the family group chat and tag us. “@Me @Dad, why no like on this one? Is the composition off? Hmm?” We’d plead our case. “Mom, it’s not you, it’s the algorithm! It’s hiding your posts from us!” She’d get scammed by a street vendor into buying some ridiculously overpriced bracelet and send us a picture, asking if she should get it. We’d say no. She’d buy it anyway. Her desire to share every moment of her life with us was relentless, but honestly, my dad and I kind of loved it. Her posts were so full of life. On a tough day at work, I’d scroll through her videos and live vicariously through her adventures. One day, I was scrolling through her latest ten-video dump and one thumbnail caught my eye. Not randomly, I’ll admit. I saw the profile of a handsome guy. I grinned. At least Mom was posting some quality content. But when I clicked play and saw his face, my smile froze. It was my ex-boyfriend, Daniel. 2 In the video, my mom and Daniel were eating pasta, talking animatedly. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I could understand his face—still handsome enough to stop your heart. I never thought I’d see him again like this. I watched the fourteen-second clip over and over, a knot of complicated feelings in my stomach. The longing for him that I had so carefully suppressed came rushing back. The truth is, the biggest regret of my life was breaking up with him. I’d had a massive crush on Daniel in college. He was smart, gorgeous, and completely aloof. He dealt with any girl who showed interest by immediately blocking her. The first time I asked him out, he rejected me and, true to form, blocked my number. But I had a burner phone. I was young, shameless, and convinced I could win over any guy. Even my friends were on my side. “His last name is Rivers, your last name is Banks,” they’d say. “It’s fate.” I bought into the cheesy poetry of it all and pursued him relentlessly for three years. Finally, in our senior year, he gave in. We interned at the same company in Chicago that winter. It was freezing. We huddled together in a drafty little apartment, kissing, touching, learning each other. He started to open up, his initial shyness melting away. He’d kiss me awake in the mornings and whisper things that made me blush. He learned to cook because I hated takeout, blew my hair dry for me, and even after working late, he’d insist on doing our laundry before bed. He told me about his family. His mom had died when he was young, and his dad was an alcoholic gambler. He had pulled himself up by his bootstraps, a story of strength and resilience that made me cry. I held him tight and promised, “It’s okay. I’ll always love you.” But I overestimated myself. After the internship, I planned to introduce him to my parents. I had a happy, stable family, and I wanted to share that with him. But one night, at dinner, my mom was ranting about some trashy reality show. A girl had cut off her family to marry a guy with nothing, only to be killed by his drunk father. The guy then faked a mental illness to get his dad off the hook. My mom slammed her fork down. “If our Clara ever brings home some guy with no breeding and a dysfunctional family, I swear, I’ll disown her.” I froze mid-chew. Daniel didn’t have a mother. And his father… It wasn’t his fault, but… I meekly raised my hand. “Mom, Dad… what if my boyfriend’s mom had passed away, and his dad was… an alcoholic?” “Then you can get out right now,” they said in unison, their eyes like daggers. I shut my mouth. That night, I couldn’t sleep. The thought of my parents never accepting Daniel was unbearable. I was falling deeper in love with him every day, and I was terrified. So, when we graduated, I broke up with him. 3 Two years hadn’t dulled the memory of him. If anything, the longing had grown stronger. I missed his kiss, his laugh, the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn't watching. On lonely nights, I hated myself for not being braver. What if we really were meant to be? I snapped back to the present, watching the video again. Daniel looked more mature now, but he still nervously tugged on his earlobe when he was talking. At the end of the clip, my mom asked him if he had a girlfriend. He gave a shy smile, and the video cut off. I took a deep breath and tried to be rational. My mom was clearly smitten with him. She was asking about his relationship status, which meant she was trying to set me up. The fact that she posted this where I would see it was a clear sign. Daniel was destined to be my mom’s son-in-law. Fired up by my flawless logic, I texted her. “Mom, you know how you’re always telling me to get out there and date? I think I’d like to date the guy in your video.” She replied instantly. “Date him? Don’t be ridiculous. That’s my son. Your brother.” I’m sorry, what? My son? Your brother? The words didn’t compute. I didn’t have a brother. She didn’t have a son. Then, a memory surfaced. My dad, during an argument with my mom, shouting, “I don’t even want to talk about your ex-husband!” My mom had been married before. My aunt once told me she’d been married for three years and was even pregnant. But the man had hit her during a fight, and she’d left him immediately, giving up the baby. My parents never talked about it, and I never asked. They were happy now. That was all that mattered. Except now, I wasn't so happy. If only I’d asked. Then maybe my ex-boyfriend wouldn’t be my mom’s long-lost son. This was a horror story. I had a half-brother I never knew about, and he was the guy I’d slept with, cried over, and dreamed about for the last two years. Was this even legal? Probably not. Still in denial, I forwarded the video to my dad. Who is this? I asked, praying for a different answer. His reply: “That’s Daniel Rivers, your mom’s son. Wow, he grew up handsome. You know, your mom picked out both your names. Pretty cool, right?” I closed my eyes. It was over. I thought Banks and Rivers was a poetic, romantic coincidence. Turns out, they were just matching sibling names. But at least I had broken up with him. As much as it had hurt, it was the right thing to do. I made a vow to myself to take this secret to the grave. 4 Just when I was feeling relieved about my decision, my mom, the prodigal traveler, returned. And Daniel was with her. He looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. “Daniel’s on vacation, so he’s going to stay with us for a few days,” my mom explained. “Be nice to him.” She nudged me. “Don’t just stand there. Go say hi to your brother.” I wanted to refuse, but under my mom’s watchful eye, I forced a smile and reached for his suitcase. “Hi… brother.” Daniel’s face was a blank mask. He avoided my eyes and pulled his suitcase away. “Hello,” he said coolly. Thank god. He was just as eager to keep his distance as I was. We could do this. We could pretend to be strangers. For the first few days, it worked. We were polite but distant, and my parents didn't suspect a thing. I just had to hold on until he left. Then, my best friend Sarah came over to borrow some sugar. She saw Daniel walking out of his room, and her jaw dropped. “Oh my god! Clara! Isn’t that… your ex? The one who was so good in… you know?” she stage-whispered. “You were just crying about him yesterday, and now you’ve got him in your house? You’re my hero!” I lunged at her and clamped a hand over her mouth. “Shut up! He’s my brother! My actual, biological brother!” Sarah’s eyes widened even more. “What? Are you guys into some weird role-playing thing now?” Just then, my mom poked her head out of the kitchen. “What was that about an ex? And role-playing?” 5 My mom’s voice was sharp with suspicion. I wanted to glue Sarah’s mouth shut. Three deadly questions, and I couldn't answer a single one. I shot a desperate look at Daniel, hoping he would use his signature aloofness to ignore the situation. But he didn’t. He slowly turned his gaze from Sarah to me, a smirk playing on his lips. It was a look that said, “Go on. Lie your way out of this one.” My brain went into overdrive. Just before it short-circuited, I came up with a brilliant, if utterly insane, explanation. I threw an arm around Sarah’s shoulders and gave my mom a winning smile. “Mom, it’s just internet slang.” “‘Ex’ is what you call a guy who’s so hot, you’d marry him and then divorce him, just for the experience.” “And the role-playing thing, that’s just… a compliment! It means my brother is so handsome, looking at him makes you weak in the knees. You might trip and fall and have to go to the orthopedist!” “So when we say he’s ‘good,’ we mean he’s good at sending people to the doctor!” I finished my breathless explanation and held my breath. My mom squinted, clearly skeptical. But Sarah, bless her heart, jumped in. “Yes! That’s exactly it, Mrs. Banks! Your son is so handsome, he’s a walking workplace hazard!” My mom’s attention shifted. She looked at Daniel’s admittedly perfect face and actually bought it. She puffed out her chest. “Well, of course. Look who his mother is.” Crisis averted. I dragged Sarah outside. “You almost got me killed!” I hissed. “What is going on? How is he your brother?” I gave her the whole sordid, soap-opera-worthy story. She listened, her mouth hanging open. “So… half-siblings? For real?” “For real.” “So you guys…” She looked down, her meaning clear. “We’re innocent!” I insisted, then amended, “Legally innocent, anyway.” “Okay, well, legally or not, you need to forget about him,” she said seriously. “Incest is a crime, you know.” I sent Sarah on her way and went back inside, emotionally drained. My parents were showing Daniel old family photo albums, the picture of domestic bliss. “Look, Daniel, this is Clara as a baby. So ugly she was cute,” my mom said, pointing to a picture of me with a runny nose. “Yeah, she was always a little dopey,” my dad added. Thanks, guys. Daniel’s eyes lingered on the photo, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He looked up, his eyes met mine, and then he quickly looked away, his cool mask back in place. “Clara, come look with your brother,” my mom said. I sat down next to her, leaving a mile of space between myself and Daniel. My mom pushed me closer. “He’s not going to bite. Go get your brother a glass of water.” I reluctantly got up. As I passed Daniel, I caught the scent of his mint body wash, the same one he used when we were together. My heart skipped a beat. I stumbled, and he instinctively reached out to steady me, his warm hand on my arm. The touch was electric. I pulled away as if I’d been burned. “Thanks,” I mumbled, not looking at him. “You’re welcome,” he said, his voice flat. The awkwardness was suffocating. I fled to the kitchen and chugged a glass of cold water. Get a grip, Clara, I told myself. He’s your brother. It’s over.
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