Chapter 16 Lily #2
"I just think," I said carefully, "that taking care of yourself isn't selfish. It's necessary. Because if something happened to you, Dad, Leo, and I would be lost. You're the one who holds us all together."
She looked at me worriedly, "I didn’t realize you had grown so much, Lily. You're right, though. I haven't been very good about taking care of myself. I always think there will be time later, after I finish this project or that chore. But later has a way of never quite arriving, doesn't it?"
"Promise me you'll get checked regularly," I insisted, squeezing her hand back. "Promise me you'll take care of yourself as much as you take care of us. Promise me you won't ignore it if you feel like something's wrong."
She studied my face for a long moment, and I wondered if she could sense the desperation behind my words.
"I promise," she said finally. "I'll talk to your father about scheduling annual checkups for all of us from now on. And Lily? Thank you for caring enough to push me on this. Sometimes we need the people we love to remind us that our lives matter too, not just the lives we're taking care of."
"Your life matters more than you know," I whispered, relieved. That was a good start. That could get us a chance.
Suddenly, my mother lunged forward, tackling me into a hug that sent us both sprawling on the grass.
She peppered my face with kisses as I squealed in protest, just like she used to do when I was little.
"I love you, sweetheart. And I'm proud of the young woman you're becoming. You have such a big heart."
My mother didn't know how much those words meant, especially in my present, where I couldn't hear them even if I wanted to. And I swore at that moment that I would do everything I could to make her feel more and more proud of me.
The rest of the morning flew by between simple tasks and random conversations. Just my mother and me, weeding and planting, talking about nothing and everything. It wasn't extraordinary in any way, but I was loving every moment of it.
At lunch, we all gathered around the table. Bailey curled up under the table, occasionally nudging our legs for scraps. My father's laugh boomed through the kitchen as Leo recounted a story from school, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his whole face alight with joy.
This was how I remembered him. Before the light in his eyes dimmed to a flicker. The boy across from me now was unburdened, unbroken, his love for his family apparent in every gesture, every glance.
In my present—my real present—he still smiled, still laughed, but there was always something missing, a shadow that never quite lifted.
Looking at him now, the contrast was heartbreaking.
After lunch, Leo disappeared to the room where we had the TV, and I followed, hovering awkwardly in the doorway. He glanced up from the couch, raising an eyebrow like he was waiting for me to explain what I needed.
"Want some company?" I asked.
"Can I be honest with you, or will you sit by my side anyway?" he joked.
"I will sit anyway," I confessed, not offended at all by his lack of interest in my presence. I approached the sofa and settled on the armrest, waiting for an invitation that never came. He just returned his attention to the TV screen, completely ignoring me.
This Leo was so different from the one I'd spent the last ten years visiting in prison.
The other Leo would light up the moment I walked into the visitation room, hungry for any connection to the outside world. He'd ask me a thousand questions, How's Dad? What did you eat for breakfast? Have you seen the movie everyone's talking about? Tell me about your day, every single detail.
He wanted to know everything, to feel like he was still part of my life, still human, still connected to something beyond those gray walls.
Prison Leo was my best friend. He'd dissect every story I told him, offering advice on my work problems, my failed relationships, even what I should order at restaurants.
He'd memorized my coffee order, my favorite books, and even the names of all my coworkers.
He knew me better than anyone because those visits were his lifeline, and he treated every conversation as precious.
But this Leo, the free, unburdened sixteen-year-old in front of me, had his own life, his own interests, his own world that didn't need me in it.
He had friends to hang out with, video games to play, and a girlfriend who texted him constantly.
I was just his older sister, someone who existed in the background of his life, mildly annoying but mostly irrelevant.
Looking at him, I felt a strange kind of grief. I was mourning a closeness that hadn't happened yet, and I felt awful for it. I was missing a version of my brother who only existed because his life had been destroyed.
I should be happy he was dismissive and self-absorbed like a normal teenager. I should be grateful he didn't need me the way prison Leo did.
But God, it hurt.
"Why have you been so insistent on being around me lately?" he asked, finally acknowledging my presence. "What's your deal? Did you break something of mine and you're trying to butter me up before I notice?"
"I just want to spend more time with you. Be your friend, not just your annoying big sister."
He stared at me for a long moment, and I could see him trying to figure out if this was some trick.
"Look, Lily, if you really want to have someone in your life, it shouldn't be on your terms alone.
You can't just decide we're suddenly best friends and expect me to go along with it.
You're invading my personal space without offering anything in return. Why would I want to be your friend?"
Ouch. That hurt me. But he was right.
The Leo from my future was my best friend because I was his connection to the real world. I was the only thing he had left in his miserable life of confinement. And part of me needed to be the best friend and sister he ever had because I felt guilty he was there.
Some friendships are formed through the bonding of trauma. We're so desperate to feel part of something, we cling to whatever helps us feel better, even if that other person has nothing in common with us.
Right now, none of us had anything that made us feel we needed to be closer, so there was no reason for us to be friends.
"What would you want me to do instead?" I asked.
"I don't know. Maybe if you were interested in the same things as me, I'd like you." He paused his game and turned to face me properly. "For some reason, I feel like you're just here to take away my TV and force me to watch one of your horrible vampire series, and I'm not up for that."
He was calling me out, and he was completely right.
Our relationship has always been very focused on what I want, rather than his interests.
We used to get along badly for that reason when we were teenagers, but we started getting along well because hearing me was the only thing he had left in prison.
"You're right," I admitted. "I'm sorry. I've been selfish. "
He seemed surprised by my honesty. "Okay, so what's really going on? Because this sudden interest in bonding is weird, even for you."
I wanted to tell him everything. About the future, about prison, about how much I'd missed having him in my life as more than just someone I visited behind glass partitions.
But I couldn't. "I just realized I don't know you as well as I thought I did," I said.
"And I want to change that before it's too late. "
"Too late for what? I'm not dying or anything."
"No, but we're both getting older. You'll go to college eventually, and I'll be starting my career, and we'll drift apart as most siblings do. I just thought maybe we could actually be close before that happens."
Leo studied me for a moment, and I could see him weighing whether to let me in or keep his walls up. Finally, he sighed. "Fine. But you have to actually try, not just sit there expecting me to do all the work."
"Deal."
"So what do you want to know?" he asked, though his tone suggested he didn't really believe I cared about his life.
"Everything. What games are you into right now? What's going on with you and Brandy? What's your favorite movie? What colleges are you thinking about going to?"
Leo blinked, clearly not expecting actual questions, but instead of answering them, he reached for a second controller of his video game and held it out to me. "You want to be my friend? Let's start here. Beat me, and maybe I'll answer some of your questions eventually."
I took the controller and sat next to him on the couch. "You're on."
We played for the next two hours, and I lost every single match.
But somewhere between his trash-talking and my terrible aim, something shifted.
He started giving me tips instead of just mocking my mistakes.
He laughed when I accidentally threw a grenade at my own feet.
He high-fived me when I finally got my first kill.
And slowly, I started to see glimpses of the brother I'd lost.