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It was funny to Conor that admitting to his panic attacks was going to be easier than explaining this.
“At first, my intention was to purge. I couldn’t sleep and I’ve run out of shelf space, so I thought I’d start making piles—of books to keep, to give away, regift. After an hour, I realized what I was really doing was looking for something.”
“What?” Matt prodded.
Conor took a deep breath and rubbed his chest. Not because he felt a panic attack coming on, but more because that action had become a nervous tic. “Something from Mom.”
Matt frowned. “Something you lost?”
He shook his head. “No. More like something I never found. You showed me the sketchbook she gave back to you the night she died.” Matt had invited him and Gage over for happy hour at his place a couple of months earlier. While they were there, Matt showed them a sketchbook he and Mom used to swap back and forth when Matt was younger. Both brilliant artists, Mom had found a way to share that talent with her oldest son.
Matt had stopped drawing during his teen years when he began spending more time with Dad, giving the sketchbook back to her, telling her that he was done with it. Mom had returned it as a gift for Matt’s twenty-third birthday. She’d killed herself just hours later, and Matt hadn’t been able to bring himself to open the present until this year.
“And I told you about the cookbook,” Gage said.
That same night, Gage admitted to finding some of his mother’s drawings in a cookbook the two of them often used, whipping up masterpieces for dinner. Cooking—in addition to video games—was a shared interest between Mom and Gage, yet another way the two of them spent time together.
“I never found anything really special like that. The only things I have from Mom are the books she gave me over the years.” Conor lifted his arms. “Countless books.”
“You always had your nose in one,” Gage said, though his smile this time was sadder.
“No inscriptions?” Matt asked, aware that was exactly what Conor had been hoping for.
“No. Nothing beyond ‘Merry Christmas’ or ‘Happy Birthday’ or ‘Love, Mom’. I know it sounds stupid. To wish for something tangible. I have my memories of her, and I know deep inside how much Mom loved me. I do. It’s just… Right now, it feels like all I inherited from her was this broken part in my brain.” Conor tapped his finger on the side of his head.
“Fuck,” Matt breathed. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think that. You’re not broken.”
“What if Mom’s illness started as panic attacks?” Conor asked. “I’ve looked it up, read countless articles. Depression and anxiety attacks are often linked together. How do I know there’s not a ticking time bomb inside my head waiting to go off? How do I know these anxiety attacks won’t progress to something worse?”
Matt shook his shoulder lightly, cutting him off. “Stop, Conor. Breathe.”
Conor rubbed his eyes wearily. “I haven’t slept well the last couple of nights.”
“Because of panic attacks?” Gage asked.
“Yes…and no. Things with me, Harper, and Luca have gotten pretty serious very quickly.”
Matt gave him a crooked grin. “That seems to be the Moretti way. None of them have the patience for a long-term relationship. They jump from first date to serious relationship to marriage talk, all within the span of a few weeks.”
Gage chuckled. “Suuuure. Liza’s the one pushing for the two of you to take a trip down the aisle. Sell that to someone else, bro, because I caught you browsing the internet, looking at engagement rings two days after you and Liza made your relationship Facebook official.”
Matt scowled but didn’t argue.
“Luca and Harper are—God…” Conor raked his hand through his hair. “They’re both so positive and upbeat and happy all the fucking time. I’ve never met two people who are always smiling and laughing and joking.”
Gage picked up his coffee cup, started to take a sip, reconsidered, then put it down again. “I get that. I felt the same way with Penny when we first started dating. Conor, we grew up in a house where that shit didn’t happen. I’m sure it does feel strange. Jesus, you should have seen me walking around Nonno and Nonna Moretti’s house on Christmas Eve. Suffered some serious culture shock that night.”
“That’s not the problem. I like to laugh and cut up and have fun as much as the next guy,” Conor said.
“Since when?” Gage joked.
Conor narrowed his eyes but forged on. “How can I ask them to be with me when…” For so many years, he’d eschewed relationship, dismissed the idea of marriage and children because he was determined he would not repeat the cycle. “I can’t put them or future children through the stuff we went through.”
“Put that out of your head right now.” Matt crossed his arms over his chest. “Because there’s no way in hell I’m going to let you throw away the chance at love, at marriage, and a family. We’re fixing this.”
“Aw shit, man. You did it now,” Gage said. “You invoked the CEO.”
Matt tossed Gage an exasperated look but continued. “You’re moving your office out of Enigma and into the Russo Enterprises’ building.”
