Chapter 18
LEO
December 8
The taxi weaves through the familiar streets of London, the chill of the December air seeping through the windows. The fall semester ended two days ago, and the holiday break is a welcome respite from the constant demands of teaching. Leaving Chicago behind, I hope the change of scenery might clear my head. London always has a way of grounding me, even with the bittersweet memories it holds.
My thoughts drift back to Vivian, who came over early this morning to give me a quick hug before I left for the airport. I had hoped for more time with her, but her touch lingered with me. I had fallen asleep waiting for her text last night, missing the chance to see her before bed. Now, as the cityscape blurs past, all I can think about is how much I already miss her presence.
The taxi pulls up to Andrew’s modern flat in Islington. I step out, the cold air biting at my skin. Andrew is at the door, grinning like a madman, with baby Emma bundled up in blankets and cradled in his arms.
“Leo!” Andrew calls out as I approach, meeting me halfway.
“Andrew, it’s good to see you, mate,” I reply. We greet each other with a brotherly side hug, patting each other’s backs, careful to not squish my new baby niece. Emma is sleeping in Andrew’s arms, and I can’t help but smile as I look at her. “Oh my God. She’s beautiful, Andrew.”
Nichole greets me in the entryway with a warm hug, the smell of freshly brewed tea wafting through the air. Stepping inside, an odd sense of nostalgia washes over me. Seeing Andrew here, creating a family life of his own, fills me with pride.
“Can I hold her?” I ask Andrew.
“Of course, but Nichole is going to make you wash your hands first.” He gestures to the kitchen as he flashes a grin at his wife.
Nichole gives Andrew a look. “Well don’t say it like I’m insane for asking people to wash their hands. It’s a normal request.”
Andrew laughs and kisses her on the mouth. “I know, babe, I just like to give ya shit.”
After washing my hands, we make our way to the living room and Andrew places Emma in my arms, taking great care to teach me how to hold her head and neck. Honestly, I don’t know shit about babies, I’ve only ever held a couple of them in my entire life and was never around them growing up.
“She’s so fucking tiny,” I say in awe.
“Leo!” Nichole shouts, scolding me for my language.
“She’s a baby, Nichole, she doesn’t even know what fucking means,” Andrew retorts. “She’s always getting after me for the cussing in front of Emma… and we all know that she has the mouth of a sailor,” he says, pointing to Nichole.
I laugh, “Sorry, Nichole, I’ll try to filter around the baby.”
I love spending time with Andrew and Nichole.
“There’s a Liverpool–Chelsea game starting in an hour, do you want to watch?” Andrew asks.
“Fuck yes, I do!” I say enthusiastically, as Nichole gives me a glare, and I grimace. “Shit. I’m sorry, Nichole.” Andrew and I both laugh. “But I do miss proper football.”
Nichole brings in some tea, which is something that I don’t miss. I’m definitely an American when it comes to my love for coffee. I sip on it anyway as we catch up on the past three months. Andrew is the only one in London that I talk to on a regular weekly basis. Naturally, he knows a bit about Vivian, but I’ve kept the details pretty vague; she’s my cool, hot neighbor, who's become a good friend.
After an hour, Nichole takes Emma upstairs for them to both nap. Andrew and I sit in the living room, a couple of glasses of scotch between us, the soft glow of the fireplace casting shadows on the walls. The sound of a Chelsea match plays in the background, adding a familiar comfort to our conversation.
“It’s good to have you here,” Andrew says, breaking the comfortable silence.
“It’s good to be here,” I reply, taking a sip of my drink. “You’ve done well for yourself, Andrew. I’m proud of you. You’ve managed to escape dad's constant pressure of working in the family business, to do something that you love instead, while moving on, falling in love and building a life… a family. It’s commendable brother.” I lift my drink up, toasting his great efforts and accomplishments.
Andrew smiles, but there’s a shadow in his eyes. “Thanks, mate. It hasn’t been easy, you know that. But I’ve had to… for Nichole, for Emma.” He pauses, then looks at me more intently. “You didn’t escape dad's pressure but at least you escaped London.”
I nod, watching the game out the corner of my eye.
“But what about you? Are you ever going to settle down?” Andrew asks cautiously.
Here we fucking go.
“For fuck’s sake, I am settled, Andrew.” I glare at him. “I have a great career, thriving businesses, a townhouse on the river, a fuck-ton of money, and friends I care about. I’m fulfilled.” I’m not angry with him—I love my brother—but we have this conversation at least twice a year. I brace myself for what’s next: a lecture about not dating, never getting married or having a family, and not understanding how meaningful life can be when shared with someone. It gets bloody old.
“But you won’t let yourself be completely happy, mate. Why do you keep holding onto the past?” Andrew’s eyes soften, taking the conversation in a direction I didn’t see coming .
“What are you getting at?” I ask slowly.
“With Mum,” he states. “You’ve never really let it go. You’ve never wanted to. It’s almost like you enjoy the anger that you have for her.”
I stare into my glass, swirling the amber liquid. “It’s not that simple, Andrew. You know what we went through, how she was. It’s not something you just shrug off.”
Andrew leans forward, his voice softer but insistent. “We both lived it, Leo. She was tougher on you, I get that. But at some point, you have to move forward. You can’t let the past run your life.”
I let out a dry laugh. “You think I haven’t tried? She didn’t care about me the way she cared about you. She blamed me for her misery.”
“Mate, you’re a bloody psychology professor. You know better than anyone that she was sick. She was depressed, anxious, an alcoholic… She was out of her mind most days.”
“I know that. I’ve spent years coming to terms with it. But forgiving her doesn’t erase what she did.”
Andrew places a hand on my shoulder. “I get it. But maybe it’s time you stopped letting her mistakes define how you live.”
I shoot him a look, and he raises his hands in defense. “Hold on—just hear me out.”
I wait for him to continue digging this grave.
“I think you’ve convinced yourself that you don’t deserve the kind of happiness I have, like you’re somehow responsible for what happened to her. And it’s bullshit. You’ve punished yourself for long enough. It’s holding you back.”
The fire crackles in the silence between us, occasionally interrupted by cheers from the television as Chelsea makes another advance. I stare blankly at the screen. “I fucking love my life, Andrew… But maybe you’re right,” I finally say, barely above a whisper. “I’ve always carried the blame, like I could’ve done something to change things.”
Andrew’s eyes cloud with sorrow. “You were a kid, mate. None of that was on you. You know that. ”
I scoff. “I know it logically, but it’s hard to forget when those words come from your own mum.” I take a heavy swig of my drink. “She said some fucked up things to me the night before she left.”
We sit in silence as I swirl the scotch in front of me, the ice clinking in my glass. The cheers from the football match blur into the background. I can feel Andrew’s eyes on me, his concern digging into me like a knife. I fucking hate that. I’m the older brother, the strong one, the one who holds it together, his protector. But I’ve carried this truth for twenty-five years, and now I’ve handed it to him like a burden he never asked for.
Andrew’s face twists in anguish. “God, I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I’m not a goddamn victim, Andrew. I never have been. But that’s why I struggle to fully forgive her. She was ill, I get that, but what she did left scars. It’s not about hating her—it’s just something I can’t fully let go of.” I set my drink down a little harder than I intended. “Can we talk about something else now? I’m done rehashing this.”
I turn the TV up and we watch the game in silence.
I pull my phone out to text Vivian because I know that talking to her will help my shitty mood.
I have an unread text from her. We’d been texting last night before I boarded my plane. This one was sent a couple of hours ago, probably when she woke up. I somehow missed it in the chaos of leaving the airport to come here.
Vivian: Hey, did you make it safely?
Leo: Yes. Got here a couple of hours ago. You at work? Sorry I didn’t text, got wrapped up in family and catching up. Emma is beautiful… I’m embarrassed to admit she is only the third baby I’ve ever held. It’s a pretty incredible feeling being an uncle and holding my niece for the first time.
I hope that my text doesn’t stir too much emotion for her, talking about the baby.
Vivian: Ahhh! That is so sweet. Yes at work… Send me pics!
Leo: Will do. Can you find time to squeeze me into your busy schedule for when I come home? Maybe Friday the 15th? I’d love to take you out—catch up. Unless you already have plans …
Vivian: OMG! You’re around a baby for five whole minutes and now you want to take me on a date? Slow down, Leo. I’m not ready to jump into thing s . (Laughing face emoji)
She’s so cheeky
Leo: You’re so insightful… I’m practically standing at the altar. Call it whatever you want. I’m taking you to the Christmas market. Mer told me you haven’t been. It’ll be a fun thing to do when I get back… I don’t want Nick being scheduled over me.
I send it and immediately regret the comment about Nick, as the tone will probably come across as more of a jab than I intended. I don’t want to seem jealous, either, but it’s true—I don’t want to be scheduled over like I was the night before.
Vivian: God… I really am sorry. I spaced that we had talked about doing something the night before you left. I promise I won’t forget. I have you scheduled into my calendar on the 15th. I’m all yours! I’ll be very much looking forward to seeing you. (Kissy face emoji )
Leo: Good. We can look for rings afterward.
I don’t send any emojis, letting it hang in the air.
Vivian: Ha. Ha. Ha. We have a comedian on our hands. I’ve got to get back to work. Text me later. :-)
* * * * * * * * * *
I help Nichole clear the table and then possessively take Emma from Andrew. I can’t get enough of her. I leave tomorrow morning, and I need to soak up the sweetness of this little girl.
Sitting at the table, I watch Nichole and Andrew move around the kitchen with a harmony that speaks of years of love and a comfortable ease. I look down at Emma; her eyes move back and forth watching my face, filled with wonder, and I’m overcome with an unfamiliar emotion.
I look back at Andrew and Nichole. Nichole is teasing him. He playfully swats her with the dish towel, she splashes water on him and laughs. He wraps her into him and gives her a kiss, and I realize it’s the first time in my life that I’m envious of what my brother has. All these years of lectures about finding someone to share my life with, and finding true meaning to life hit me like a load of bricks.
I look back down at Emma and then imagine something bad happening to her, and a knot forms in my stomach. I bring her up to my chest and hold her tightly, shutting my eyes. No, No. I don’t want this. It’s like taking a gamble with high-risk stocks—you might hit the jackpot, but you could lose it all in a matter of minutes.