Until late 2011, my brother was living in Chicago. Every six months or so I'd fly out to visit and stay with him in his small studio just blocks from the heart of Frank Lloyd Wright's historic district.
In spring, we'd walk the blocks and discuss the homes architecture...and in the winter we'd take the train downtown and wander museums and galleries and stop for late dinners.
We're close. Closer than most siblings I suspect. Up until March of 2011 he was engaged to marry. She was a young little thing(13 years younger). She seemed sweet...if not naïve. I'd only see her for a few dinners when I was in town. I didn't stay long(3-4 days) and she seemed to respect that we like to spend time together just the two of us. I never understood what he saw in her. Yes, she was beautiful. However, she wasn't particularly bright. I always felt he needed someone who would challenge intellectually. He's a prolific reader like me, and we'd often discuss our current reading. One night over fondue, she blurted out how much she hated reading. The statement just hung there in mid air. I wasn't sure where to go with her confession, and my brother continued talking as if she hadn't even spoken.