And it’s the reason I say, “Text me Ben’s address. I’ll see you late tonight.” Because fuck self-preservation when your brother needs you.
twenty-six
I can’t remembera day I woke up and instantly knew where I was. The confusion is transitory, passing in seconds, but always present. Today is no different.
I’m in Soph’s bed. Alone. The curtains are drawn, but the room is light, telling me the sun is high in the sky.
Reaching for my shorts on the floor next to the bed, I slip my phone from the pocket and check the time. It’s almost eleven. I slept for ten hours. Unmedicated. I haven’t done that in years.
When we arrived last night, it was almost eleven. Soph’s sister and nephew were at a movie, so the house was quiet. Soph showed Jess to one bedroom, and then I followed her into the other. Where I buried my face between her thighs.
I shower in the adjoining bathroom and put on the clothes I wore yesterday. I need to do laundry today.
Multiple voices drift down the hall when I open the door, and I wait for the nerves to set in like they normally do in a situation like this. On cue, my heart rate picks up. Meeting new people never used to bother me, but the past few years, the anxiety is real. Returning to my bag at the foot of the bed, I locate thecorrect medication bottle and swallow the pill dry. Bolstered, I venture down the hall.
Everyone is gathered in the kitchen, and music is playing in the background. I recognize the song, Vessel’s voice unmistakable, and something about it relaxes me. Soph’s sitting on the island counter next to a teenage boy with dark, curly hair. They’re both holding cell phones pointed across the room and wearing matching slight smiles that tip up only on the left side.
I hear Jess a moment before I see him. “You’re winding me up, Mabel. You were a burlesque dancer?” He’s standing in front of the stove between two women. The comment was directed at the tiny one with white hair.
She takes the spatula from his hand and hip checks him. Because she’s so short and he’s so tall, it connects with his lower thigh. She starts flipping pancakes on the griddle. “My stage name was Mabel Syrup. Why is that so hard to believe? I was young and—” she raises her voice, “cover your ears, Benji,” without turning around to make sure he did, she continues, “—voluptuous once. I may be able to tuck my bosom in my waistband now, but back in my prime, they were perky little devils. Lola’s trying to talk me into resurrecting Mabel Syrup and setting up anOnly Gransaccount. It’s a shame to waste what the good lord gave me, and a little side hustle never hurts.”
“Hell yeah, Mabel.” The woman on Jess’s other side cheers.
Soph hops down, setting her phone on the counter. “Morning, sleepyhead.”
“Morning,” I whisper into her hair as I pull her into a hug. She grounds me. “Morning, everyone,” I say over her head to the room.
Soph spins within my embrace, and my hands remain clasped but shift from her lower back to her stomach. She crosses her arms, and a hand comes to rest on each of my forearms.
“Hey, Ev,” Jess says, as he turns around, and I see the front of the apron. It reads:My cake isn’t the only thing that’s moist. “You’re just in time for pancakes.”
“Benji, Lo, Mabel,” Soph says, “this is Ever.”
Releasing Soph, I take a step toward Lola first because she’s closest. There aren’t many physical similarities between them, but their big, brown eyes and full lips are carbon copies of each other.
“Hey, Lola.”
“Hi, Ever. We’re huggers,” she says and embraces me so tight it almost knocks the wind out of me.
“We’re not,” Benji and Soph rebuke.
Lola shakes her head as she releases me. “They’re in denial.”
When I bump fists with Benji, he whispers, “My mom’s kind of a lot. You’ll get used to it.”
“So is my brother. You might not get used to it,” I respond.
He cracks a smile, and it floods me with unexpected relief. I know how much Soph’s family means to her, and I just realized how much I want their approval.
I walk to Mabel, who’s stacking pancakes on a serving platter. “You need any help, Mabel?”
She pats me on the arm, and it’s loving. “Hi, sweetie. Hope you’re hungry.”
When she’s done plating, I carry it to the dining table. The table for four is set for six, and it’s the kind of cramped that makes you feel like you’re part of something.
“You want coffee, Ever?” Soph calls from across the kitchen.
“Yeah, I’ll go grab my?—”
