37. June
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
JUNE
My brother looks as fragile as a paper doll under the harsh light.
I’ve been sitting in this plastic chair for two hours, watching the monitors turn Aeron’s life into numbers and beeping lines. Mom is on the other side of the bed holding his hand. Dorien is in a chair by the window, staring out into the darkness. I keep replaying Carter’s words from earlier.
“He went to the bathroom, but he was gone really long, and… and then he was in the garden, slumped on a bench. There were bags. Little plastic bags with powder. And empty vodka bottles. Th-the paramedics came… I don’t know… I don’t know why he’d…”
The doctors spoke to us as a group—Mom, me, and Dorien standing in the hallway outside this room—just an hour ago, and I don’t think any of us were breathing.
His bloodwork showed dangerous levels of cocaine and alcohol.
The combination, they told us, creates a chemical in the body that’s more toxic to the heart than either substance alone.
His heart had an arrhythmia by the time they got him to the ER.
His breathing had slowed to almost nothing.
He’d had a seizure in the ambulance, then another in the ER.
They stabilized his heart rhythm with medication and put him on oxygen.
They ran tests on his liver and kidneys for organ damage, but haven’t told us the results yet.
My baby brother is in a coma, and the doctor, a woman with tired eyes and a voice trained to stay calm, said the next forty-eight hours would determine everything.
Brain function. Organ recovery. Whether he wakes up at all.
I asked her to repeat that part, and she did.
Then I asked again, and she gave me a sad, tired look and said they’d be monitoring him here in the ER overnight.
In the morning, he’d be admitted to the hospital.
All of us can stay by his bedside. The nurses brought in extra chairs, and there’s an empty bed in Aeron’s room they said we could rest in.
I thought he was fine. Right before he left for the party, he was smiling and he gave me another hug, which made me tear up, and he was fine.
My brother was fine. I thought the rest was in the past. The weeks of pulling away, retreating into that small, defended version of himself—that was over, and he was feeling better.
Why didn’t I talk to him more? I should’ve sat on his bed and refused to leave until he opened up about whatever was causing so much pain.
Even before he withdrew into himself, I should’ve been talking to him more all along.
I should’ve pushed past the sarcasm and the shrugs and the “I’m fine” that I always accepted because accepting it was easier than fighting him.
I should have fought him. I should have planted myself between him and whatever door he was trying to leave through.
I should’ve said, “I see you, I know you’re not okay. You don’t get to disappear. I love you. I love that you’re my brother.”
There’s so much I needed to say.
Why didn’t I?
Why was I so focused on my own life? With Dorien, with the exhibition, with the rumors. While I was chasing clues about who was spreading gossip, my brother was planning to end his life.
The knowledge is such a pain in my heart that I fold forward, pressing my forehead to my knees.
When this fresh bout of sobbing ends, I glance at Dorien. I told him to let me be for a bit, so he’s watching to see if I need him. I shake my head, and he stays put, but continues watching.
Mom hasn’t moved in over an hour. She’s in the chair on the other side of Aeron’s bed, and the woman sitting there is not my mother.
My mother talks. My mother fills silences with warmth and humor.
My mother brushes hair out of my face mid-conversation and hums while she works in her office and says “honey” to strangers in grocery stores.
She has advice and answers and is always there for comfort. Tonight, she hasn’t looked at me once.
This woman is a shell dressed in my mother’s clothes. She answered the doctors’ questions when they spoke directly to her, but that’s it. She’s been staring at Aeron and occasionally wiping her face with the back of her hand. Her crying is so quiet it’s worse than screaming.
I understand she’s as shocked and devastated as I am, but shouldn’t we be together right now in our pain? Hugging and telling each other we just need to have faith that he’ll wake up?
I’m the one who’s been pushing for details, asking the nurses about his vitals, requesting updates every time someone walks past the door.
I’m the one who asked about brain scans, liver enzymes, and what happens if his kidneys start failing.
I wrote down the names of his medications on the back of a receipt because I needed to do something with my hands, or I was going to lose my mind.
I’ve been getting informed while Mom is somewhere else in her head. The distance between us in this room is the loneliest I have ever felt.
I glance at Dorien and nod. He scoots his chair over to sit beside me, his hand resting on my back.
He’s been solid and present all night, but he’s also quiet in a way that doesn’t fit him.
He keeps looking at Aeron with a locked jaw and an expression I can’t read, his eyes fixed on my brother’s face like he’s searching for an answer there.
I don’t have the capacity to figure out what’s happening inside my mom or Dorien right now. My entire brain is devoted to the boy in the bed.
Dorien squeezes my shoulder. “Coffee?” he asks quietly.
“No thanks.”
“I need some. Be back soon.” His fingers linger for a second, then he stands and leaves.
The room shrinks. Just me, Mom, Aeron, and the machines.
I check my phone. No new messages, but Cinna should be here soon. Even though it’s after one in the morning, I called and woke her up. She’s part of our group so she deserved to know. I told her she didn’t need to come now and could wait until the morning, but she said she’s on her way.
Mom reaches across the bed and takes Aeron’s other hand, the one without the IV. She’s now holding both with her fingers curled around his.
“Sweet boy,” she whispers. “My sweet boy.” She smooths his hair with her palm, then caresses his forehead.
She hums a lullaby she used to sing to both of us. I’d forgotten it existed until this second, and her voice makes it impossible to ignore the tidal wave of emotion building in my chest.
“Baby’s fishing for a dream,” she sings. “Fishing near and far. His line a silver moonbeam is; his bait’s a silver star. Sail, baby sail. Out upon that sea. Only don’t forget to sail. Back again to me.”
Oh God. I hunch forward and sob into my hands.
I feel a warm hand on my back and glance up to find Dorien next to me again, holding a coffee cup. He pulls me into a firm hug so I can finish sobbing against him.
We sit together and listen to my mother sing to her son.
“Sail, baby sail. Out upon that sea. Only don’t forget to sail. Back again to me.”
I reach up to touch Dorien’s cheek, wanting him to look at me so I can tell him how thankful I am that he’s here, how much I love him, but his gaze is locked on Aeron with that same look I can’t read. He keeps staring, and his stillness makes him look like a sculpture of himself.
Is he a shell too?
“Did you know he was using…” I whisper.
Dorien shakes his head, still locked on my brother. “I wish I had.”
I can’t wrap my head around it. Since when has my brother been using cocaine? Where did he even get it? I want to believe what he did tonight was a mistake. That he misjudged his tolerance and made a stupid decision.
But Carter said there were several empty baggies. Two bottles of vodka. My brother isn’t stupid. He loves researching and absorbing new information.
He knew what he was doing.
The next sob comes from so deep inside me it feels like my body is inverting.
Dorien pulls me against him tighter, and I wail into his shoulder.
I’m so loud I’m sure the entire ER can hear me.
My fingers grip the front of his shirt, and I can’t stop.
I can’t breathe. I keep seeing Aeron’s face the way it looked a few days ago when he told me he was fine and I believed him.
I believed him because believing was easier than sitting with the truth that my brother has been drowning and I’ve been standing on the shore, looking in the wrong direction.
I don’t know how long I cry but it seems there’s no end to my tears. At some point I pull back and wipe my face with my sleeve. The collar of Dorien’s shirt is soaked through.
My phone vibrates. A text from Cinna: I’m here how do I find you?
Me: Ask the front desk for Patricia. She’s one of Aeron’s nurses. Say you’re family. They’re very kind and will take you back.
She appears in the doorway about ten minutes later and my first thought is: Who is that? That’s not Cinna.
My bestie is always composed and put-together.
Hair arranged, outfit considered, every detail attended to.
I know I woke her up from sleep, but that’s happened in the past. I’ve called her about some issue or another and she’s hurried over to comfort me.
And when she showed up those times, she had on PJs but her hair was still perfect.
And, even without makeup, she was flawless.
The girl in the doorway is wearing sweatpants and a wrinkled AlariaU sweater. Her honey-blonde hair looks like a bird’s nest, and her face is swollen and blotchy like she’s been sobbing the entire way here. Her hands are shaking at her sides.
She looks at Aeron in the bed and her entire body wilts.
She crosses the room on unsteady legs and goes straight to the end of his bed, touches his ankles, and starts sobbing. This is full-body, hysterical sobbing that shakes her shoulders and presses her forehead against the mattress beside his feet.