33. June #2
He loads his fork with a piece of waffle and puts it in his mouth, chewing before answering. “No. The only weird thing this morning is you.”
He looks genuine. His posture is loose, hands steady on his fork. He got some rest and it shows in the ease of his shoulders, the way he’s occupying the stool instead of balancing on it like he might bolt.
Mom returns with the water and sets it in front of me, then her hand finds my hair, fingers combing through the tangles. “You okay, sweetie?”
“Yeah.” I sip the water. “Yeah, I just… nothing. Never mind.”
She gives me a look that says she doesn’t buy it, but she doesn’t push. Instead she turns to the cabinet and pulls out a plate. “Let me get you some breakfast.”
Aeron finishes his food and pushes back from the island, carrying his plate to the sink. He rinses it, which he never does. “I should get ready for class,” he calls over his shoulder.
He leaves the kitchen. I watch him disappear around the corner, then slide off my stool and follow.
I catch him in the hallway near his bedroom door. Without the oversized hoodie eating his frame, he looks taller, less like he’s trying to take up as little space as possible.
Aubrey said she sent those texts to Aeron. But she was lying? Bitch. She said it to scare me, and it worked. If Aeron never received those images, the whole thing was a power play. A sick, twisted way to make me panic.
I am SO going to deal with Aubrey today.
“You sure everything is okay?” I ask Aeron.
He gives a soft smile. His whole face opens up and he looks young, like the kid who used to sit in my room and watch me paint for hours without talking. He so rarely smiles like this anymore that seeing it makes my nose sting with emotion.
“How many times do I have to say it?”
“Okay, but, uh, about yesterday…” I start, because I owe him an apology for blocking him in the hallway.
“I’m sorry,” he cuts in. “I shouldn’t have shoved you. I was being an ass.”
Then he hugs me.
I can’t breathe. My arms hang at my sides because I’m frozen in shock. Aeron doesn’t hug. He barely tolerates proximity. The last time we held each other like this we were kids, and I can’t even remember when.
“You’re a good big sister,” he says into my shoulder.
My eyes burn and my lips pinch as I try to hold it together. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze. He’s so thin, and that makes me want to cry more.
“Thanks,” I manage. “And I’m sorry too. I’m really sorry. I was being controlling and I want to stop that.”
He pulls back and his smile widens into a lopsided grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes.
“That’s something I thought I’d never hear.
” He checks his phone, then tucks it in his pocket.
“Gotta get ready.” He goes to his room and closes the door, gently this time, and I’m left standing alone in the hallway.
I lean against the wall and exhale.
He’s fine. He’s better than fine. Whatever happened with the girl Dorien mentioned, whatever caused his weeks-long retreat into oversized hoodies and locked doors, he seems to be coming out of it.
But I can’t settle the discomfort sitting in my stomach. Since when does Aeron apologize unprompted? Since when does he hug me and call me a good sister? It makes me genuinely happy, and also nervous in a way I can’t pin down.
What if Aubrey sends him those diary images later?
That cannot happen.
I go back to the living room. Carter is dabbing at the orange juice stain on his shirt with a wadded paper towel, smearing it into a larger blotch.
“Can we talk outside?” I ask.
He reads my face, drops the paper towel, and stands. We go out to the porch.
The morning air is cool on my flushed skin. I sit on the steps and Carter drops down next to me, his long legs stretched out, elbows on his knees. He waits. Carter is good at waiting.
“I got more harassing texts,” I say. “The person sent pictures of my diary. They stole it.”
His eyebrows climb. “What the hell?”
“They threatened to send stuff to Aeron. Out-of-context things from my diary entries that would… that would really hurt him if he read them without the full picture.”
Carter runs a hand through his hair. “Shit. Should we take this to the police now or something?”
“I know who it is.” I look down at my hands. There’s a viridian stain on my index finger from yesterday and a smear of titanium white on my thumb. Battle scars from the studio. “If they don’t stop, I’ll see about getting a restraining order.”
His eyes go wide and he angles toward me, fully locked in. “Who is it?”
“I don’t want to say yet. I want to handle this myself.
” I gaze at the neighbor’s house across the street.
I need to look Aubrey in the face and make it absolutely clear that she crossed a line she cannot come back from.
“Can you… I don’t know. Keep an eye on Aeron?
Maybe go hang out somewhere with him? He seems like he’s in a good mood and I want that to continue. ”
“There’s a party Friday night. Another Hargrove frat thing. I could take him.”
My first instinct is to say no. Parties mean drinking, drinking means bad decisions, bad decisions mean my brother can get himself in trouble.
But I catch the instinct before acting on it.
I hold it up to the light the way I’d examine a painting I’ve been fussing over too long.
Overworked. Every new layer of control I add drains more life from the person I’m trying to protect.
Aeron is an adult. Also, I’m a hypocrite, because I tried weed in high school, drank at parties, did all the things I’m so terrified of him doing.
I want so much happiness for my brother.
I want him to be safe and smart and to skip every stupid mistake I made. But that’s my fear talking. Not love.
“Sure.” The word feels unfamiliar leaving my mouth. “But if he drinks or smokes, can you make sure it’s not excessive?”
Carter leans back and looks at me sideways. “Shit, what’s gotten into you? You’re just cool with whatever he does now?”
My face heats. “I… I know I’m a bit controlling.”
He laughs. “A bit?”
“Shut up.” I’m smiling. “I want him to have fun and be an adult. Just with caution.”
“Got it. We’ll have fun and I’ll make sure he’s safe. Promise.”
I lean into him, and he puts his arm around my shoulders. Carter gives solid, uncomplicated hugs. He smells like orange juice, which makes me laugh against his shoulder.
“Thanks,” I say. I pull back and stand, wiping my palms on my jeans. “Now I have to go deal with something.”