His fingers fiddle with his bottom lip, even while he talks. “About her wrist. She just . . . leaned on it weird or something. She had a piano test coming up and she sort of freaked out about it. I told her I was sorry, that maybe we should’ve thought it through better, but I swear to god she said yes before. But she just kept at me. You know how she gets. She’s passionate. And honestly, I’m a little sick of her drama. So I got pissed, and yeah, I was sort of buzzed, and I told her maybe we needed a break and she agreed and I left while she fumed and that’s it. Next thing I know, she’s ignoring my texts and Mom’s picking me up from school telling me she got a call from Hannah’s parents.”
Throughout his story, Owen keeps messing with his lip. His elbow is propped on his knee and he’s picking at the bottom corner of his mouth. It’s such a subtle gesture, my parents don’t notice. I don’t think even he realizes he’s doing it. He looks straight at me, voice steady, expression the perfect mix of embarrassed and confident. Mom nods along with his story, sipping tea, like we’re talking about some childish playground scuffle.
But as I listen to him, watch him, it’s as if my skin is peeling away, struggling to reveal this new girl I’m not sure I want to be. It’s as though the stars are breaking apart in the sky, nothing but dark underneath.
Because I know my brother is lying. The best lies are layered in between solid truths—?I know that better than anyone. And Owen is a careful storyteller, blanketing every falsehood with a truth. But he’s not careful enough. I know him too well, share too much blood, and for the first time in my life, I wish I didn’t. I’m not even sure what it is exactly, this nebulous certainty that he’s lying—?at least about some part of all of this—?in my gut. Maybe it’s a twin thing, that almost supernatural inability to bullshit each other.
Finally, Owen goes quiet. I know I should say something, but all I can do is flick my eyes down to his fingers on his lip and back again. He sees me do it and calmly lets his hand fall into his lap.
“So that’s our story,” Mom says, curling her hands around her mug.
“Our story?” I say, and Mom winces, realizing how her words sounded.
“That’s what happened,” she amends. “The Priors haven’t contacted us again since yesterday, so I’m hoping the state attorney realizes how ridiculous this is after he talks with Owen tomorrow afternoon. Whatever happens, we need to be united. As a family.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means you don’t talk to anyone about this,” Dad says quietly. “Kids are going to gossip, but we need you to refrain, Mara. Just ignore it. Support your brother.”
I can’t seem to drag my eyes away from Owen. You want me to lie is on the tip of my tongue, but to my parents, it’s not a lie. It can’t be. Not for them. He’s their kid and they’ve swallowed his story whole. It’s part of them now.
The panic rises fast, a lightning bolt ripping up my middle and splitting me in two. Daughter and sister versus the frantic pump of my blood in the center of my chest.
My family watches me, waits for me to say, Okay, of course, whatever you need, but I can’t form the words.
I won’t.
“I need a minute,” I say, jumping to my feet so fast, my hip collides with the end table next to my chair, disrupting my cup and splashing tea all over the polished wood.
“Mara, sit down,” Mom says. Dad heads to the kitchen for a towel.
“I just need a minute, Mom. This is a lot, okay? Hannah’s my friend.” Truths, hiding everything I can’t say.
“Owen is your brother.”
“I know that,” I say, but my voice is a cracked whisper.
“Let her go, Mom,” Owen says, his eyes on me. Something brews just underneath them, something pained and lonely. I look away. “You know Mar—?she needs time to process. Remember when you changed our toothpaste to that natural stuff a couple years ago? She boycotted brushing her teeth for a week.”
Mom laughs, but it’s short and shallow. “Okay, you’re right. I know this is the last thing any of us expected to happen.” She glances up at me. “We’ve always adored Hannah, Mara. You know that.”
Dad comes back into the room, towel in hand, and mops up my spill. He’s even more quiet than usual and I wish I could read his mind. I know he’ll stand with my mother, with Owen, but Dad’s always been a little philosophical. He strives to see all sides, taught us that nothing is ever black and white.
Owen rubs circles on Mom’s back. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Oh, honey, me too. I know you must be so hurt that Hannah is saying all of these awful things. I wish we could talk to her.”
I blink, trying to reconcile this woman in front of me with the woman whose eyes gleamed at the mere thought of Empower pissing off the patriarchy just yesterday. The possibility that Hannah is telling the truth never entered my mother’s mind, but she’s not exactly demonizing Hannah either. There’s been a misunderstanding. Any doubt about that was fleeting and flimsy, quickly buried under a mountain of unconditional trust.
This. This is why I never said anything.
Because no one ever believes the girl.
My brother shrugs but looks down and away, the picture of putting on a brave face. Mom sets her cup on the coffee table and wraps her arms around him. I bite my lip hard and back up toward the hallway stairs to stop myself from joining them. My hands itch to hold my family—?hold them together.
But we’re already in pieces.
Later, I sneak downstairs for some water. It’s late and the house is dark and quiet, the amber glow over the kitchen sink the only thing lighting my way. I fill a glass and gulp it down.
