36. June 22, 2202 Winchester, Massachusetts
Oliver follows the asphalt path, winding between endless rows of graves.
He has never found comfort in the cemetery.
There is nothing of his mother’s joy or his father’s wry sense of humor in their stone.
He goes for his brother. He goes to make up for the shit job he did at all this the first time.
His hand sweats against the cellophane wrapping his bouquet. He hopes he didn’t pick the same one as Theo.
He spots his brother standing on the grass, his head bowed over a polished granite slab.
Theo is a little taller than him, a little broader, a lot better dressed, wearing a suit and tie to his button-down shirt and dark jeans.
They both have their father’s blue eyes and their mother’s wavy brown hair.
Theo’s is cut short and neat. Precise, like everything else about him.
The crinkling plastic gives Oliver away.
Theo tears his gaze from the headstone. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it.”
A shard of guilt stabs through Oliver’s chest. Did Theo really think he would bail on him?
“I tried calling you,” Theo adds.
“Yeah, sorry,” Oliver mumbles. “I was busy.”
“Right, no, I get it,” Theo says.
It is the flimsiest of excuses. They both cling to it, a life raft in the ocean of things they can’t bring themselves to say.
Oliver places his bouquet of yellow roses next to the pink ones Theo has laid. He contemplates the engraving in silence, how it still says his parents’ names, how somehow the date is ten years past. How in three months, his name will be etched there, too.
“How’s the time travel going?” Theo asks. He tries to sound casual.
“Good,” Oliver replies. He still hasn’t properly thanked his brother. He doubts he’ll ever be able to. Every time he has traveled, he’s gained so much. Not just more time. More time with Bea.
His heart sinks. He should have told her sooner.
He shouldn’t have met her again. Shouldn’t have kissed her back. Shouldn’t want to kiss her again. Not that shoulds and shouldn’ts matter now. Bea told him to go. It’s over.
He wishes he could tell his brother about her.
Theo could talk some sense into him or reassure him or maybe just tell him he’s a fucking idiot, like only a big brother can.
But that would require confessing that he has fallen for an immortal woman from the fifteenth century.
Theo would drag him to the hospital for another brain scan.
“Thank you for the account at Aevum,” Oliver says. “You didn’t have to.”
Theo shrugs. “I wanted to.”
“I went to the first modern ballet performance,” Oliver offers. “It was at a theater in London, in 1717.”
“I bet Mom would have loved it.” Theo smiles at the thought of her.
“She would have,” Oliver agrees.
Their smiles fade with the memory. Silence envelops them. Oliver breaks it before Theo can. “How’s work?”
“It’s good,” Theo says. “Busy, you know?”
“Yeah,” Oliver says, even though he doesn’t know the first thing about being a neurobiologist.
Theo had just finished his first year of college when their parents died, and until a month ago, Oliver assumed that was what made his brother change course and follow their father’s footsteps into the medical field.
But sitting alone in his hospital room, an empty chair pulled close to his bed, his own obituary crushed in his hand, the truth crashed over him with a cold certainty.
I thought something could change it.
Theo didn’t upend his entire life to honor the memory of their father. He did it for Oliver, in a futile attempt to prove Aevum wrong. He didn’t delay telling Oliver the truth because he thought something could change his future.
He thought he could.
Theo runs his hand through his short hair, his oldest tell that they are about to discuss something serious, like college applications or moving out or the absolute worst, safe sex. Oliver braces himself for the lecture.
“Listen, Oli,” Theo says. “I know I fucked up. I’m sorry.”
The apology catches Oliver off guard. The cemetery is making his brother sentimental. “I know.”
Theo raises an eyebrow at him. “You know I fucked up, or you know I’m sorry?”
Oliver rolls his eyes. “Both.”
“It’s not enough, is it?” he asks quietly.
Oliver doesn’t want to hold a grudge, but some things are harder to forgive than others, and what Theo did was a betrayal. “It’s not that. I just need some time.”
Theo’s gaze darkens and Oliver knows what he is thinking, because he is thinking it, too. That’s the one thing they don’t have.
Theo shoves his hands into his pockets. “Okay. Well, you know where to find me when—if—you want to talk.” Theo hesitates. Oliver isn’t sure if he wants to say something more or if he hopes Oliver will. Neither of them says anything. Theo turns down the path.
“Hey, Theo?”
Theo looks back. Oliver wants to tell him to stop waiting. To stop carrying the weight of Oliver’s life as if it is more important than his own. To let him go. He doesn’t. He can’t.
So, he asks his brother the same question Theo asked him ten years ago, after everyone else was gone and their new reality had started to sink in: They only had each other. “Do you want to grab some lunch? Your pick.”