It’s this. This conversation right here with my twin brother. For the past ten years, I haven’t sat down to acknowledge anyone else’s pain but my own. We all lost our mom. We all had to process that grief on top of the one that had already made a home inside each of us. I ran away, choosing to bury everything away, while they had no other choice but to stay and pick up the pieces I couldn’t carry.
Tears prick my eyes as I reach for his hand. He grips mine back tightly, neither of us saying anything for a long moment. Finally, I squeeze back, fingers trembling. “I’m sorry I left.”
He nods once, staring straight ahead. “I’m sorry, too.”
There’s nothing else to say. Sometimes the silence is enough.
We don’t talk for a good while, until what feels like word vomit comes out as we are halfway home. “Have you heard from Alex?” I don’t know why I feel the need to ask about him right now, but the question comes out before my brain processes it.
Frankie sighs, rolling his shoulders like the question makes him physically tense. “Yeah.”
I hesitate. “And?”
He side-eyes me quickly, not taking his eyes off the road for more than a second. “He came to the hospital. Every day.”
My head snaps toward him. “What?”
Frankie nods. “He’s been coming back every single day to see you since you were admitted. You said you didn’t want to see him, so Cam kept him out of your room.”
I stare at him, my mind scrambling to process what he said. “And no one told me?”
Frankie gives me a look. “Would it have made a difference?”
I don’t know the answer to that. Maybe I would’ve screamed at him. Maybe I would’ve sobbed into his shirt. Maybe I would’ve said nothing at all.
“I… I don’t know.”
Frankie sighs and pulls into the driveway and I see someone standing on a ladder with a paint roller in their hand, painting the siding of the yellow house a fresh coat of yellow. Sunlight hits his face just right, catching the sweat at his temple, the sharp angle of his jaw, the focused set of his mouth.
Alex turns to the sound of the truck tires crunching on the gravel, his eyes instantly meeting mine. I don’t even realize I’m staring until Frankie clears his throat beside me.
“Uh… yeah. About that.”
I tear my eyes away, looking back at Frankie as I open the door and step out. “What the hell is going on?”
Alex steps down from the ladder, wiping both hands on his jeans as he walks over towards me. “I didn’t want you coming home to a house that felt more like a project than a home.” He says simply.
I blink at him in disbelief.
Leo appears on the porch suddenly, carrying Mia in his arms. “It was all his idea.”
I blink between them, heart hammering in my chest. “You fixed my house?”
Alex shrugs. “You couldn’t do it yourself.”
I’m overwhelmed with too many emotions all tangled up and storming inside me—grief, gratitude, fury, affection, and guilt. I don’t even know which one is winning anymore.
Frankie grabs my bag. “I’ll help you inside.”
I shake my head. “I got it.”
Alex moves closer to help me anyway, offering a hand. I hesitate but then, slowly take it. His grip is warm and solid as he guides me up the steps and into the house, like he’s afraid I’ll shatter in his hands.
When I step inside, I feel like I’ve stepped into a dream, specifically the dream that I told him about the last time we were together. The floorboards don’t creak under my feet. The paint is fresh. The lights aren’t flickering. There is a small vase of wildflowers on the table, picked from all around the property, just like we used to pick together and I would leave on the windowsill when I was eighteen and stupidly in love with him.
I take slow, shaky steps through the house, absorbing every detail. The bathroom tiles that don’t have cracks running through them anymore. The door that doesn’t squeak when I push it open.
The space that finally feels like ahome.
