My brother’s dead.
And I have no idea how to move forward.
Angie
I push back into the bustling kitchen as the lunch rush slowly comes to an end. “Guys, can I get a rush on table nine, please?” I shout to the line cooks.
“Sure thing, Ms. Angie,” they call back, flirting a little.
I shake my head with a laugh and head back out to the floor. The late summer always brings a massive crowd into the city. One of the perks of living so close is I can either work at the TapHouse in the city or at a small, less-busy restaurant closer to home. I don’t mind the longer drive if it means my tips are huge at the end of the day. I walk by my tables, top off their drinks, and idly chat with those who have questions about the best places to hit up inPhiladelphia. I give them my top favorites and make my way back to the kitchen to see if my table's food is ready.
“You all are angels,” I call to them when I see my table’s food waiting for me and hurriedly walk the food out. “I’m so sorry about that,” I tell my table.
“No worries.”
I’m walking away when the music is suddenly cut off, and the TV takes over, making it the only thing to be heard.Weird, I think to myself, but ignore it on my way to the bar.
“What’s going on?” I finally ask one of the bartenders when no one has made an attempt to move and take a sip of water. I hold onto the cold glass of water because I always get way too overheated during the afternoon rush. Everyone else’s focus is still up toward what’s on the TV, but I’m not one to pay attention to the news. It’s too depressing.
“Angie,” someone calls behind me and I hear another gasp.
I look toward the voice when a face on the TV catches my attention.No. I think as the glass of water I’m holding falls to the floor and shatters. The ice-cold water drenches my shoes as I see my greatest nightmare come to life. I recognize that stupid black pickup truck my brother loved as much as his girlfriend, Kamryn, mangled beyond repair, as that stupid bumper sticker I stuck on the back as a joke sticks out like a sore thumb. I can’t look away from the news of the car crash and someone pulls me into their arms, catching me before I even know I’m falling.No.
“Angie,” someone calls again, but words don’t register. I just keep watching the headline news, reports of the accident, and how my brother was driving recklessly before heading straight on into the back of a semi truck.No, no, no,I think to myself as my eyes well with tears after seeing the headline of no survivors.
Soon, I’m moving. Being dragged out of the main restaurant and through the now silent kitchen to the smoker’s alley. As soon as the air hits me, I pull myself out of the person’s arms and throw up the contents in my stomach before I curl over as the sobs wrack my body.
“Let it out, Ang,” my manager, Hannah, says as she holds me.
“I can’t—” I try to get out through my sobs. “He—”How? is the only word that flashes behind my eyelids. How?
“I’m so sorry.” My body hums with Hannah’s voice as she holds me, but my brain registers nothing.
My brother, the only one to handle our parents' constant hovering, is dead. It’s like feeling an invisible string being snapped. You no longer feel the tension. It’s only you. Wandering around without someone to guide you. That’s who Liam was for me. We may not have been as close as we once were, but he was my guide. And now I have to make it in a world without my brother. A world I have never had to navigate alone.
Brandon
I stare at the black suit with the black tie and white dress shirt laying out on the bed in my childhood bedroom. When my grandpa got sick, my parents rushed us all to the closest department store to get us suits for a “just in case”. I didn’t know what that meant until a few weeks after the purchase of my first “funeral suit”, when he passed away. That was three years ago. And after that day, I placed the suit in the back of my closet and prayed I wouldn’t have to wear it again for at least another decade. It was also a signthat when I moved out of my parents’ house, I left the suit behind. Because why would I need it?
A soft knock on my door startles me out of the disdained look I’m giving to the aforementioned suit.
“Yeah,” I call out.
My dad pops his head into my room. For as long as I can remember, my dad was always put together. He’d get up before the sun and run a 5K, then come home and get ready for work, while helping my mom wrangle us boys. And he’s done that every day for the last twenty-nine years—at least he has since I was born. But my dad hasn’t been my dad in a week and losing James—I don’t know if we’ll ever get that version of him again.
“We’re gonna leave in about ten minutes.”
“Okay,” I tell him. I almost tack onI’m almost ready–but when is anyone really ready to bury a sibling, a son, a friend, or a fiancée?
He nods, backs his head out of my room, and closes the door. I’ve cried more in these past few days than I have in my entire life. It’s like there’s this elephant sitting on my chest, squeezing my throat, and every time I swallow, it gets harder and harder to breathe.
I put on my suit, still in disbelief that I’m going to my brother’s funeral. I pull myself together long enough to slide my wallet into the inside pocket of my suit jacket and pocket my phone. When I open the door to head out to the hallway, I stop.
When James and I were little—before Malcolm, Evan, and Ford were born—every Christmas morning we’d race each other down the stairs to see who would be the first one to the presents. And now, as I stare across the hall at the door that will likely never be open again, I feel the biggest piece of my soul split. I cover the distance between ourrooms and my hand hovers over the doorknob. But I don’t go inside. I haven’t since that night. It’s like I keep waiting to see my brother laying on his bed and talking with Emily. It’s a sort of illusion I’m clinging to. But the jangling of keys snaps me out of my sadness and I leave his door as I turn toward the stairs.
Someone is playing a cruel joke on my family. For as lively as we are, life has been snuffed out. On the drive to the church, the outside world is a blur. I couldn’t tell you a thing. Is it raining? Did we hit any traffic? I’m more than numb. And as I sit in the church, watching Emily, my almost sister-in-law, read what would have been her wedding vows to a room full of people—more pieces of my soul break. I wrap my arm around her shoulder when she joins us in the pew again and listen to words being said about my brother while silent tears flow down my face.
I can’t believe that this is real life and I would never wish this pain on anyone.
