Being Bee by Catherine Bateson

Dad always calls you.’
    Sam was a teacher. They’re trained to listen for that kind of thing, so I wasn’t surprised.
    Then Uncle Rob arrived with Aunty Maree and everyone crowded into the dining nook exclaiming over the flowers and what everyone else was wearing and Dad and Stan poured wine and I had lemonade.
    â€˜Well,’ Uncle Rob said when we all had our glasses filled, ‘I think we should have a toast: To Nick and Jazzi – health, happiness and love.’
    â€˜We can’t toast yet,’ I said. ‘Harley’s not here.’
    â€˜Who’s Harley?’
    â€˜My brother,’ Jazzi said not looking at anyone.
    â€˜I didn’t know you had a brother, Jazzi,’ Rowena said and I could tell she was upset.
    â€˜We don’t see each other very often,’ Jazzi said. ‘You’ll know why. If he shows up.’
    Just as she said that, the front door pealed again.
    â€˜I’ll get it.’ Jazzi said quickly. ‘You all sit down at the table.’
    â€˜I had no idea,’ Rowena said looking around us all. ‘I thought she was an only child. I’ve known Jazzi for nearly seven years and I didn’t know she had a brother.’
    â€˜Ssh,’ Sam said, ‘it’s okay.’
    â€˜Everyone,’ Jazzi said, ‘this is Harley. Harley...’
    â€˜This is Everyone. Hello, Everyone. I hope I’m not late. I’ll sit here, thanks Jasmine, I like to be able to see out.’ He pulled out the seat next to me, sat down andthen almost immediately got up again. ‘Did Everyone see my t-shirt?’
    His t-shirt was black and had the word ‘Neurotic’ written right across it in old-fashioned curly writing.
    â€˜Yes,’ Uncle Rob said, ‘they’re a band of some sort, aren’t they?’
    â€˜It’s a mental condition,’ Harley corrected him. ‘I just want you to know that I don’t have it. It’s not what I have. In case anyone was wondering.’
    â€˜That’s good to know,’ Sam said, ‘but I think most people are a bit neurotic, aren’t they?’
    â€˜I might have OCD. That is a neurotic disorder, but it’s not commonly thought of as being neurotic. The t-shirt isn’t a label. I just liked the look of it.’
    â€˜We didn’t think it was a label,’ Jazzi said. ‘No one thought that.’ Her voice was very soft, as though she was talking to a child. ‘Can I get you a glass of lemonade?’
    â€˜I’ll have what you’re having,’ Harley said, pointing to her glass. ‘That looks nice.’
    â€˜It won’t go with your tablets,’ Jazzi said. ‘Lemonade would be nicer.’
    â€˜You’re always trying to keep the best things for yourself,’ Harley said. ‘I want some of what you’ve got.’
    I waited for Jazzi to give him a lecture, but she just smiled a tight smile and poured a little wine into one of the red glasses.
    â€˜We’re having a toast,’ she said to him, ‘to Nick and me.’
    â€˜Toast with what? Jam? I hope it’s not strawberry. I can’t eat strawberries. Or raspberries. I don’t eat red, Jazzi. Pink’s okay if it’s on the top but not if it’s inside.’
    â€˜She didn’t mean toast,’ I said, putting my hand over Harley’s hand which was busy drawing the flower pattern of the tablecloth over and over again. He jumped when I touched him but his hand stayed still under mine. ‘We’re not having toast. It’s a toast, when you congratulate people on something they’ve done. Then we’ll have dinner and there’s vegetarian for you. Jazzi made it specially.’
    â€˜Specially for me?’
    I nodded.
    â€˜So, no red?’
    â€˜No, it’s orange. It’s roast pumpkin and sweet potato cannelloni.’
    â€˜Orange is good.’ Harley nodded. ‘I like orange, even when it’s