I sit at my desk, nervously bouncing my knee as I wait to hear the telltale mechanical hum.
Dad went to go pick up Lincoln from the train station. He’ll be here for a few days before heading back for the fall semester.
Yesterday, as I drove home from Maggie’s, feeling a twist of shame and sadness in my gut, I couldn’t stop thinking about how sweet she and Vivian were together.
Lincoln and I have barely talked all summer.
Sure, it started because I was angry at him after he finally told me what happened the night before I first looped. But then it turned into something else:
I just don’t really know what to say to him.
I want to saysomething, though. We can’t go on like this.
So last night, lying in bed, I decided it will happen today.
I’ll talk to Lincoln.
If I put it off this afternoon, I know I won’t do it. I’ll make excuses. I’ll avoid. I’ll find ways to convince myself thatWelp! Timing just didn’t work out. Maybe next time!
But I can’t carry this feeling around for three more months.
There’s the garage.
They’re here.
I look at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my door, as if my appearance is going to affect how this goes. I look pale and worried. So glad I checked.
Downstairs, Mom is in the kitchen assembling a sandwich. “I’m throwing this together for your brother. You want one?”
“Um, no, I’m good,” I say. Whatever I put into my stomach right now will likely pop right back up.
The door to the garage opens, Lincoln entering first with a travel bag over his shoulder, Dad trudging behind him. Neither of them are speaking.
“Hi, sweetie,” Mom says, giving Lincoln a hug.
“Hey, bro!” I say, maybe a bit too exuberant.
“Hey,” Lincoln says, eyes on the tiles. “I’m just gonna go to my room for a bit.”
“Oh, all right,” Mom says. “I have a turkey sandwich here if you want it.”
“Maybe later.” Lincoln moves straight through the kitchen and up the stairs to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.
He’s still pissed at me, I guess. Damn.
“Is he okay?” Mom asks.
Dad sighs, but I don’t listen to the rest of what he says. I’m not letting this go. I am going to talk to my brother.
I run up the stairs and am about to knock on the door when I hear sounds from inside.
Deep breaths. Sniffles. Sobs.
“Link...?” I say quietly.
No response. I say his name again.
“Not now, CT,” Lincoln says, his voice thick.
