Josh Tried to Find a Pad

By Allison Kaplan

The first thought that came to mind when my younger brother announced plans to move to Chicago was, my car.

He's going to ask to use it.

And of course he did, even before securing a local address. Josh wanted to borrow my car to do a little apartment hunting in Lincoln Park.

Deductive reasoning is obviously not a prerequisite at the law school my 23-year-old brother is about to enter because if it was, he would have come to recognize during his many visits to my town that parking-spot hunting on the north side of Chicago is an even bigger nightmare than apartment hunting on the north side of Chicago.

Besides, I don't want to set a precedent of being a pushover. I paid for this car. And it is my car. So that's a no. Mom will realize I'm being practical, not selfish.

"Fine," Josh said, not missing a beat. "What about your bike?"

Looking back, I simply could not have known that denying transportation would mean surrendering an apartment key.

Josh tried to find a pad, truly he did. He lined up a roommate, he studied apartment listings, he managed to use his two huge feet to walk door to door.

That was Saturday. Sunday, he shopped for cargo pants.

Josh left town one last time before the big move, figuring his future roommate would handle the rest of the leg work. A safe assumption for a kid like Josh, who sends one resume over the Internet and gets a job offer. He's the guy whose friends have season tickets to spare. Everyone's clothes and hats and running shoes fit him.

Josh is also the lucky younger sibling whose sister helped find him an apartment when that alleged roommate flaked.

My brother called in a panic, one week before he was to arrive, with news that the roommate and the eight or 12 amazing apartments they were to choose among had unbelievably slipped away.

"I may need your help," Josh said, as though someone else in Chicago was going to fork over a security deposit on his behalf.

"Don't tell Mom."

It's amazing how circumstances skew the way my brother thinks of me. When I say something like, "Perhaps instead of taking a vacation with your girlfriend the week before law school starts, you should get your butt to Chicago and find your own apartment," Josh reminds me I am not his mother. I cleverly respond with, "Thank God."

When I grudgingly bow to his request - recognizing that the longer it takes to find him a lease, the longer he stays on my futon - I'm the ideal older sister. Wise, not overbearing.

Either way, I'm no magician. When you begin an apartment hunt on August 2, an acceptable unit is unlikely to avail itself by August 6. With school set to begin three weeks before his lease, Josh moved in with me. He spread out on the couch, flipping between "South Park" and ESPN, and explained that he was "mentally preparing for law school." So that's what he's been doing in front of the television all these years. Josh felt so at home, he invited an out-of-town guest to stay at my apartment as well.

Correction: He didn't exactly tell his friend he could stay with me, Josh just said, "We'll figure something out." Then he called me from the street on his friend's cellular phone to find out if it would be a problem for his buddy to crash.

Now, my parents - who happen also to be my brother's parents - taught us one very clear rule about socializing: You NEVER ask if a friend can stay over while in the PRESENCE of that friend.

What could I do? I let his friend stay and provided clean towels and bedding.

Josh did manage a "thank you," as he wolfed down the last of my Golden Grahams. I lived with my brother for two decades, but somehow it's different without parents around. There's no tattling.

Sometimes, he asks about my day. One evening when Josh stayed home, I went out for a walk that turned into a late dinner at a restaurant. I thought about calling, but friends talked me out of it. Josh wouldn't call you, they said. Probably true. The next morning, my brother gave me the third degree - in a nonchalant way, of course. "What happened to you?" he wanted to know.

Then he actually said it: "I worry." It was a poignant moment, sure to make any parent proud. Of course, I am not a parent. I am an older sister. So I rolled my eyes and fulfilled my sisterly duty by taunting, "Who are you, my mother?"

Send comments to Allison at Singlstyle@aol.com