We grab coffee in town and a couple of sandwiches from the corner deli, which Brooks tosses into an ice chest packed with ice. Of course he already had it in the truck. Of course he planned ahead. Convenient. Calculated. Classic Brooks.
Then we both slide on our sunglasses like some small-town knockoff version of a road-trip movie and head south. I don’t ask where we’re going. I don’t have to. Brooks always knows. Always has. And maybe, in some small way, I envy that. How sure he is of his direction.
The silence stretches until I can’t take it anymore.
"Can I ask you something about your grandma’s house?" I finally say.
"Sure," Brooks answers easily.
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, debating if I should even bring it up. But the words spill out anyway. "My dad said you’re still slowly packing it up. That it’s been… hard."
Brooks nods. "Yeah. Sure."
That’s it? Just sure? What a weird response. Then again, Brooks is full of weird responses. And secrets, apparently.
"So was it hard," I press, "helping us box up my dad’s stuff the other day? Knowing he’s still alive?"
There’s a shift in his tone. I brace for something I wasn’t expecting.
"I lied."
I blink. "You what?"
"I mean… not completely. But I already finished packing up the whole house months ago," he confesses, every word heavier than the last. "I’ve just been pretending I haven’t."
"Why?" I ask, stunned. "If it’s all boxed up, why not sell it?"
His face hardens. "It’s complicated, Ellie."
"I think if anyone understands complicated," I murmur, "it’s me. Try me."
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then, "It started small. Jasper got overwhelmed with your mom’s anxiety. Then your dad got so focused on keeping your mom stable that he stopped noticing how bad it was for Jasper. And Jasp? He just… shut down. So I stepped in. Ran errands. Made sure someone was around. Thought it’d be a few weeks. A couple months. And then…"
"You moved into my room," I finish quietly.
"Yeah." He clears his throat. "Didn’t mean to stay this long. But I don’t really have anyone else. And your family? They kind of became mine."
A flash of memory hits—Brooks eating dinner with us every night, Mom taking him to the movies with us, gifts wrapped under the Christmas tree with his name on them.
Maybe we did become his family.
"You put your whole life on hold," I whisper, "for my family?"
Brooks laughs once, humorless. "You got that from everything I just said?"
"Yes," I say softly. "I did."
He shrugs, eyes fixed on the road. "It wasn’t noble. It just felt… easier. Safer, maybe. Like being needed made it okay that I didn’t know what else I wanted."
"I think I get that," I admit. "I left because I needed something more. You stayed because… being needed was more."
"We’re two sides of the same coin," he says with a sad smile.
"Except one side chose to be responsible," I say. "And the other chose… escape."
"Doesn’t make either of us wrong," Brooks offers. "Just makes us human."
I glance at him, suddenly unsure if I want to look away.
