In all the years I had known him, I never thought I'd be soaking wet on a bathroom floor with Darren Reynolds. And if I had thought that was in the realm of possibility, I never would have imagined it would be to bathe a toddler together. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

After our romp on the lawn, all dirt and limbs and animal sounds, we were dripping in mud, our t-shirts heavy with water. We tried to hose down under the sprinklers, but Noah continued to dive into the grass after each soak, not ready for the game to be over, and then we would have to start again. He threw his head back with an enormous giggle each time, as if a drunk middle-aged man was hiding in his belly. We couldn't help but laugh with him.

Finally, after several rounds of soak and slide, he exhausted himself and we were able to turn off the hose. We sat on the front porch steps to sun-dry a little before going inside. I stared at the three casseroles lined up perfectly on the sidewalk in the distance and wondered if they would start to bake if we left them out long enough.

Suddenly, in a single moment of silence, the joy that we had wrapped ourselves up in on the grass seemed to disappear. Like a wave in reverse, like the tide pulling quickly away from the shore. We were reminded by the warm sun and the quiet, invisible breeze that there were only three of us on the porch steps when there should have been five.

Even Noah, who climbed and crawled between us, over and through and between our bodies like jungle gyms, remained quiet, only occasionally muttering sounds in his own language as he swung from limb to limb.

"I think it's time for a bath, little guy," Darren said to Noah, to break the silence.

As Noah climbed my arm, I reached over with the other and stood up in one swoop. I was impressed with my toddler-swinging skills and carried him inside, Darren following behind us.

The house was eerily quiet. It almost felt like I could hear the dust floating in the rays of sunlight that beamed down through the windows onto the dark hardwood floors that ran from room to room. There were toys everywhere––a plastic train set with turned over cars shaped like clouds, The Sky Express––as if Noah had been scooped up mid-play and his mother would, of course, return him after naptime or clean it up before bed. Books were scattered on chairs and ledges, peeking up between cushions and stuffed amongst piles in corners. Every inch of the house felt like Phil and Theresa, like it was waiting for them to return.

I paused in the foyer, taking it all in; the mahogany fireplace with photos of their wedding and our parents at Christmas and Noah's first birthday; the end table with a photo of Phil and Darren in front of the first home they had flipped over by the creek. It was the first of many with large painted panels instead of siding, their trademark. There was even a photo of Phil and I hanging on the wall under the stairs. Phil had driven to Pittsburgh to celebrate my graduation from art school and we spent an awkward weekend bar hopping, hoping the drinks and revolving locations would give us enough to talk about. I remembered it was when he was fighting with Theresa and I had to break up several attempts at flirting.

The picture was taken on top of Mount Washington overlooking the downtown skyline. A fellow graduate had taken it and you could only see our heads since we were cut off from the neck down to make room for the sky.

All over the house there was life. I thought of my apartment on the Upper West Side with its white walls, linoleum floors, and large paintings by artists I admired. Not a single family photograph, everything tucked away and intentional. Like a museum, there was no evidence of a life. For a split second I wished it had been me on the turnpike, that I could trade places with my brother. I wouldn't even blink at the chance. But if I couldn't change it, I would protect the life that he had built there. I owed him that much.

"I know it must be tough," Darren said, pulling me out of my daze, probably reading my worries all over my face.

"I'll take him up to the bath," I said.

"Are you sure? I don't mind."

"Yeah. I should probably start getting used to it." Noah started to squirm, so I put him down.

"Why don't you give me your clothes and I'll put them in the laundry," Darren suggested. He crouched down to Noah's level. "You too, little guy."

Noah threw his hands in the air and Darren pulled the shirt off. Then Noah put his hands on Darren's shoulders for balance so Darren could remove the pants and diaper, a routine they were both already accustomed to. As soon as Noah was naked he ran to the stairs and started to crawl up them.

I stood awkwardly for a moment. Did he really expect me to get naked in front of him? Before I could ask, Darren took off his shirt. His wet skin glistened in the sunny hallway and he brushed off any remaining drops of water from his chest hair and stomach. Then he removed his pants and socks. I did the same, trying not to stare.

We stood in our underwear in the foyer for a moment, silent except for the slap of Noah's tiny hands on the wood as he made his way upstairs, my eyes desperately seeking a spot in the room that wasn't Darren's perfect abs or bulging thighs or the dark hair sticking out of the waistband of his briefs. It had been a long time since we had gone swimming in the creek in our underwear, our bodies different, hairless and undiscovered. "Are you going to give it to me?" Darren asked.

"What?" I could hardly believe what I was hearing.

"The clothes," he said, pointing to the shirt and pants I was turning over and over with my hands.

"Oh, right." I handed him the ball of damp clothing and folded my arms to cover my torso. Then I turned to follow Noah up the stairs. "I better go after him."

"Looking good," Darren said, in that cool and casual way of his, his eyes lingering just long enough––but not too long––for it to be friendly, but maybe more, but you'll never know. Everything had always been easy for Darren––school, friends, work. He was handsome and charming and the kind of guy who took care of his friend's child after he died. Why was he still single? I didn't spend too long thinking about it because there was a toddler climbing the stairs with the speed of a downhill skier. I looked back at Darren only once. He smiled.

Inside the bathroom I sat Noah in the tub. I threw in the rubber ducky and the other farm animals and turned on the water. He began to scream almost instantly. The water was too cold, so I adjusted the knob, but then it was too hot. "I'm sorry, Noah." He cried and started to throw each animal onto the floor as if to save them from a similar fate. I took him out of the tub and tried to calm him by wiping his tears. When I reached my hand in to test the water again, Noah crawled away at lightning speed into the hallway.

I chased after him and scooped him up, tried to comfort him. "We're gonna take a bath, Noah. You like baths. It will be just like on the lawn, but with your farm friends." I put my hand under the faucet and tossed the water at him like the sprinklers outside. He screamed even louder. What was Darren going to think when he heard such awful crying in the laundry room? It sounded like I was torturing the kid.

Since the waterworks didn't do the trick, I placed all of the farm animals on the ledge of the tub to perform a little show. I picked up one animal at a time and put on a high voice or a low voice, a scratchy one or slow-motion one, but Noah didn't like any of them. He continued to cry. And then I started to cry. I held the piggy in my hand and sobbed in my underwear on the cold bathroom tile next to my two-year-old nephew.

Darren appeared at the door and looked between the two of us. "I can see things are going well in here," he said.

"The water was too cold and then it was too hot and he doesn't like the piggy." I fought back more tears. "I don't think I can do this, Darren."

"Don't say that." Darren crouched down next to me and held up the piggy. "Hey, little guy," Darren said to Noah. "What does the piggy say?"

"Oink!" Noah shouted and splashed his hands in the water to celebrate. It was as easy as that.

"Don't take it personally," Darren said to me. "He's just at that age. You should have seen him whenever Phil tried to bathe him. It always looked like a tsunami hit. Once he even got in the tub fully dressed, boots and all. Theresa had to kick him out and start a new bath because of course she wasn't going to let him bathe with Phil's dirty boots."

We both laughed. Noah joined in. I leaned against the vanity and watched Darren scrub Noah from head to toe. He couldn't be bothered, splashing his hands in the water like he had never seen a splash before, like he wasn't just crying.

"How do you do that? You always did that for Phil," I said. "Talk him off the ledge."

"You Baker brothers are full of ledges."

When Noah was clean, Darren wrapped him in a towel like a cacoon and placed him in my lap. "Thank you for saving me back there," I said. I wasn't ready to be a parent or guardian, that was sure, but maybe with Darren's help, I could try.

"Today I'm the bathtime hero, tomorrow it will be you."

"No, I mean the sprinklers."

"Don't get used to it. Those sprinklers aren't portable. And the women of Windber will find other ways."

Then I remembered. "The food!" The casserole dishes were still on the sidewalk. Darren took bundled Noah from my lap and I ran downstairs. It was only when I bent down to pick up the first container of what looked like spaghetti and meatballs that I realized I was still in my underwear. I heard Darren and Noah's laughter all the way from upstairs.

Author's Note: I think that was my favorite part yet. Thanks for sticking around! If you liked it, let me know by commenting, voting, or sharing. 

Why do you think Darren is still single?