Push and Pull
Matthew was a blur of energy, darting around the kitchen, his laughter echoing through the house as John pursued him like a determined little brother. John nearly slammed into a chair, cut across the breakfast bar, and skidded beside the fridge where Matthew leaned, panting but still defiant.
“Just five minutes, Matt! Please, I swear it won’t kill you!” John pleaded, breathless and grinning.
Matthew shook his head, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Why? Why are you so worked up about this?”
John tossed his hands in the air, exasperated. “Because you deserve more than the gym and Netflix! You’ve been hiding out for a year. The divorce sucked, but it’s time to live again.”
Matthew shrugged, eyes serious now. “I’m not sure online dating is for me. Seems forced, you know?”
John edged closer, lowering his voice as though confessing a great secret. “I promise it’ll be fine. I’ll help with everything, your pictures, bio, even the first few messages.”
Matthew laughed softly but didn’t move. “Alright. But if this is a disaster, you owe me dinner for a week.”
“Deal.” John grinned and grabbed Matthew by the wrist, guiding him toward the living room.
They settled on the couch, the blue glow of John’s laptop lighting up their faces. John typed “Matthew Carter” into the name field and looked up.
“Simple, classic, no weird nicknames,” Matthew said.
“Agreed.” John moved on to the next section: the bio.
“What do you want people to know?” John asked.
Matthew considered. “I think I should be honest. Maybe say I’m divorced. It’s not like I want to hide it. It’s a big part of who I am.”
John hesitated, tapping the keys nervously. “Are you sure? Some people see divorce like baggage, you know?”
Matthew nodded. “I know, but if someone can’t handle my history, they’re not the person for me. I’ve learned a lot. I’m not going to pretend.”
John chewed on the edge of his thumb. “Maybe think about leaving it out for now? You want your first impression to be about who you are right now, not what you’ve been through.”
Matthew looked torn. “But I don’t want to lie. I’d rather be upfront.”
John took a breath. “What if we say you’re starting a new chapter? That way, you aren’t hiding anything, but you’re not opening with the heaviest detail, either. Let people get to know you first.”
After a pause, Matthew agreed. “Fine. Leave it out. Let’s not lead with my worst days.”
They workshopped the bio, editing and deleting, refining the words to capture Matthew’s quietly hopeful spirit:
Starting a new chapter and looking for someone to share the journey with. I love hiking, cooking for friends, and genuine conversations over coffee. Life’s too short for games, just hoping to meet someone honest, kind, and open to adventure.
Matthew read it, smiling. “That’s me. Or at least me on a good day.”
John squeezed his shoulder. “It’s exactly you.”
Next came the pictures. John scrolled through hundreds of images on Matthew’s phone and groaned.
“All I see are workout clothes, blurry group photos where everyone’s making dumb faces, and selfies where you look like you’re lost in a parking garage!”
Matthew laughed. “I’m not exactly Mr. Photogenic. And who cares about selfies?”
John dramatically rolled his eyes. “You do if you want anyone to give your profile a second look! Where are your thirst traps?”
“My what?” Matthew stared at John like he’d sprouted a second head.
John burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you’re only eight years older than me—how do you not know what that is? Thirst traps, they’re, like, sexy pictures. You know: shirtless, smoulder, that sort of thing.”
Matthew blushed. “I don’t have any of those. Besides, who am I trying to impress?”
John shot him a look. “Uh, the people on the app? You work out all the time, why not flaunt it a little?”
Matthew shook his head, genuine. “I don’t work out for attention. It helps me clear my head. It’s about mental health, not showing off.”
John softened. “I respect that. But trust me, even one decent shirtless pic will get you swipes. Humour me, please?”
Matthew groaned but relented. “Fine. But only because you’re so relentless.”
John found the best light by the window, coaching Matthew to stand relaxed but upright. Matthew hesitated, then pulled his shirt off.
John looked up from his phone, momentarily stunned. The broad shoulders, built by years of pushing through pain and self-doubt; the arms, strong and lean rather than bulky; the chest, defined without swagger, and a stomach firm and flat, a body that showed effort and endurance instead of ego.
He took a few quick shots, trying to keep things light. “Give me serious athlete. No, not serial killer, try half a smirk. Perfect!”
Matthew rolled his eyes but grinned, a bashful pride slipping through his usual reserve.
John’s own feelings fluttered, admiring and strange, unsettling in a way he wasn’t expecting. Admiration, sure. But there was something else, taut and tense, and he tried to push it aside.
They ended with a series of silly faces, both brothers laughing until their sides hurt.
Back at the laptop, they selected a handful of photos: the best new shirtless shot, a fun hiking picture, a candid moment with Matthew holding his nephew, and a classic family photo where Matthew was smiling genuinely.
“See? You actually look happy,” John teased as he uploaded them.
Matthew shook his head in disbelief. “How long do you think before I freak out and delete this thing?”
John grinned. “Willpower, Matt. You can do a week at least.”
They filled in the rest: age range (Matthew wanted “late twenties to late thirties”), interests (hiking, podcasts, cooking, backyard grilling), location preferences (“local or within the city”), and what Matthew wanted in a partner (“someone who knows who they are, who doesn’t take life too seriously, and isn’t afraid to talk about real things”).
With a deep breath, Matthew clicked “Submit.” John cheered quietly and gave him a high five.
Cooking dinner normally brought John a kind of peace. The rhythmic slicing of vegetables, the stir of the sauce, the warmth rising from the stove, it was familiar and soothing. Tonight, it was a struggle.
He kept going over the moment earlier that day when Matthew had stood shirtless, comfortable and a bit vulnerable, light glancing over his skin. There was something different in the way John looked at his brother, a mix of brotherly pride and a feeling he couldn’t quite name, unsettling and new.
John felt a twinge of guilt, then pushed it away. Matthew was family; the moment would pass.
He moved through the steps of making a simple dinner: sautéed garlic and onions, peppers and tomatoes, pans clinking and the scent of basil thick in the air. Matthew wandered through to pour glasses of water, glancing at the bubbling sauce.
“Smells good,” he said, and John heard the comfort in the words.
“Hope you’re hungry. I made too much,” John replied, voice soft.
They exchanged an easy silence. In that moment, John realized that no matter how confusing his feelings became, what mattered most was right here, mutual care, laughter, and the courage to urge each other forward, no matter how messy or mundane.
Soon Linda and Richard joined, drawn by dinner’s smell and the unspoken promise of togetherness. They filled plates, found their seats, and let the conversation unfold.
Richard asked about a neighbour’s car troubles. Linda recounted an awkward run-in at the grocery store. Matthew shared a story from the gym involving a near-catastrophic drop of a barbell, and John chimed in with a joke about Matthew’s newfound fame on the dating app.
The laughter was real, gentle and warm, and it filled John with gratitude. He liked the glow of the kitchen, the way the outside world felt distant and quiet for a little while.
He watched Matthew, noticing the subtle changes: a softness in his expression, the spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d find happiness again. Sitting there, John realized he wanted nothing more than for his brother to be seen, cared for, loved.
He let his gaze drift around the room, feeling the strength of their family: resilient, deeply imperfect, but unwaveringly together.
After dinner, as John cleaned up alone, his thoughts returned to his brother’s smile during the photo shoot, the way Matthew had taken each step, hesitant but trusting, always honest. John knew he’d keep fighting these strange feelings, whether they faded or deepened, but for now, he was grateful for their bond and this night of laughter.
Matthew poked his head in the kitchen doorway. “Thanks for tonight. For everything.”
John smiled wide, a deep warmth blooming inside him. “Don’t thank me yet. Wait until you get your first match.”
Matthew laughed, shaking his head. “Good night, John.”
John dried his hands and leaned on the counter. He caught his own reflection in the window: older, uncertain, hopeful. He mulled over all that had happened and knew, whatever tomorrow brought, he and his brother would handle it together, one awkward laugh, one weird photo, one honest conversation at a time.
Tonight, that was enough.
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