Things survive. Even when you think they can’t.
“I have to talk to him,” I say.
Vaughn almost smiles. “Yeah. I figured you’d say that.”
“I have to tell him—” I stop. What do I have to tell Leo? That I love him? That I’ve loved him since somewhere between the unicorn onesie and the toothpaste? That every joke I made was a love letter I was too scared to send?
“You have to tell him he’s an idiot,” Vaughn supplies.
“He is a massive idiot.”
“To be fair, he’s a massive idiot who was prepared to suffer because he wanted you to be happy more than he wanted anything else. That’s a pretty high-quality idiot.”
“That point is arguable,” I grumble.
I look at my brother. He’s looking back at me with an expression I haven’t seen in years. Not since we were kids, before everything went wrong. The expression of someone who’s on my side.
“Thank you,” I say. “For telling me.”
“Thank Leo. He’s the one who?—”
“I’m thanking you. For being here. For the last two weeks. For Doctor Nutsworth.”
His mouth does something unsteady. “Archie, don’t make this?—”
“Shut up. I’m thanking you. Accept it.”
He accepts it. Badly, but he accepts it.
We sit there for a while, in a café near the Tower of London, two brothers who nearly lost each other and are slowly finding their way back.
I pull my phone out of my pocket.
“What are you doing?” Vaughn asks.
“Looking up flights to San Francisco.”
“You’re planning to turn up to see him in person?”
“Yes. If Leo Brennan thinks he can make a grand romantic sacrifice and then just go back to his spreadsheets, he has severely underestimated who he’s dealing with.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Leo
Going home to Detroit is like coming full circle for me. The neighborhood is different from the one I grew up in, but the dynamics in my parents’ house haven’t changed much.
I drop in to see them before I go to Caitlin’s place and find my mother is sober today, which is good. My father greets me with a nod and not much else. He’s sitting in front of the game, drinking a few beers, one hand on the armrest of the recliner that has a permanent indent in the shape of him.
He’s mellowed over the years, going from the angry, unpredictable force of my childhood to something slower and duller. Not kind. Just…spent. Like a storm that ran out of wind and left behind the silence you can never quite trust.
They don’t ask much about my life. None of us talks about the fact that Tommy’s in rehab again.
It’s not perfect. It’s not even close. But I’ve stopped needing it to be.
Caitlin lives just down the street from my parents. She looks tired, but she’s happy to see me, and that’s enough.
“So, I’m making up a whole lot of party bags to give away.” She leads me into her living room and gestures to a bunch of bags on a side table. “I know it seems ridiculous to give a wholelot of plastic crap, but it seems to be what all the parents at Kimmy’s school do.”
