Chapter 41 Sonya
SONYA
After Team Canada wins, we join everyone to celebrate. Quinn breaks off from talking to his teammates as soon as he sees me.
He walks over, but I can tell he wants to run and hug me as happiness flits across his expression.
Once upon a time, I actually would’ve hugged him first. Wearing crayon-colored paper crowns and blankets as capes, we called each other forever siblings. He was the kindest older brother I never thought I would be lucky enough to get.
And then he left.
No, I guess that’s not technically true, but it felt that way. How I couldn’t rely on anyone to be there, even when I needed them.
The first time I met Quinn, I was eight years old and had come home from school.
My foster dad embraced me as soon as I put my backpack down.
“How was your day, kiddo?”
My arms had jerked in surprise, then held on tight. He never called me kiddo or asked me how I was doing. I was confused but also really happy. My heart soared with hope.
Then I noticed the social worker lady, and my arms dropped because it made sense. Whenever she came around, my parents acted a lot nicer.
“We’ve got great news, kiddo,” Dad said, smiling fully. “Go meet someone special in the kitchen.”
I went and saw a boy standing next to my mom. He was scrawny and wouldn’t look up. Long curly hair covered most of his face.
“Remember you always said you wanted a bigger brother?” said Mom.
The social worker lady was watching, so I smiled and nodded, pretending to know what they were talking about.
Back at the group home, big kids taught us that we couldn’t make problems for our parents once we got fostered. If we did, we’d be returned instead of loved enough to be adopted properly.
“You’re finally getting one,” said Dad, coming into the kitchen. “This is Quinn.”
My smile started hurting my cheeks because who was this kid? Was he going to make my parents love him better than I could make them love me?
I kept staring at the boy, trying not to throw up.
And when he’d finally glanced up, I gasped.
He had pretty eyes, but someone had scratched up his face and neck real bad.
Dad wagged his finger at me. “Quinn might look a bit scary, but that’s not his fault. Remember your manners, Sonya.”
Something sad crossed the boy’s expression. Was it because Dad called him scary? That was kind of a mean thing to say.
It also wasn’t true. His scars looked bad, but I wasn’t scared of them. Actually, there was a sorry feeling growing inside my tummy, the longer I saw them.
I stood closer to Quinn. “He’s not scary at all. He’s cool!”
The boy’s eyes went wide and shiny. Like he’d been called a lot of things, but never that before.
“You’re raising a great kid,” the social worker lady told my parents.
They agreed and bragged about how much time and effort they spent on me.
For once, I didn’t care about how much they were lying. I was busy looking at Quinn. Was he really my new big brother? Could he talk? He hadn’t said anything yet.
I gave him a little wave and whispered, “Hey, I’m Sonya.”
Slowly, he waved back at me. “I’m, um, Quinn.”
I smiled, genuinely that time, because like how I was looking openly at his scars, he was looking openly back at me. His gaze was curious, weary, but also present.
Nothing like how grown-ups, especially Mom and Dad, always seem to be looking through me sometimes, as if I wasn’t really there.
Okay.
What if we didn’t have to fight for their attention? What if we didn’t have to need it, because we had each other?
“Sonya, did you eat?” Quinn asks, leaning closer. “Can I get you anything? Water? Food? Are you cold? Do you need a sweater?”
“No, I’m good.”
We’re in a fancy hotel common area with couches, a pool table, and televisions screens hooked up to an entertainment system. Around us, Team Canada is celebrating with their family and friends. Jokes and laughter fly back and forth, take-out food is being ordered, and drinks are being poured.
It’s the pre-game before the party officially starts tonight.
“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” Quinn asks, quietly ready to jump at the chance to give me whatever I ask for.
“No, I’m good.”
It’s the same, stilted answer, and it should frustrate him, but it doesn’t. No matter how distant I sometimes act, Quinn’s warm brown eyes always stay patient. Like he’s willing to wait for as long as it takes until we get back to being the kind of siblings we used to be.
It’s not that I don’t want that.
If only I could face our past without echoes of pain flaring inside me and take a leap of faith to trust he won’t be taken from my life again.
Because I don’t think I could survive losing my brother twice.
As much as I don’t like to think about them, those days still haunt me.
On the morning of my ninth birthday, I woke up giggling.
I got up and looked at the princess clock hanging by the door. It had the big hand between ten and eleven, and the small hand almost on seven. I counted on my fingers. There were thirteen minutes I had to wait for my surprise, but it was so hard to stand still!
I grabbed a stuffed unicorn and started dancing with it. Ever since I met my brother, my whole life changed.
Soon there was a knock on the door.
I squealed and ran to open it.
My brother was wearing his rocket-ship pajamas and his hair was swept off his face. He didn’t hide his scars when it was only the two of us at home.
“What are you hiding behind your back?” I couldn’t stop bouncing on my toes, excitement lighting me up.
He laughed and pivoted away before I could peek. “Close your eyes first, Sonya.”
Clamping my eyes shut, I waited and felt a small weight settle on top of my head.
“Okay, you can look now.”
I ran to the mirror on my wall and saw the paper crown full of shiny, pretty, glued-on jewels.
Quinn panicked. “Wait—you’re not supposed to cry!”
Tears were dripping down my cheeks. “I’m sorry, but I’m so happy.”
He used his sleeve to wipe my tears, then held his hand out. “I know what’ll make you feel better.”
We’re going to the kitchen, and he’s going to cook me pancakes, but first…
“Where’s your crown? I want you to wear one, too.”
“It’s your birthday, silly,” he reminded me. “And crowns are more for girls, not boys.”
“So? I want to make you one!”
I hunkered down and pulled out my crayons and my construction paper.
“You’re my brother,” I told Quinn proudly. “We have to match. Forever siblings, right?”
Quinn exhales, this happy, relaxed sound. “Forever siblings, always.”
Later in the kitchen, wearing a flimsy blue crown, he pulled out some bitter dark chocolate chips. Both our noses wrinkled.
“When I get a job, I’m going to buy the good stuff,” he promised me.
“You’re eleven.” I laughed. “You can’t get a job until you’re big.”
“Are you saying I’m not big?” He flexed his arms.
I snickered and shook my head.
We both giggled.
After ruffling my hair, he went back to making pancakes. I tried to help, but Quinn told me it was my birthday, so I only got to watch. Plus, he was worried I’d burn myself on the stove.
After pancakes, we played whatever games I wanted. For hours, I made Quinn play tag, hide and seek, and this other game where we pretended we were the parents and all our stuffed animals were kids. We gave them a bunch of hugs.
It was late when our parents came home. Like always.
They took one glance at the crowns on our heads and startled. There was a bit of a rush where they went to the other room and fumbled with a drawer.
I was holding my breath with excitement.
Quinn wasn’t smiling. He’d grown quiet.
My mom came over and handed me a card. “Happy birthday, Sonya.”
This one had a kangaroo on the front! I wondered what that meant. Did she think I was like a kangaroo this year?
Mom waited.
I hugged her and said thank you.
She patted my head and said they brought leftovers home from the restaurant they ate dinner at. They were in the fridge, so if we were still hungry, we could have some.
After Mom left, Quinn saw me tracing the kangaroo on the card and sighing.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” he said.
My face scrunched as tears threatened to gather along my lashes. “It does.”
Quinn didn’t argue, but stared off to the side. I could sense something protective and upset swirling inside him, but I didn’t want to talk about why he felt that way.
I got off the sofa and told him I was going to my room. Really, I was trying to catch Dad before he went to sleep. To give him a chance to say happy birthday to me, too.
Maybe I’d try telling him and Mom that I wanted to celebrate with them, too. To see if they wanted to cut a cake…or not. We could also do something that had nothing to do with my birthday.
We could hang out. Together for once.
Because I was nine and deep down believed that they thought I was worth knowing. That they cared, even if I couldn’t prove with evidence that they did.
Two months after my ninth birthday, there still was no proof they did. But Quinn was gone. Now that I’m in my twenties, I’ve learned a lot of the truth from Quinn himself.
His biological family won custody in court and took him away. So quickly that sometimes I think I dreamt up those nine months we spent together. Or how much I cried afterwards, missing him like half of me was gone.
My foster guardians didn’t like me whining so much.
They hated it, so I had to train myself to stop caring.
To believe that because Quinn had found his real family, he didn’t want to be my brother anymore.
That I was replaceable. Not really wanted by others, so I had to learn to want and rely on myself.
The truth is much more complicated than that.