Chapter 36
I’ve Got Your Big Ass Feelings
Eli
The machines are the first thing I notice. The rhythmic beeps. The soft whir of something helping her breathe. Tubes running where they shouldn’t be, wires taped to skin that’s always been warm and alive and stubborn as hell.
My mom is asleep, but she’s never looked like this.
Smaller. Frailer. As if someone turned the volume down on her without asking.
It’s Sunday, and I shoot Drake a quick text to check on the pitch. Everything unraveled so fast that it almost slipped my mind entirely.
Me: How is everything going? You good?
I’ve been messaging him on and off all day, and the asshole has been ignoring me. I get he wants me focused on family, wants me to take care of myself but we poured too much into that pitch for me to sit calmly on the sidelines while everything hangs in the balance.
Still no response.
Dick.
Finally, I see the three little dots appear at the bottom of the screen.
Drake: You insist on doing exactly what I asked you not to do—worry. Whether we win or not, it’s out of our hands. But, to get you out of your big ass feelings, you’ll be pleased to know Lara did great and everyone loved Max’s ideas.
I exhale.
Me: I got your big ass feelings. You know I don’t feel right sitting on the sidelines when we worked so hard for this.
Drake: You did a lot of the heavy lifting on the front-end. Let us carry the rest, Bro. We got you.
I don’t respond. I just smile, slip my phone into my pocket, and let myself believe him.
I sit in the chair beside my mom’s bed, elbows on my knees, hands clasped so tight my fingers ache. I can’t remember the last time I saw her still. Really still. She’s always been motion. Purpose. Noise when it’s needed. Strength even when it isn’t fair.
She raised two boys mostly on her own and somehow made it look effortless. Like it didn’t cost her sleep, fear, or pieces of herself she never got back. She worked. She worried. She prayed. She loved us loud and gave us grace, even when we didn’t deserve it.
Especially when we didn’t deserve it.
I’ve spent years questioning her choices. The moves she made. The way she held on when I thought letting go would’ve been easier. I didn’t always understand her logic. Still don’t, if I’m honest. But sitting here, watching her chest rise and fall with help, I know one thing for certain.
Every decision she made came from love.
Messy love. Fierce love.
I lean forward, resting my forearms on the bed, careful not to disturb anything. “You scared the hell out of me,” I whisper, my voice low. “You don’t get to do that. You’re too young, too feisty for all that. Okay?”
My throat tightens. I swallow it down.
“I still have things I need to say,” I tell her. “Things I should’ve said already. About how much I see you now. How heavy all of it must’ve been. How strong you were when nobody was clapping.”
I breathe out slowly, pressing my thumb into my palm.
“You don’t have to be strong right now,” I add. “I’ve got it. Just…wake up. Let me tell you.”
The door opens behind me.
I don’t turn right away. I know that walk. That pause. That familiar presence stepping into the room like it doesn’t quite know where it fits anymore.
My brother clears his throat.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
I straighten and finally look back at him. I haven’t been alone with my brother like this in…I don’t know how long.
“Is she any better?” he asks.
I look back at our mother before replying.
“Getting there. She definitely had a cardiac event,” I explain cautiously.
“It wasn't the kind people usually expect it to be. Years of high blood pressure caused quiet, gradual damage.” I pause, swallowing.
“They found it late, but thankfully not too late. The doctors are confident she will recover.”
Which still doesn’t make sense. She’s always been healthy.
Ate clean. Walked every day. Took care of herself in ways most people don’t.
But the doctors explained it was the type of heart disease that hits a lot of Black women and often goes unnoticed until it doesn’t give you a choice anymore.
The kind that’s passed down in your blood, keeping scores of hurt and trauma.
“Probably your fault,” Elliot says.
I snap my head toward him just in time to catch it—the corner of his mouth twitching.
Is this idiot smiling?
I narrow my eyes. Don’t smile.
I’m not going to smile.
Fuck him.
…Shit. I smiled.
“Nah,” I say, jerking my chin back toward the bed. “She told me she was stressed about that big head–ass baby you’re about to bring into this world. Look at her now—damn near dead.”
I hear movement behind me, but Elliot’s already there, leaning in first.
“You two still can’t be in the same room without fussing, huh?” she says weakly.
“Mommy,” Elliot calls out.
He still calls her mommy?
“Hey Mom,” I say, bending down to press a kiss to her forehead.
“It’s good to see you two in the same room,” she says, before she coughs twice.
“Mom, take it easy. You need your rest.”
“I need my boys,” she says softly.
And the thought makes my heart ache. I immediately begin to wonder if the distance between us, the three of us, the fractured family fractured her heart. Did we do this? Did I do this by refusing to forgive?
I’m halfway to saying something—anything—that might resemble an olive branch when the door opens again. Vanessa steps in first, tentative. Then the doctor comes in behind her.
Awkward. Party of five.
“Oh, good,” Dr. Warren says brightly. He’s been my mom’s doctor for years now. “You’re awake.” He pauses, scanning the room, clearly doing a mental inventory against hospital policy. “I’ll allow it for now, but we’re going to need to limit visitors. Family only.”
I hate myself a little for the petty satisfaction that sparks in my chest. The implication is clear. Vanessa doesn’t belong here.
I roll my eyes at myself for it.
Grow up, Bear.
Dr. Warren moves closer, professional and gentle. He explains that the damage to her heart was minimal. That the event was caught in time. That she’ll need medication, monitoring, and rest. But, ultimately, she’s going to be okay.
Relief crashes through me so hard I have to grip the side of the bed.
I speak up immediately. “I’ll make sure she takes it easy. I’ll be here, every step.”
“Actually,” Elliot steps in, “I’ll handle it.”
I turn, surprised. He doesn’t look at me at first, he looks at mom.
“I’ve already been going by,” he adds. “Once a week. Reading to her.”
My head snaps to my mom, then back to him. “You’ve been doing what, now?”
Our mother smiles, tired but she’s amused. Happy. “He reads terribly,” she admits. “But the books are good so I don’t mind.”
I raise a brow. Suspicious. “And what kind of books, exactly?”
Mom grins. “The nasty kind.”
My eyes go wide and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
Elliot just shrugs. “I’ve never heard of a Vampire with two penises but it’s definitely making a brother step his game up with—”
I hold up a hand. “Please, spare me the rest of that sentence.”
Still, the revelation takes a minute to process. This version of my brother doesn’t fit the one I’ve carried in my head for years—the irresponsible fuck-up who only ever thought of himself.
I also haven't forgotten the way he tried to flirt with Max at the boutique. I make a mental note to ask him what that was about later. Looking back, I assume he was just playing a part because he recognized her from the article, but he still needs to watch it. Max is mine and I don’t care if she lives in another country.
And I don’t care if that makes me sound possessive.
It's still a truth I’m not ready to let go of.
But I decide I’ll have a chat with him about that later.
Dr. Warren finishes entering some notes on the computer in the room and excuses himself.
Elliot turns to Vanessa before she can say anything that might disrupt the rare peace that’s sitting between us. “Can you give us a minute, babe?”
She doesn’t fight him. She nods, then steps out as well.
I will never understand these two.
The room is quiet.
Then Elliot speaks. “I owe you an apology.”
I cross my arms, posturing. “For what?”
He lets out a humorless laugh. “How about all of it? For making you the responsible one.”
I freeze.
He exhales. “I was jealous. I’ve always been jealous of you.”
I frown. “I don’t understand.”
“Everytime dad came home from a business trip, he spent more time with you. He taught you things. Talked to you about things.”
“El,” I say, settling back into our old nickname and rhythms. “You were young. You weren’t even interested—”
He holds up a hand. “Just let me finish. No matter how unreasonable it sounds. Just let me finish.”
I nod.
“I felt invisible. So I acted out. Over and over. First it was to get his attention. Then, after dad died, it was just who I became. The fuck-up.”
“Your words,” I say, not arguing.
Our mother squeezes my hand, and when I look at her, I see something I wasn’t willing to recognize before.
It’s not forgiveness. Not yet. But for the first time, a sharp, cold understanding cracks through the anger I’ve been gripping like a weapon for years.
The resentment doesn’t vanish, but it thins, letting in a sliver of light that I’m not quite ready for, but can no longer ignore.
“I’ve been in therapy,” Elliot adds. “A while now. It’s made me face some shit. Even with Vanessa.”
Shit. Here we go.
He swallows. “I felt like you took dad from me. So, when I had the chance to take something from you, I did. I knew she was trying to sabotage you and I felt like the golden child was finally being brought down.”
“Are you serious, El?”
“Let him apologize,” my mom says.
Elliot holds up his hands, continuing. “Yeah. And I now how fucked up that is.”
“Languange,” I cut in. We don’t curse in front of our mother.
He corrects himself. “How messed up I had to be to even think that way. And after I found out who she was, man, I can’t lie…I was already too far gone for the woman. She speaks French, Lee!”
“I’m…I’m not sure how to even respond to any of this,” I confess. “But I do appreciate you acknowledging what you did and being honest about where your head was.”
Our mother pulls us both in, thin arms wrapping around us as if she’s been holding this moment in her chest for years. Hoping for it.
“Look, El,” I say. “I’m not going to say what’s been broken has been fixed.
I won’t even say I’m willing to accept what’s going on with you and Vanessa.
What I will say,” I pause, stopping to look at my mother before continuing.
“Is I appreciate you being man enough to say anything. And for reading that nasty shit to mom, because Lord knows I could never be the one.”
He smiles. My mom beams. And I exhale.
We stand there like that, awkward, for a few moments. And for the first time in a long time, we’re standing on the same side of the room. The same side of the fence.
Together.
I don’t know what will happen from here. I don’t know where our relationship will go, but I see an opportunity to mend.
Though I don't have much faith in his and Vanessa's relationship—and I truly pity that big-headed ass baby—I genuinely wish him the best.
I lean down to kiss my mother on the forehead and one thought breaks through the weight of the moment.
I fucking miss Max.