I have two brothers-in-law. There is the evil one, who is technically not even my brother-in-law anymore.
And then there is Daniel.
Daniel is Ben's little brother. We say little because he's only around six feet tall. I don't know the exact number, he never stops moving long enough for me to check. He is thirty-eight, has brown eyes and caramel-colored hair that he wears long. Not hippie-long but hipster-long, so that he pretty much fits into any crowd. He's as angular as his big brother is but more muscled and less wiry, still rail-thin, still with the smile that appears to make his whole face widen and light up.
He is fun, personified. He's always up for anything. He'll do anything, listen to any band, watch any movie (including Mamma Mia! with Ruth yesterday in which he sang all the songs out loud and she was thrilled that he knew them) and eat everything. He'll spend hours wandering around the house. He can fall asleep on a roller coaster and he'll buy a t-shirt and wear it every third day for the next ten years. Never ever ever take him into the bulk food section at a grocery store because he'll try one of everything and then try and count up what he ate to pay for, leading to long lines at the checkout and an inevitable warning to buy first, sample later.
He's only ever eaten one lip gloss, and that was because he wanted to know what the fuss was about. He said it tasted like sticky, manufactured fruit gel. Which is exactly what lip gloss is.
He plays guitar but only two songs. He much prefers to admire Ben's playing.
He does odd jobs and mostly hangs out in the marketing department at advertising agencies who hire him for his quirky ideas that quickly become overshadowed by his lack of attention to detail. Which is interesting, I think, because his BlackBerry is well-organized and he's never failed to be punctual or memorable when it comes to us, just when it pertains to actual employment.
Daniel is delicate and we spoil him. You think they spoil me? You should see everyone look after Danny.
Especially Schuyler.
It's very sweet to watch them together. So sweet it makes you ache for simple things like love and sunsets and crackling fires. Schuyler will take off his fleece jacket and put it on Daniel. He'll always ask him if he's hungry. Daniel, in return, reaches for Schuyler's hand to hold pretty much any time they are in close proximity. They've had their issues and they can fight almost as well as Bridget and...anybody, but at the same time it's a deep, lasting love that I feel fortunate to bear witness to. Schuyler taught Daniel to cook. Patiently, thoroughly because both Ben and Daniel were convinced through most of their twenties and early thirties that "food" meant getting a case of beer and calling for a pizza to be delivered. Or having Bridget feed them.
Bridget does feed them. Fancy that.
Daniel is also the biggest male affection whore I have ever met.
Unapologetically so. Importantly so.
Thank God. And it's all for me. Schuyler, move over. Okay, thanks. That's better.
Daniel is awesome. The minute he walks into the house he hugs the children and then he is all mine to mack on for as long as I like. His arms are perpetually stuffed with Bridget. There is no tension. He doesn't like girls so there's no jealousy either. There is only arms that are sort of like Ben's but not quite and the classic kangaroo care that I have sought out from Daniel when all else has failed me in the world since Jake left it and Ben couldn't pull himself together to take care of it. He'll wrap us both in a blanket and just hold me, whether it's for hours or days, if need be. He just holds tight and rocks sometimes and sometimes he just sits.
And he loves his brother. So much it's hard to quantify. He idolizes Ben. He lives vicariously through Ben's adventures and he looks forward to the times when the two of them can just hang out. Get some food and just spend time when Ben is in town, because it's much more rare and precious than now it used to be when they were growing up. He listens to Ben's music and like the rest of us, has his speed dial programmed predictably: A for voicemail, B for Benjamin.
You all thought B would be for Bridget. Nope. (I'm usually filed under P for princess. Sad, I know).
Ben has a bigger place in our world than he might believe. I don't think half the time he has a sweet clue exactly how important he is to his little brother. Daniel doesn't believe in all that much. And maybe as a collective we have become jaded through the years. Death changes people and people who have no business being in charge wind up that way. And so Ben became Daniel's everything, while Daniel has always been Ben's everything. Like boys, they just don't say it until something happens.
I thought last year before Christmas when Schuyler rolled their car and walked away without a scratch while Daniel wound up with broken facial bones and the mother of all full-body bruising that Benjamin was gone for good. He lost it. Coming that close to losing the last immediate member of his family sent him into a sort of despair that left Daniel incredibly touched, because Ben could be cold sometimes. But Ben isn't cold anymore and they seem to appreciate each other more the older they get. Ben rebounded quickly and enlisted everyone to help look after Daniel until he was repaired enough to...uh...look for another job.
God love him. I gave him a hundred dollars for gas this morning and I daresay he'll show up with fast food for lunch, because, well...
That's what Ben would do. (And has done. Seriously!)
Daniel's going to stay here for the whole next week too. I will take the hit to my pantry (and my purse) in exchange for his endless hugs. He says I am his Sugar Mama.
Huh. He's Bridget in male form, isn't he?
