Chapter Two
Alex
The sound of a woodpecker chipping away at the tree near my window is annoying enough to wake me up.
I still feel groggy, like my body is underwater.
Peeling open one eye, I glance at the clock on my nightstand.
Three fifty-seven. I groan and roll over on my back, tossing my arm over my eyes.
My room is still dark but not pitch black, the curtains only blocking out so much of the sun this late in the afternoon, and I wonder if it’s a good idea to try to catch another hour of sleep or if I should just get up now.
The woodpecker starts up again, and I rub at my forehead, the pain behind my eyes suddenly unbearable. The splitting headache makes the decision for me: meds over sleep.
I feel hungover but not because I was out drinking.
Instead, it’s a combination of intense jet lag and the metal strip that covers my bottom teeth like some kind of medieval torture device.
Losing my retainer somewhere between France and the States was so, so stupid.
For whatever reason, my spare feels too tight, like it wasn’t fitted properly.
I pull it out and toss it on my nightstand.
Even having it out of my mouth does nothing to dull the pain.
I massage my forehead while I try to muster some energy to roll out of bed and find some Tylenol.
When I finally make it to the bathroom and check my reflection, I wince. Unfortunately, I look as crappy as I feel. There are dark circles under my eyes, and my hair is in complete disarray. I’ll figure that out later. Right now, I’ve got to take care of this headache.
“Do you have any pain meds?” I ask my brother, who I hope is in his bedroom. “My spare retainer makes my face hurt.”
“Try getting your chest sliced open,” Mason fires back.
Leaning back from the vanity from the bathroom that connects our rooms, I glare at his back. “Seriously?” He shrugs like it’s just a random fact and not a huge, life-changing deal, and continues to play on his computer.
“Check my stash,” he finally says.
Mason’s been taking a cocktail of meds almost his whole life.
When we were kids, he had alarms to remind him when to take his medicine, and it was my job to make sure he heard them go off.
Not that we could miss them; he had one of those watches that beeped and an old-school bell alarm that would ring and even a digital clock that would turn on the local oldies station.
He doesn’t need all the reminders anymore, but Mom still makes him wear the watch.
I inspect the large collection of pill bottles on his side of the counter and frown. They’re precisely labeled and organized, but there are just so many of them. Immunosuppressants, antibiotics, antiviral meds, and finally, pain management. Were there always this many bottles?
Grabbing the Tylenol, I pop two in my mouth and push away from the counter, hoping his new set of meds is a precaution and not something to worry about.
I brush my teeth, noting that a shower is definitely in order, but I have some time before Jules and I hang out, so I wander into Mase’s room and dramatically fling myself on top of his perfectly made bed.
“It’s four o’clock, how can you still be tired?”
“You try getting in at one in the morning and rushing to graduation on, like, four hours of sleep, then staying up all night.” Even without seeing him, I know he has some sort of smart-ass response ready to go, so I hold up my hand to stop him.
“Don’t. Just shh.” I roll to my back and stare at his ceiling, working my jaw to try to get rid of some of this pain.
“I hate this. I’m supposed to watch a movie with Jules later.
I’m not sure I’m going to be able to eat any popcorn. ”
He glances over his shoulder, then goes right back to working on whatever nerdy thing he’s doing. “Stop losing your retainers, then.” His shoulders are hunched, and his tone is so deadpan, like he doesn’t care at all about my pain.
“What are you even doing?”
“Working on a new campaign.”
I roll my eyes. Of course it’s Dungeons & Dragons related.
It’s been like this since he was fourteen.
Ever since he became a dungeon general or whatever.
It’s all he does in his spare time. He’s either playing guitar or playing on his computer.
It’s not all his fault, though. Mom wouldn’t let him compete in anything like football or soccer.
He was destined for a life of geekdom. “You’re such a nerd. ”
“You’re the one freaking out over not being able to eat popcorn with Jules.”
I’m not sure how that makes me the nerd, but I don’t have time to retaliate because Mom walks in wearing a short red dress and matching heels. “Oh good, you’re awake.”
Mason snorts, and I ignore him, instead letting out a low whistle as she wrestles with a gold hoop earring.
“Wow, you look nice.” Over the years, I’ve been so used to seeing her in either scrubs or something casual that it throws me to see her so fancy.
Especially with her hair all twisted and pulled back to reveal her neck, showcasing a new gold necklace.
Mason swivels his chair to see for himself, and Mom looks between us with an unsure expression. “You think so?”
“Definitely,” he agrees.
Mom finally gets her earring in and releases a breath, her shoulders relaxing.
“Richard is taking me to this fancy new restaurant for our anniversary. I wasn’t sure this was nice enough.
He always looks so put together and I’m…
” She motions toward herself as if to say she’s a mess, and I hate that she still somehow thinks she’s not good enough.
“You look great,” Mason says at the same time I say, “It’s your anniversary?”
A slow smile stretches across her lips. “Five years today.”
Mason and I exchange a knowing look that says we both realize how far gone Mom is over this guy. And Richard, he’s great. Like, almost too good to be true, great. And the best part? He’s everything my father wasn’t.
“I left some money on the counter for pizza, and there’s a salad in the fridge. I shouldn’t be out too late, but if anything comes up—”
“You’ll have your phone and to call right away,” Mason and I recite at the same time. Even at eighteen and twenty, it’s always the same speech.
Mom gives us a look but doesn’t elaborate. She doesn’t have to.
“We have our phones.” Mason gets up and pulls her in for a hug, his way of reassuring her that he’s fine. “Have a good time,” he tells her and kisses her cheek. “And happy anniversary.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she says, cupping his cheeks. “Stay out of trouble.” Her eyes find mine over his shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, dismissing the warning in her voice and ignoring her pointed look. I got into a little bit of mischief one time when she was gone, and she’s never let me hear the end of it.
There’s a knock on the front door, and my mom gasps. “He’s here. I love you, be good while I’m gone.” She pats Mason’s cheeks and straightens her dress. “Are you sure I look okay?”
“Mom.” He laughs. “You look beautiful, now go. We’re fine.”
She nods and takes a deep breath before finally making her way out of his room. “Be back by midnight and use protection,” I call after her.
“Very funny, Alex,” she shouts from down the hall.
I flop back on Mason’s bed and lie perfectly still until I hear Richard’s expensive car pull out of the driveway. Mason watches from his window, then sits back at his desk to get back to his campaign. Some sort of weird Lord of the Rings music softly starts to play.
“Think he’s going to propose?” I ask.
“I hope so. This is the happiest I’ve ever seen her.”
I hum, agreeing. I don’t really remember our dad, just a few flashes of his face and the way he used to yell at the TV when the Reds played, but Mason remembers.
He’s told me stories about how much Mom used to cry and how often they fought.
Mason was only four, but his memories of Mom locking herself in the bathroom so we wouldn’t see her so upset still haunt him.
Once he told me he could still remember the way she used to weep while the shower was running, thinking no one could hear.
“You wanna watch the Reds game before I have to leave?” I ask.
“Can’t. I’m meeting with the crew in five minutes.”
“But I just got home,” I whine. “We always watch baseball together.”
He gives me a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, Al, but we missed last week, so we agreed to do a double session tonight.”
“Fine.” I stare at the back of his head, at the swirling cowlick that never seems to leave his shaggy hair, even when it’s now down to his shoulders. I think about the row of medicine and Mom’s pointed look. “Hey, Mase, you’re okay, right?”
“What?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder. I tap the center of my chest, not wanting to linger on the possibility that he may not be but needing to know. “Yeah, I’m good.”
I release my breath, relieved. “Good.” I haul myself off his bed and give his shoulder a push as I pass. “Have fun with your raiding and traipsing through your make-believe forest.”
“When have I ever traipsed through anything?”
“And cut your hair.”
“I like it long,” he fires back. I walk through his door with a smile and head to my room, pulling my phone from my hoodie pocket to check my text thread with Jules. No new messages.
With a heavy sigh, I turn on the TV and mindlessly flip through the channels while I wait for the game to start.
“Do you want to order a pizza, or does your face hurt too much?” Mason calls out.
I move my jaw back and forth, determining that it feels good enough for an extra-large cheese with pepperoni and bacon. “Only if you order it,” I yell back.
“I can’t. I’m traipsing.”
I chuckle and open the app for Pizzano’s. I add a large pizza, half with my toppings and half with mushrooms and green peppers for Mason. I’m just about to check out when a message from Jules pops up.