Five hours and too much nineties rock music later (an hour in, I resolve that Dylan's old CDs will not be making the return trip) we arrive at Isaac's rich uncle's house.

It's on Tahoe's south shore, a lakefront property with a private pier, swathes of perfectly manicured lawn, and a glass-walled patio.

"Jesus. What the hell does your uncle do?" I ask, feeling reluctant to park my old car anywhere near the flaunted wealth on display before us.

"He's a movie producer for one of the big animation studios," Isaac says. "Don't worry—he's cool."

"If you say so," I reply.

I park in front of the massive garage, and Isaac gets our bags from the back. Together, we approach the door and Isaac rings the bell.

After a short wait, the door opens to reveal a short, balding man wearing sandals, khaki shorts, and a Hawaiian t-shirt.

"Hey, Uncle Reg!" Isaac says, opening his arms for a hug.

"Izzy!" the man exclaims, wrapping his arms around Isaac and lifting him a few inches off the ground. "Wowsa, you've grown!"

"C'mon, no I haven't," Isaac protests. "It's only been six months since you saw me last, and I'm twenty-three. I stopped growing a few years ago.

"Not taller—I mean you filled out. Look at these guns." 'Uncle Reg' squeezes Isaac's biceps appreciatively. "All that surfing pays off after all, huh? And who's this?"

He looks past Isaac to where I've been standing, hanging back a few feet and growing increasingly uncomfortable with all the hugging and touching going on. Isaac's family all seem very physical.

"This is Dylan's brother, Felix," Isaac says. "Felix, meet my uncle, Reginald Mason."

"Everybody calls me Reg," he says, thankfully just giving me a friendly wave. "Nice to meet ya, Felix. Come on in—I'll give you the tour."

He leads us into an open foyer, with paved stone floors and a broad set of sleek stairs leading to the second level. The house's theme seems to be a river landscape, with light pine and birch wood accents, smooth stone, and lots of glass. It's airy, clean, and minimally furnished. The living area alone could easily hold two-dozen people without feeling crowded, and along with the outdoor spaces and access to the beach, it's an ideal space for a wedding. Much of the wall facing the lake is glass, and I'm struck by the beauty of the view.

It seems almost criminal that one person could have enough money to claim a piece of it for himself. Something so sublime shouldn't be for sale.

"Not bad, huh?" Reg says, joining me by the huge stretch of glass. "That's my boat, Slick Willie." He points to a large sailboat anchored off the end of the private pier.

"Slick...Willie?" I repeat, somewhat unwillingly.

"Yeah—named it after my late business partner. Slippery sun-of-a-gun, ol' Willie was," he says fondly. "I'll take you out on it sometime." He speaks with the enthusiasm of a kid showing off a favorite toy.

After we've seen the house, he takes us upstairs to our rooms. I don't know what a single man wants with a five-bedroom, four-bath house that he doesn't even live in year-round, but at least it's spacious and I don't have to worry about any weird sleeping arrangements. At least, not until the rest of our families show up.

Once we've settled in, I meet Isaac downstairs so he can show me the patio, pool, and hot tub.

As we walk down to the sand and the edge of the blue lake, I ask the question that's been on my mind for the past half-hour.

"I don't mean to pry, Isaac, but if your family has this kind of money...why have us take care of all this? Why not hire a professional wedding planner? Surely, you can afford the best."

Isaac laughs. "Because that wouldn't be as special! This way we're all part of it, all putting something in the pot. It's like...the wedding itself is kind of a gift—it celebrates the bride and groom and shows how much we love them. That's something money can't buy. Besides, Belle always says memorable is better than perfect, anyway. 

"Oh."

It's a nice sentiment, but it doesn't quite jive with what I've been hearing from Dylan. "I just, um... I got the sense that Isabelle wanted a perfect wedding," I say.

"Belle? Nah," Isaac laughs. "Actually, she wanted to do something dumb and nerdy, like get married at Comic-Con or with a horror-movie theme. Honestly, the whole 'fly in the bridesmaids first-class,' picture-perfect mansion thing isn't really Belle's style."

"Really?" I ask, shading my eyes as I look out over the expanse of dazzling blue lake. It's huge—almost 22 miles long and 12 miles wide, and one of the deepest in the world. The clarity and coldness of its water and the incredible beauty of the mountains that surround it are legendary. "Dylan made it sound like...it was really important that everything be perfect," I add.

Isaac shrugs. "I dunno. What's Dylan's style, anyway?"

I hesitate. "Actually, Dylan and I aren't that close," I hedge. "I didn't talk to him much after he left for college, and we've had some...difficulty...reconnecting."

"Oh, I had no idea. Actually, I had no idea you existed until Isabelle told me. Dylan never mentioned he had a brother." He laughs. "Hey, you wanna swim? The water's fuckin' freezing, but it feels great once you get in."

I have to admit the water looks inviting. The sandy beach is hot under the clear sky, and the turquoise and cobalt water laps quietly along the shore. Farther out, larger waves roll in, and people in colorful kayaks paddle past, bobbing up and down in the swells.

"Sure, why not," I agree. It's too late and we're both too tired from the drive to do any wedding-planning today, anyway, and if I'm going to be staying in a millionaire's house, I might as well enjoy the perks.

"Cool. Meet you back here in five!"

He dashes back up the beach to the house and I follow. In my room, I change into my swim shorts, then come back down to find Isaac already back on the sand, laying out a couple of big beach towels side by side.

"Okay Felix, here's what you do," he grins, green-gray eyes sparkling with anticipation, "you jump in, freeze your balls off, get out, warm up in the sun, and repeat. Ready?"

"I guess so," I say.

"All right! Let's DO IT!"

He grabs my hand in a tight hold and pulls me towards the water at a run. I don't know if he thinks I'm as enthusiastic as he is, or if he's dragging me after him so I don't chicken out, but either way I end up following him like a helpless dog on the end of a leash. He launches himself into the waves, belly first, and takes me with him.

The cold is shocking. I surface, gasping and blinking through my dripping hair, get hit in the face by the next wave right as I inhale, and choke.

"Race you to the buoy!" Isaac yells, striking out towards the floating marker that delineates the swimming zone.

"Are you kidding?" I cough. "We'll get hypothermia!"

"Nah—not that fast. Come on! You gotta swim or you'll go numb."

I'm not a bad swimmer in normal conditions, but the buoy looks about a mile away, and Isaac's already half-way there. Reluctantly, I swim after him.

Isaac's right—the cold's not so bad once I get moving, and the rolling dips and crests of the waves are kind of fun. It reminds me of vacations we used to take when I was a kid—when Dylan and I still got along, and when Dad was healthy. We used to have some good times; the kind I thought were a thing of the past. As I cling to one side of the buoy and Isaac holds on to the other, I feel a sliver of renewed hope that maybe there are still good times to come.

Isaac's next words remind me why that hope is probably in vain.

"Dude! Did you get in a fight or something?"

He's looking down at my bare torso through the clear water. The blue cast of the light through the waves makes the bruises from Dylan's punch stand out more noticeably against my light-brown skin. They'd faded over the past few days, and stopped hurting, and I'd forgotten they were still there.

"Oh, no—I just fell on something," I say, lamely.

"You fall a lot?" he asks, a little too keenly, and I see his eyes have moved to my arm, where the marks of Dylan's grip are just barely visible.

"I'm a little clumsy, yeah." I turn away. "Let's head back. I'm cold."

I let go of the buoy and start swimming back towards shore. I don't know if Isaac's EMT training lets him read something more in a bruise than someone else would, and I don't want to find out. Once Isabelle joins us, I plan to tell her about how Dylan likes to talk with his fists. Until then, I don't want to think about it.

I reach shore and stagger up the sand to the pair of towels, pick one, and lie down, enjoying the clear, bright heat of the sun on my back.

A few minutes later, Isaac joins me, flopping down on the other towel.

The soft brush of mountain air, the heat of the sand and sun on my chilled skin, and the exertion of swimming all combine to a somnolent effect, and I close my eyes.

I've started to drift off when Isaac rouses me.

"Bruh, you're gonna burn."

"What?" I ask, confused.

"You gotta put on sunscreen, or you're gonna burn. You probably don't burn as easy as me, but at this elevation? Just 'cause you got some melanin doesn't mean you're protected. C'mere, I'll put in on your back."

"Uh, maybe I'll just go in now," I say, pushing myself up and getting to my knees.

"No! Dude, we've hardly been out here." He catches at my arm. "Please?"

I sigh. "Fine."

He makes me face away from him, then squirts sunscreen into his hands and rubs it on. I expect that, so it doesn't bother me too much. The problem is, he doesn't stop.

He keeps sliding his hands up and down my back, over my shoulders and along my arms. He's sitting kind of close to me, too, and I feel his breath on the back of my neck.

"Your skin is so soft," he says. "I can't get enough. I could touch you all over."

His words make me shiver, though not with revulsion. Actually, once I get used to it, his hands feel pretty good. The problem is, I'm not sure he knows what he's saying.

I hesitate, then speak. "Isaac...You remember I'm gay, right?"

"Yeah," he says absently, still smoothing his hands up and down my back. Then suddenly he stops. "Oh my God, is this turning you on?" he asks, laughing.

"N-No! It just seems like...I mean..." I trail off.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" He asks, sounding oddly serious and speaking very close to my left ear.

"No, I don't," I return, more defensively than I intend. "Do you? I mean, I've never had a straight guy say he wants to touch me all over before."

Actually, I've never had any guy say that, but whatever.

For a moment, Isaac says nothing, remaining still, and I'm afraid I've once again demonstrated my social ineptitude. Then he squirts some more sunscreen on me and continues...whatever it is he's doing.

"I don't know," he says evenly. "I've only been with girls before, but I think guys are hot, too. Actually, it just depends on the person. I guess I don't care what the package looks like; I care what's inside it."

He laughs. He seems to laugh a lot—another thing we don't have in common.

Neither of us speaks again, and finally, he's satisfied that I'm sufficiently sun-protected. I return the favor and note that his skin is also smooth, and stretches in a tan expanse over the firm muscles of his shoulders and back.

"Hey," he says, as I re-cap the sunscreen. "I'm sorry if I freaked you out. To be honest, I do think you're hot, but I've never felt this attracted to a guy before. I mean, I knew I could be—in theory—but in practice I never have. And talk about piss-poor timing, right?" he laughs. "Anyway, if you're not into me, I won't bother you. Promise."

I blink at him a few times as my brain races to process his words, but my internal progress bar is frozen at about 25%.

"Oh my God, you're too damn cute!" he leans over, kisses me on the lips, and then leaps up and runs back towards the waves.

I look after him, a sinking feeling in my heart.

I think Isaac is hot, too. And he's definitely cute. And I don't even mind his touches all that much. I should be happy that he's interested.

I'm not.

I want him to like me.

Despite Dylan's warnings, I want to be his friend.

If I knew that he knew what he wanted, then I'd want him to be more.

What I don't want is to be his experiment.