Katherine Wu - Half a Brother

 

So, it's two nights before my wedding. I'm sitting in the living room of this ridiculously nice cabin on the shores of Lake Michigan that my entire wedding party has rented for the weekend. My friends are all sitting outside huddled around this fire pit, and they're all toasting marshmallows and slapping away mosquitoes. But I'm not out there, I'm in here staring at my laptop, because I'm trying to draft an email. 

 

And the email starts, “Dear Alex,” which already sounds really stiff and awkward and uncomfortable, but I have no other way to start this email. “Dear Alex, I'm getting married on Saturday. I know you said you were busy, but it'd be really great if you showed up.” My fingers feel fat and heavy as I type the next four words. “Please, I'm your sister. Half-sister,” I should clarify at this point. 

 

Alex and my other two siblings are my dad's kids from his first marriage, and they're all about 15 years older than me. The three of them grew up really, really close. And I, as an effective only child, was driven my entire childhood by my singular desire to be a part of this tight knit group. And that singular desire crafted the trajectory of my entire young adult life. Every time I saw them, I copied everything they did. The books they liked, the movies they liked. I pretended I liked pineapple on pizza until I was 12. That shit's gross. [audience laughter] 

 

When my brother Alex got married, I was so excited, because it was one of the only times I was able to snap a picture of the four of us together, two brothers and two sisters. I saved that photo and I pinned it to my wall. But that relationship was always really asymmetrical. So, the three of them, they shared a mom and their childhood and 50% of their DNA, whatever. I didn't have that, and they never really let me forget it. By the time I was in high school, Alex was actually really the only one of them that would still answer my phone calls even after our dad died. But I never really let go of that hope. 

 

And a couple years ago when I got engaged, one of the first things I thought about was I just want my big brother at my wedding the same way I was at his. So, I call Alex, and I tell him that he means something to me and I want him there. We end up talking for an hour. I think it's the longest conversation he and I have ever had. He tells me about his childhood and stuff about our dad that I never knew. At the end of all this, he tells me, he promises me that he is going to do everything he can to be there on my wedding day. 

 

As soon as I hang up the phone, I call my partner and I tell him I really think he's going to be there. I can't wait for you to meet my big brother. And a few weeks later, I get a text. It says, “Hey, kiddo, things are looking pretty busy and I don't think I'm going to make it. But I'll let you know if anything changes.” Nothing does, because now I'm sitting here, four months later in this living room. While my friends are sitting outside basking in the glow of the fire, the only glow I'm basking in is the one from my laptop as I finish this email. I close it out and I sign it, love. 

 

But I don't hit send. My finger just hovers over that mouse pad, and this countdown starts in my head. I think Alex is in California. If I send this and he sees it and he leaves in an hour, he can catch a red eye and he'll be here with 30 hours and 45 minutes to spare. I wait a minute, and suddenly it's 30 hours 44 minutes to spare. 30 hours 43 minutes to spare, and I still cannot push that damn button. I can't send the email, because all of a sudden, I realize that even if I do, he is not going to come. 

 

When he sees that email and he doesn't show up anyway, it's not going to because we don't share a mom or a childhood or 50% of our DNA. It's going to be, because in spite of all the things we do share, I was never really his family. I don't send the email. What I do instead is I shut my computer, and I walk outside to the group of people who did drop everything and fly here to be with me this weekend. I sit down, and someone hands me a drink and the fire has already started to die down, but I still feel how warm the air around me is. 

 

There's really no one in this circle of people that shares parents, or a childhood or even all that much of their DNA, relatively speaking. [audience laughter] But sitting there in this group of the nine people I love most in the world, it's not so hard anymore to feel lucky for the family that I already have. Thank you.