He shifts in his seat, trying to dampen his own anger.
“Drew, Harriet is sick,” Evie interrupts, placing her hand over mine as if to will me to calm down. It has completely the opposite effect. “She’ll be four in three months’ time. Hopefully.”
Hopefully?
I slip my hand out from under hers and sit back in my chair, arms crossed, the conversation having taken a complete turn. Oliver looks emotionally wrecked. He hasn’t shaved, and he’s wearing a crushed shirt, not in a trendy way but because he simply doesn’t seem to care. He looks tormented. My compassion for him attempts to turn over, like an engine without oil trying to start.
“We’re all having human leukocyte antigen typing,” he says, his voice flat. “For bone marrow. They’re looking for familial compatibility …” He chokes up.
“Oliver isn’t a match,” Evie fills in. “Drew, it’s a long shot, but they’re widening the search to other family members.”
I look at her, and then at him. When his eyes meet mine, I know it’s with the knowledge that we are brothers.
“How long have you known?” I expected it to feel different—having a brother. Instead, as I glance from him to Evie, I remember he has the relationship I’ve always wanted. And he’s ruined that too. I loathe the man.
“My father only told me this week when none of us matched. She’s his only grandchild. He’s desperate.”
Desperate.Hisfather? Ready to acknowledge my existence, but only because he needs something?
“I know it’s upsetting,” Evie begins. The way she’s trying to smooth this over infuriates me.
“Don’t lecture me about what’s upsetting,” I tell her, folding the napkin, putting it on the table, pushing my chair back, andstanding up. “Ourfather deserted me, Oliver. I suspect he gaslit my mother into her grave. He showed up at her wake and warned me off speaking to you, Evie. Forgive me if I’m not playing happy families here.”
“Please, Drew,” Oliver says, standing up and trying to block my exit. “Please.She’s a three-year-old child.”
I glare at him. I’m angry and hurt and more sidelined than ever. “Of course I’ll bloody get tested, Oliver, I’m not a fucking monster. Send me the details.”
And as I walk out into the harsh sunlight in the street, which is bustling with businesspeople power walking between meetings and mothers pushing strollers and cabdrivers honking horns, my breath rushes as I contemplate the fact that I had nobody left. No family. Not a single person since Mum died. I’ve been totally alone against everything, anchorless.
And now I have a niece.
the PRESENT
69
Evie
My dad keepseverything, and it strikes me that he probably has a copy of my wedding video stashed somewhere in the house. I leave Drew, mybrother-in-law, who I justkissed, on the deck and drag Bree inside by the hand.
“I can’t believe he kept another secret from me,” I whisper once we’re in the living room. “And let me kiss him.” And kissed me back.Like that.
“Youkissedhim?”
It was incredible. For a few delirious seconds, I slipped into a world of hope. Life wasn’t just a confusing jumble of memory fragments and odd behavior. It wasconnected. I felt like, even if I couldn’t remember my past, I’d caught a glimpse into some kind of delicious future.
But then that was confiscated too.
“Obviously, I shouldn’t have.”
“If you had your memory back, you’d know I was always Team Drew.”
She looks alight with something, but I don’t have time for this. I kneel on the floor in front of the TV cabinet, swing the doors open, and search through the mess. Honestly, it’s like sorting through the National Film and Sound Archive. Oldrecordings ofYes Ministeron VHS from the eighties.Columbo.Fawlty Towers. I have amnesia and even I know about streaming services! What’s Dad’s excuse?
Right near the back, I find a stash of family videos and DVDs. All the footage he took of me when I was little. Dance performances. Soccer matches. Band concerts. It brings tears to my eyes, thinking about just how loved I am. Or was.
My fingers find a DVD case with a photo of Oliver and me on the cover. The wedding dress is no surprise—I saw it in the slideshow at the funeral. I can see how I arrived at the choice. It looks vintage in style, but it’s not authentic. It’s a modern take on the drop-waist 1920s gowns I always thought were so elegant. Dripping with lace and pearls.And hope …
I slip the disc into the DVD player, grab the remote, and sit back on the couch beside Bree, my thumb trembling as I press play. It’s a typically mushy production. Baby photos of us both as an introduction. Pictures from school. Photos of Oliver that I recognize from his funeral slideshow too—muddy on a sports field, wielding a shiny gold trophy. On stage in his fancy school blazer with blue-and-gold piping at a debate. In a cap and gown at a university graduation. Me in the backyard in Newcastle, sunlight streaming through the trees, chasing butterflies … That was always my mum’s favorite photo of me as a kid, and I long to be that carefree girl again.
