His long-distance mom had asked him to bring flowers. Studying his brother's gravestone, he noted the date inscribed. Today, the anniversary of Tyler's death.
Scenes played through his mind. Big grins, sloppy hugs, late night Star Wars marathons. Pressing his thumb to his forehead while passing gas, his brothers hurrying to do the same. Be last, and become The Fart Eater. Fast forwarding, sweet-tart mimosas as he watched Tyler, now grown, flipping an omelette. Their last day spent together.
His chin dropped to his chest. Sobbing, he recalled his phone call to mom, four years ago. "Mom, we lost Tyler."