Chapter 34
CHAPTER 34
WILL
M y doorbell echoes through my apartment, and I freeze.
I’m not ready for this. Absolutely not ready.
When I texted Rachel and Océane yesterday, I wasn’t planning on completely blowing things up with Sophie. I thought I could walk into this with most of my sanity intact. That I could wake up next to Sophie, bask in the comfort of her warmth, and head out to my apartment in high spirits.
Instead, everything came crashing down.
With some distance, I can see how Sophie came to her conclusion, although it’s wrong. I loved Sophie way before she became a mother. And I would choose her time and again, kids or no kids.
But she doesn’t know that. She doesn’t know how deep this love goes.
She doesn’t know because I still haven’t shown her.
The last thing I wanted last night was to leave her side, to let her stew in this misery. I wanted to scream at her to open her eyes and see how long I’ve been pining for her. I wanted to shake her senseless, make her see reason, help her understand that she can trust me with her heart.
And yet, after everything I’ve put her through, I have to respect her wishes. I have to respect her.
But I can’t think about Sophie now. Today, I’m making things right with Océane. Let’s put out one fire at a time.
I rush to the door and freeze when my hand comes into contact with the doorknob. A final deep breath, and I’m ready.
Rachel and Océane stand side by side in my doorway, their long hair drenched from the rain, green eyes fixed intently on me. If there weren’t such a huge height—and age—difference, they could be twins. “Come in, come in,” I say as I usher them inside, quickly closing the door behind them.
While Rachel removes her raincoat, Océane stands with her mouth slightly agape, her eyes darting around the apartment with curiosity. Right. She’s never been here before. To be honest, there’s not much to see. It’s a modest studio with a tiny kitchen area tucked into the left corner, a small round dining table, an IKEA couch positioned beside a compact TV, and a bed partially hidden by a dark curtain. I don’t spend a lot of time here, so I haven’t put much effort into making it look or feel special.
“It’s … cozy,” Océane observes with a shrug. Then, as if realizing what she just said, her eyes go wide, and she jerks her head to look up at me. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s great. I love it. It’s perfect, really. It’s?—”
“Hey. It’s okay.” I keep my voice as calm as I can. Her nervousness breaks my heart. This is what they did to her. This is what I could have helped prevent.
Océane utters a short laugh. “Better than my place, anyway.”
Rachel grunts. “We really need to get you out of that apartment.” Both sisters remove their shoes and grab a seat at my table while I bring the promised coffee. I’ve already set mugs, cream, sugar, and even maple syrup on the table. I don’t even know how Océane takes her coffee.
“What’s wrong with your place?” I ask, a hint of panic in my voice as I set the full carafe of coffee on the table. Behind me, the large window overlooking the neighbouring block resonates with the rhythmic patter of raindrops; I focus on the soothing sound to calm my nerves.
Rachel rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “The place wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the roommate.”
“She’s going through a lot,” Océane chimes in, starting to rub her fingers together anxiously. A thick curtain of chestnut hair covers half of her face as she cranes her neck downward. “I don’t want to be too hard on her.”
“Yeah, but you’re going through a lot too,” Rachel continues with a deep frown. “You can’t even use your kitchen anymore.” She turns her attention to me just as I fill her mug with steaming coffee. “There’s piles of dirty dishes everywhere. Dirty clothes in the bathroom. It smells horrible in there.”
I stop mid-pour. Maybe if I sent Océane more money, she could afford a better place. Maybe she could get herself a studio like mine. With her welfare money, there’s not much she can afford. I do know she’s in the process of getting approved for disability, which will mean more money, but even then, it’s never enough.
“Um … want me to do it?” Rachel says with a raised eyebrow, taking the carafe from my grip.
“Shit. Sorry.” I sit and let her finish pouring each of us coffee.
I don’t wait any longer. I can’t.
I meet Océane’s gaze. “I can help you get a new place. Money’s not an issue.”
Her brow furrows, and she wraps her tiny hands around her steaming mug. “Will …”
“Please let me do this.” It’s the least I could do. Literally. I grip the edge of the table so hard my knuckles turn white. “Océane, I need to make it up to you somehow.” Her nostrils flare.
Rachel interrupts, grabbing one of my hands to force me to relax my grip. “Will. Don’t deflect. You can do this.” She looks at me, and I understand the unspoken words hanging in the air:
Don’t buy your way out of this.
My jaw clenches, and I focus my attention on Océane again. “I owe you an apology. More like a thousand apologies.”
“Will …”
“I’ve been pushing you away. That’s the first thing.” My armour tries to come back up. “The last thing I wanted was for my shitty lifestyle to influence you, and?—”
“Bullshit,” Rachel interrupts. “You haven’t been that guy in years.”
“Rachel, let him talk,” Océane chides her.
A painful sigh escapes me. “No, she’s right. That’s a pathetic excuse. I’ve just been …” Fuck, this is hard. “I’ve been a coward.” But I won’t be one today. I don’t waver from Océane’s gaze. “I look at you, and I see everything wrong with what I did.” A tremor passes through me like a wave. “Fuck, Océane, I’m so sorry.” My voice breaks. Rachel squeezes my hand in support.
Océane’s eyes become mirrors. Her lower lip trembles. But I have to continue. “I’m sorry I abandoned you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. I was a coward and didn’t want to face any of it. And because of that, you got hurt, and that’s my fault, and I’ll never be sorry enough.” I have to stop before a sob rips out of me. I’m not going to break down. This isn’t a Will Pity Party. I can have my breakdown later.
Her head shakes slightly as if she can’t believe a word she’s hearing. A tear drops down her cheek.
I gather myself and continue. “So, I’ll do what I have to do to make it up to you. I’ll pay your rent. I’ll help you find better doctors. I’ll help you file those government papers to get your disability approved. I’ll do your groceries. I’ll?—”
“Will, stop .” Her nostrils flare again. “Just … stop. I don’t want any of that.”
I gasp. “What?”
With tear-filled eyes, she shakes her head again. Rachel sits and listens, hardly making a sound. “I never blamed you,” Océane starts. “Ever. Most days I ran away, too, in my own way. There are big chunks of time where I can’t even remember. It’s their fault and no one else’s.” The words hit me one by one, each a jolt to my system. “I lost my mom. I lost my dad. I don’t want you to rescue me, Will.” Now it’s her voice that breaks. “I just want my brother back. I don’t want to lose you, too.”
The floor tilts, sending me into a wave of vertigo. Before I realize what I’m doing, I bolt from my seat and scoop my baby sister into my arms. For a second, her body stiffens, but she quickly melts into the embrace, her hands gripping the backs of my shoulders as if hanging on for dear life.
The shame sheds away, layers upon layers of it, uncovering this deep, unconditional love that’s always been there. I feel it emanate from her, and it’s the same sensation radiating from my core.
She doesn’t resent me.
She doesn’t hate me.
She just wants me to be the brother I never was. The brother I should have been this whole time.
“I can do that,” I whisper against her hair, holding on to her as if I can make up for all that lost time. All those years I didn’t show her just how much she means to me. “I can be your brother. I love you, Océane.”
“I love you too,” she sobs against my chest. And before I know it, Rachel rushes into us, surrounding us with her arms.
“It’s the three of us against the world,” she says, her own voice on the verge of breaking. “I love you both so much.”
It’s going to be okay.
We’re going to be okay.
I can’t be sure of exactly how long we remain intertwined like this. At some point, Rachel is the first to let go, and surprisingly, I’m the last. Rachel insists on casting some music to my smart TV—she chooses Les Colocs , a classic from our childhood, and I’m instantly reminded of Gwen, dancing and laughing at the upbeat songs. But I don’t let it shift the focus away from this moment.
The three of us sip our coffees while we catch up on the details of each other’s lives. Océane is particularly curious about my job.
“I knew you were a consultant, but can I be honest for a second?”
I snort, leaning against the table. “So the past half hour was you being dishonest?”
Océane gives me the finger and smirks. “I really can’t picture you in that job. Literally can’t. Who could have predicted you’d end up doing something so … hoity toity?” Rachel snorts, almost spilling her coffee over.
“It’s not hoity toity!”
“It kind of is,” Rachel argues. Her gaze softens. “But it suits you.”
“What does that even mean?”
“No, I mean, you’re good at it!” Rachel rolls her eyes. “You found your calling. And it’s telling other people how to sort their shit out.” Then, she smirks again, sharing a look with Océane. “Weird how you couldn’t sort your own shit out for so long, though.”
“The cobbler’s son has no shoes,” Océane explains in a lighthearted tone.
A few minutes later, Océane explains that she joined an art therapy group at the suggestion of her psychiatrist. From her phone, she shows me photo after photo of some of her pieces, which consist mostly of bright watercolour depictions of various moments in time. Each one is like a jab under my ribs.
The strokes are powerful. Raw. Imbued with hurt, but also hope.
“I can’t always make it there, especially on days where my flare-ups are bad,” she explains. “But this is basically what I do most days.”
I’m struck by her raw talent, at how she’s able to convey such strong emotions with a paintbrush. “These are stunning.” I breathe out, feeling Rachel’s watchful gaze on me.
“Aren’t they?” Rachel replies with adoration in her eyes.
Océane’s cheeks flush with red. She looks downward in embarrassment. “Thanks. I really love it. It doesn’t fix everything in my life, but it helps that I get to do this.”
“I could help you turn this into a business if you want.” The possibilities stoke a fire in me. “I’m serious. There’s so much you could do. You could—” I stop myself when I notice a cloud has covered Océane’s expression.
“We already had this discussion,” Rachel explains. “With everything she’s dealing with, this would add too much pressure.”
“I just want my art to exist for its own sake,” Océane adds. Her eyes are once again lit up, the cloud gone. “Free of capitalistic expectations. Is that okay?”
“Of course.” I pat her shoulder lovingly. “I’ll support you no matter what.”
The smile I get back from her is priceless.
Even though my heart is still heavy at the thought of Sophie, I can’t help but let it swell from this moment. I want to cherish it forever—and all the moments like this that are to come.