Page 22 of Grief & Glitter

“Stop.”

He grinned. “See? You answered.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

I really didn’t.

Ryan sat back, pleased with himself. “Or I could shorten Gideon?”

I shrugged.

“Giddy?”

“That’s worse than Tufty.”

“Gidlington?”

“Not even a name.”

“Gids?”

Everything inside me went still, and Ryan knew immediately there was something wrong, his expression sliding from teasing to worried.

“Shit. What did I say?”

I stared into the bowl between us.

Gids. Wait up, Gids, Ethan ran down the stairs after me. Dad says dinner, Gids, his fist banging on my bedroom door. Ethan on the ice, cheeks red from the cold, laughing as he chased me down. You cheated, Gids.

“My brother used to call me that.”

“Oh.” Ryan went pale. “Gideon, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“How would you know? It’s fine⁠—”

“I won’t call you that. Ever. Forget I said it.”

I looked up at him. He looked wrecked about it, and that pulled me out of the memory before I sank too far into it.

“It’s okay.”

“No, I⁠—”

“It’s okay, Ryan.”

He stopped. I waited for the pain to come properly, for that familiar pressure to settle behind my ribs and turn Ethan into ice and water and screaming. It didn’t. There was sadness, but there was Ryan sitting across from me with a piece of chicken halfway to his mouth, looking devastated because he’d accidentally called me something he couldn’t possibly have known belonged to my brother, and maybe it really was okay.

“You can call me Gids,” I said.

His eyes widened. “I absolutely do not have to.”

“I know.”

“Then why would I?”

I thought about it. Because Ethan was dead. Because Ryan wasn’t. Because maybe one name didn’t have to belong to one memory forever. “I think I’d like it.”