If it weren’t for everything else that came with it, I might be jealous of my brother’s seemingly-boundless optimism.
Worried about something? Bake a cake about it.
Feeling guilty about something? Go to confession about it.
Unsure of the right choice to make in any given situation? Flip the Bible to such-and-such page, there’s a verse there that will answer every question you could ever possibly have.
I don’t find the same peace that he does in baking, I don’t have our parents to go to for guidance, and I sure as shit don’t have God to turn to, anymore, if I ever even did to begin with.
There’s only one other place I can think to go, and even that, I’m not sure of.
Every time I come to this building, it gives me the creeps.
The gold and white, the décor; it’s all just a little too close to looking like a church for me. Sure, there aren’t any crucifixes or pictures of Jesus watching me from the walls, but the energy is there. I can feel it scratching at my bones.
Locking eyes with a familiar man seated behind the reception desk, I offer a nod in greeting, and he sighs as I step toward him. His eyes scan something in front of him and his fingers fly across his keyboard before I’m even standing in front of him.
“Mr. Montgomery is in a meeting,” he tells me as I approach. “He isn’t available.”
“Yeah, he’s always in a meeting, isn’t he,” I snark. “Every time I come here, every time I call. He’s in a meeting, or he’s at a lunch, or he’s just not in the office. Funny how that works, isn’t it?”
Pressing my fingertips to the counter top in front of me, I lean closer to the man.
“I know you have some list of names in front of you that you’re supposed to send away. I get it. Maybe if I change my name, I can see my brother. Is that what I need to do? Do I just need to be someone fucking else?” I demand.
In my peripheral, a security guard inches closer to me at the rise in my volume.
“I’m leaving, alright? just— tell him I came by.” Shaking my head at the break in my voice, I add, “Tell him that I’m not fucking like them.”
The side of my fist pounds against the counter as I fire one last desperate glance toward the elevator no more than a hundred feet away from me.
My eyes move to the ceiling above me as I walk out of the building with a defeated shake of my head.
Nash liked a photo I posted online a few months back, and I thought maybe, justmaybe, he’d been reaching out to me. That it was a chance to finally reconnect after years and years of missed calls, ignored visits, and excuse after excuse from all of his lackeys.
I’d sent him a message afterward, inviting him to fly out and stay with us for a few days. A week. A month, if he wanted to. Whatever he would have given me, I would have taken.
When he left me on delivered, I realized he’d just interacted by accident. He didn’t mean to let me know that he was there. He may not have even noticed that he’d done it.
But now I know that he’s been watching us, and now I’m here again.
For all I know, he was right above my head only mere seconds ago.
One trip in an elevator, and almost twenty-seven fucking years of waiting would have been over.
I can still remember what he looked like then, how tall he was, what he fucking smelled like.
I still remember what it sounded like when they took him away.
I remember Edie crying so hard, she hurled in Molly’s favorite ficus.
I remember thinking she might cry herself to death.
That she might scream so hard, her lungs would pop like balloons at the end of a party and she’d drop dead, right there in the foyer.
We may not have died that day, but a little piece of each of us did.
Chapter 19
