Anger didn’t come easily when it came to Holden. It never had. Of course it existed. It had to. He had done this. To himself. And to me. But my love for him dulled it. Smoothed it down. I wished it erased it entirely, the way a waterfall scours rock down to nothing. Instead, the force of that love only softened the edges. Rounded the anger until it no longer cut, but still remained.
“Promise me,” Holden said quietly. He looked affected now, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. “Promise me you won’t ever let anyone change your mind about that. Ever.”
“I promise,” I said without hesitation. And I meant it.
Holden let out another breath, heavier this time. “You know better than me,” he said. “You’re smarter than me. Don’t let anyone make you forget that.”
I didn’t fully understand what he meant. Not yet. But I nodded anyway.
Sunbeams slipping through my curtains pulled me gently into consciousness. I kept my eyes closed for a moment longer, grounding myself, making sure my mind stayed tethered to reality instead of drifting back into the dream I’d just beenfloating through. I stretched slowly, feeling the familiar tension in my back ease. It wasn’t until my arm brushed against another body that my eyes flew open.
The jolt of surprise passed almost immediately when I saw Cherry curled beside me, fast asleep. The conversation I’d had with Holden the night before had left my head so foggy I’d completely forgotten she was there. Cherry was still wearing her work uniform, which made me shake my head softly. Of course she hadn’t bothered to change. The blankets had been kicked off her entirely, her legs bare, tiny goosebumps scattered across her skin. I carefully pulled the blanket back over her, tucking it around her shoulders before glancing toward my clock. A quiet groan escaped me when I saw the time. I’d fallen asleep far too late for this to feel reasonable.
There was no point in trying to go back to sleep. That was one of the traits I hated most about myself. Once I was awake, I was awake. I listened carefully, straining for sounds beyond my room. Faint footsteps moved through the kitchen below, the subtle rhythm of a house already stirring. Anyone who’d grown up in a small home knew the feeling. You learned where people were just by listening. It wasn’t Holden. And it wasn’t Cherry. Both of them could sleep through anything, well past noon if given the chance.
I slipped out from the warmth of my bed and into the slippers waiting beside it, moving quietly. I changed out of my pajamas, though the clothes I pulled on were so worn and familiar they barely felt different. As I crept down the stairs, I heard my mother humming. I moved carefully, keeping my steps light for the sake of both Cherry and Holden. When I rounded the corner, I spotted her at the stove. She was flipping pancakes, shoulders swaying slightly to a song only she could hear. Notquite dancing. But close. Relief radiated off her in waves. I knew exactly why. Holden was home.
“Morning, my sweet girl,” my mom said gently, her voice drifting through the kitchen and reminding me I’d been standing there watching her. “Are you okay?”
“Oh.” I nodded quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine. Good morning.”
“I’m making pancakes,” she smiled, flipping one with an easy flick of her wrist. “Though from the commotion we heard last night, I figured the three of you wouldn’t be up for another couple of hours.”
“Yeah,” I said, walking into the kitchen and sliding onto a stool at the breakfast bar. “Sorry if we woke you up.”
“It’s fine,” she laughed softly. “But wow, Cherry’s voice really carries.”
I smiled despite myself. We both knew it was true. And we both knew she loved Cherry like one of her own. My mother’s love never came with judgment or irritation. She gave it freely, completely, without conditions. She loved me through every version of myself. She loved Holden through every version of him. She loved him when he was using. She loved him when he was withdrawing. But her love for him when he was sober, that kind of love filled the entire house with light.
“Mom,” I said quietly.
Something in my tone made her smile fade just a little. “Yes?”
“Why is Holden home?” I asked. “He wasn’t supposed to be home yet.” Her reaction was immediate. Subtle, but unmistakable. I watched the calculation flicker across her face as she weighed how much truth she was ready to hand me.
“Well,” she sighed, resting the spatula on the edge of the pan. “He was doing well at the facility.” She hesitated, then glanced at me with a look that was almost apologetic. “And it’s an expensive place to keep someone, Blair.”
“Oh,” I nodded. I understood right away. They’d run out of money. “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming home?”
She exhaled slowly, her eyes searching my face. “Holden asked us not to tell you,” she said gently. “He didn’t want you worrying until you could see for yourself how much better he’s doing. Blair, you’ve been… Well, you’ve been living lately.” I frowned. “You’ve been having fun. You’ve been spending time with Cherry and that boy who showed up at the door,” she said gently.
“Mom,” I said, my voice sharp with confusion. “What does that mean? I’ve been living?”
“You’ve been staying out,” she explained. “You’ve been doing things besides working and sitting in your room.” She smiled softly, like she was proud. “You’ve been acting the way a teenager is supposed to act.”
I blinked, slow and deliberate, trying to make sense of her words. I didn’t understand. I thought I was doing everything right. I thought I’d been the good one. The careful one. The steady one. I’d followed the rules. I’d kept myself small and quiet and safe—for her. For Holden. For everyone. Hadn’t I?
“You’ve been living through Holden’s pain for the past three years, Blair,” my mom said gently. “And I get it. I understand that you’re worried. But Holden’s struggles aren’t your own.” She paused, watching me closely. “I think you were finally starting to realize that.” She set the spatula down and crossed the kitchen, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me into her side.
“He’s my twin,” I sighed at last. “It feels like it is my pain.”
“You can feel his pain and still experience your own life, darling,” she said, pressing a kiss into my hair. “I want you to remember that.”
“Okay,” I told her quietly. I tried to really listen this time, not just hear the words. “I’ll try, Mom.”
“Good,” she said, giving my shoulder a small squeeze before returning to the stove. A moment later she groaned softly. “Oh, darn it. I burnt these ones.”
“Give them to Cherry,” I said with a low laugh. “She’ll still eat them.”
