I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to kick off another argument simply by walking in the door and I didn’t want to wade through a dense fog of cold shoulder comments until it was time to go to work again.
But it wasmyhome and I didn’t see why I had to be the one avoiding it any longer.
I dragged myself up the old, winding staircase and I felt the weight of this day, this whole damn week, heavy on my shoulders. The scent of cleaning products hit me first. Panicked—because why else would Brie seek outand usecleaning products if not for a true disaster?—my gaze darted around the living room and kitchen. I found Brie standing at the island,a bottle of wine and two glasses waiting beside a small cheese plate.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “What happened?”
She shook her head and gave me a practiced smile like she’d expected that response. “Nothing is wrong. Take a minute to put your things down. Then we’ll talk.”
I hung up my coat and marched into the kitchen, still looking for bloodstains or scorch marks on the walls. I stood, hands closed around the back of a chair. At a minimum, I was alarmed. “What’s up?”
She uncorked the bottle and started filling one glass. “I talked to Mom today.”
I reached for the glass before she was finished pouring. Wine spilled onto the counter, but I didn’t care about that. I gulped it down while she stared at me, her brows arched and her mouth open.
“I see we’re being dramatic tonight,” she said.
I grabbed the bottle from her and refilled my glass. “How are things with Pearl?”
Brie nudged the cheese plate toward me. “Well,” she said, her focus on mopping up the spilled wine and far away from any sort of eye contact, “we decided it was time for a visit to Colorado. To spend some time with her.”
I stared at her dark hair for a moment, wondering what could make her think I had the time or desire or emotional capacity for another family reunion. Weren’t we still fucked up from the last attempt? I sure as hell was. “And you’re telling me this because you want to do it.”
Brie bobbed her head. “I think it’s time.”
I went to put the wine down, but clipped the edge of the cheese plate and the glass pitched over, shattering as it hit the stone countertop and taking the other glass down with it. “For fuck’s sake.” I gave myself a moment to groan, to kick and flailat the world, to mourn the cheese that was now drowning in wine and broken glass. “I’ll take care of this,” I said, carrying the plate to the trash bin. “We can talk about this idea of yours in a minute.”
Brie reached for the plate, saying, “I can help.”
“If that’s what you want.” I let her take it and went back to the rest of the broken glass on the island. “Did she call you?”
She closed the bin and turned on the faucet. “Actually, I made the call.”
“You—shit.” Blood spilled over the tip of my index finger and tears burned in my eyes. It was silly. It was a minor cut. It stung, but it didn’t hurt.
“What?” Brie asked over the water.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t trust myself to speak without sobbing.
A moment later, she appeared at my side, wiping her hands on a dish towel. When she caught sight of the blood, she sucked in a breath. I knew she couldn’t stomach it. She had to close her eyes and talk to herself or sing whenever she needed a blood draw, and had a fun habit of fainting if she saw the filled vials.
“Okay,” she said, leading me to the sink. “We’ll just get this cleaned up. No problem. Nothing to worry about. All good here.”
“Everything is not all good here.” She held my hand under the running water. “Nothing is good and there are tons of problems. How do you not see this?”
After a moment, she said, “I see it, Whit, but I can’t stare too long or I won’t be able to function, and I guess that’s the difference between us. You see the problems and march straight toward them. I see the problems and go looking for a sunny spot where they won’t bother me unless I want them to.” She moved my hand away from the water, cringing as a small rush of crimson appeared along the cut. “Another minute under the water.”
I stared at the side of her face, not sure I recognized her in this light.
“I thought you’d be happy about me going to visit Mom,” she said. “I thought you wanted me to give her a chance. And it would get me out of your hair, which has to be a positive.”
“You’re talking about visiting Mom…by yourself?”
She snorted. I’d forgotten we had that in common. “Did you think I was going to drag you out there with me? No, no, no. I’m crazy, but I’m not cruel.” When I could only blink at her, she added, “I’m sorry about everything that happened with Joseph. You were right about him. I should’ve picked up on all the red flags along the way, but I didn’t, and it was awful. For both of us.”
I nodded and let her examine my finger again. The bleeding had stopped. It wasn’t deep enough for stitches, but would be annoying for a few days.
She wrapped a paper towel around my hand and pointed at me, saying, “Stay there while I clean this up.”
