"Hey," Frank smiled as Joe stumbled in the back door, tripped over a pair of shoes, and cursed good-naturedly.
"Who left these here!" the younger Hardy snapped.
"They're yours kiddo."
"Oh." Joe blushed and offered his brother a sheepish grin.
"How was your walk?"
"Fine."
He'd had to stop not his usual once, but twice today, too dizzy to keep walking straight. The past month had seen not ten, but close to twenty pounds disappear from the younger Hardy; needless to say, Frank was not the only one to begin to mention that Joe was not eating enough. His parents commented nightly as Joe picked his way around dinner, his Aunt fretted whenever she came over, and his girlfriend had begun to touch his arms and shoulders more often, to see how much weight was disappearing from his back, shoulders, and chest.
It's just a few more pounds, the younger Hardy insisted to anyone who mentioned that the weight was going too fast, that he was taking the diet perhaps too seriously. I'm feeling fine. Great, really. No need to worry.
But Frank was worried, and he knew his parents were worrying too. Joe had needed all new pants and undershirts—the old ones were just too loose. Besides that, he'd begun napping more and going to bed earlier, and struggling with dizziness on and off, despite the abnormally large amount of water he downed daily.
"Vanessa called," the elder Hardy said as Joe set his bag down and came slowly into the kitchen, pausing to fill a tall glass with water from the sink before coming to sit across from Frank.
"What'd she say?"
"She wants us to go hang out with the gang tonight. You know, get dinner, see Tony at work…"
Joe instantly frowned. "You mean, go to Mr. Pizza."
"Sure."
"I have homework."
Frank bit back a sigh, expecting the response.
"It's Friday night, Joe."
"I'm tired. It's been a long week."
"Let's just go for an hour then. We'll pop in, grab something to eat—you know it doesn't take long—and then I'll drive you home. Please? You haven't been out with us in weeks. Isn't Vanessa ready to take you hostage or something?"
Joe drained the glass and avoided his brother's gaze. "We're fine," he said shortly.
"But you never go out. With her or with any of them."
"I go out with you."
"No. You come into my room and we talk, but we don't go out. And never to eat."
"So what? Why is everyone on my case about food all the time. Leave me alone, okay? Look at me, I'm fine. Coach said a few more pounds—"
"I don't care!" Frank almost shouted. Joe jumped, glared at his brother and started to get up; Frank reached out and caught his arm.
"Let go—"
"Joe, wait, sit, I'm sorry. I didn't meant to shout. I just—"
"Don't talk about it."
"Joe—"
"No more. Please," Joe said through gritted teeth. "I don't want to fight with you."
"Come tonight?"
The brothers watched each other, Frank slowly letting go of his brother's arm, in dismay at how slender it was growing.
"You're scaring me," the older Hardy murmured, his voice wavering. Joe's face slowly softened, and he sat back across from his brother. Joe looked down at the table, rubbing his arm where Frank had touched it. "Did I hurt you?"
"No."
"I'm just—"
"If I come tonight, will you feel better?"
"I want you to want to come, that's all. You're isolating yourself."
"I'll come out then."
"Joe—"
"I'll come Frank."
The elder Hardy sighed and nodded, letting Joe get up and leave the room, resisting the urge to touch his brother's shoulder, knowing it wasn't out of affection, but to check to see if any bones were beginning to rise through the skin.
***
"You're here!"
Joe bent and quickly pecked his girlfriend's lips. "Hey babe."
"I've missed you. Are you all right?"
"Fine," he said, forcing a smile and clenching his hands into fists to hide the sweat on his palms. Frank was eyeing him closely, although Joe was pretending he didn't notice. The drive to the restaurant had been awkward, the two brothers making small talk, not their usual friendly, easy-flowing banter.
"You all right?" Callie asked as her boyfriend fumbled with his chair.
"Yeah," he murmured, pecking her on the cheek.
"Joe?" his girlfriend whispered, then patted her boyfriend's arm when he nodded.
"Who wants what?" Chet asked after greeting the Hardys as Tony arrived at the table.
The gang agreed on the usual pizzas and side orders while Joe, staring down at the table, mumbled that he wanted a salad and diet soda, then glanced at Frank, as if daring him to object. But Frank didn't look the least bit confrontational; Joe was surprised to see his brother looked…well, sad.
"We haven't seen you around much," Callie said carefully to the younger Hardy, smiling. Joe slid his hand in to Vanessa's and shrugged.
"I've been busy."
"You've been sleeping more than usual," Frank commented, his face critical. Joe flushed a bit.
"Coach keeps us working," Biff jumped in, attempting to ease a bit of the tension gathering at the end of the table from the obvious distance the Hardy brothers were keeping from one another. "I've been napping more than usual myself."
There was an awkward pause as Frank and Joe watched each other, but the food arrived shortly after and Joe broke his brother's gaze, leaned in to his girlfriend and kissed her temple.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly. He just nodded, as his friends began passing plates around, pulling slices of pizza from the racks, passing sodas down the table. He swallowed, surprised by how much the smell made him crazy, how hungry he actually felt; and, at the same time, how disgusted by the grease, cheese, and bread.
"Sure you don't want some?" Chet asked, gesturing to the slice as Tony handed Joe his salad.
"No," Joe forced a grin, "I'm fine." He glanced at his older brother, daring Frank to comment, but the elder Hardy was dabbing grease off his slice without meeting his brother's gaze.
Conversation passed as usual between the friends: school, break-ups, hook-ups, sports, dances, weekend plans. But while the group ate and laughed and joked, Frank watched his brother eat with increasing anxiety; before, Joe would have attacked the salad; now, he picked around the tomatoes, cucumbers, and carrots to individual pieces of lettuce that he carefully cut into tiny pieces.
"You're not having much," he said carefully when his brother pushed the bowl aside. Joe shrugged.
"I had a big lunch."
Vanessa turned to him, frowning. "No you didn't. You just had an apple…remember? You said you had a big breakfast."
"I did."
"No," Franks said slowly, "you didn't have anything for breakfast. You said you were running late."
"I was," Joe avoided their eyes and shifted uncomfortably. Vanessa looked anxiously at Frank, but his eyes remained locked on his brother.
"Joe, what…"
"I'm fine, Frank. It's fine."
"Joe," Vanessa murmured, "are you okay? I mean, if that's all you've eaten…"
"Don't mother me," the younger Hardy snapped, shoving himself away from the table. "Both of you. I'm fine."
"Where are you going?"
"You said we could go home after we ate."
The conversation died at the table as everyone turned to stare at the younger Hardy.
"Don't you want to stick around a little longer? Look, you're not even finished—"
"I'm finished," Joe snapped. "Look, can I have the keys?"
Vanessa turned, wide-eyed, to Frank; in fact, all eyes were slowly turning toward Frank, as if to say what's wrong with your brother? You should know; you always do.
I don't, Frank realized, I have no freakin' clue.
"I'll drive you," the elder Hardy said, leaving his second slice half-eaten and handing Callie a twenty to help pay. He bid the group good-bye, kissed his girlfriend quickly, and hurried out the door after his brother.