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"And how do you?" I asked. "You hate this world as much as I do."
"Yeah," he agreed. "But I'm thinking about the long game here, Harm. If I play my cards right, I can set us both up for life without needing to worry about kissing the matriarchal ass of our beloved grandmother to secure my place in the will."
"Will," I snorted. "Please, evil people never die."
"True," he agreed, sighing.
"Besides, I don't need you to take care of me, Jones. You're my little brother, remember? I'm supposed to take care of you."
"You need someone to look out for you," he said, more serious than I had seen him in a long time as he looked at me.
"I—" I started.
"Harmon!" my mom's voice called, a glint of the old her in her voice, happy, excited, pleased to see me.
"Mom," I said, turning, giving her a smile, reaching for the hands she offered me. Hugs, it seemed, were a thing of the past for us. We held hands and squeezed hard. That was as good as it got. And, I guess, in a way, it was a relief because if I embraced her, I would feel all the bones popping out of her skin, would know for certain just how thin she had gotten under a dress made of a thick material that refused to cling, so it covered up a lot of what was beneath.
"You look lovely," she said, eyes warm as they moved over me. "And you brought a date!" she said, beaming over at Huck for a moment.
You know, until my step-father moved in beside her, all stiff on his braced legs, pushing a lot of his weight onto his ornate dark wood cane.
I swear my mother shrank as he moved beside her, making me hate the man more than I already did. "Jones, we appreciate you attempting to look like a normal human being," he said, nodding his approval at my brother. "Harmon," he greeted me, making no comment on my attempts to look presentable for them, to not embarrass them.
"Evan," I said, watching as his jaw tightened enough for a muscle to tick there. When they'd married I'd been forced to call him my father.
It wasn't until after The Incident that I reverted to calling him by his first name. It pissed him off. And that brought me a small bit of joy.
We shared tense, formal conversation as a "family" for fifteen minutes before my step-father led my mother away.
She glanced over her shoulder at me, mouthing that she loved me.
I mimed back to call me, getting a nod even though we both knew she probably wouldn't, almost never did, unless she was drunk and sad and needed someone to cry to.
"I need a drink," Jones said, jaw tight, reminding me a bit of his father, even though I knew that was about where the similarities started and stopped.
With that, he was gone, and Huck was standing there, his face a mask I couldn't see under.
"So, let me get this right," he said as he led me over toward a private corner of the garden under a towering maple. "Your step-father keeps your mom away from you. And your mother is trapped somehow."
"Essentially, yeah. I mean, she could leave. Of course she could. And I remind her of that every chance I can. I will try to again before we leave. But she just... she can't. I don't understand it, but she can't."
"And you come here and put up with your shitty family just to get the chance to tell her she can leave if she wants to."
"Pretty much."
"You're a good daughter, babe," he told me, making it feel like someone had squeezed my heart in my chest. "Hey," he said, eyes going wide, concerned, making me realize that the sting in my eyes was tears, and that they were threatening to spill over. "No, don't do that," he demanded, looking lost.
And the look of sheer terror on his face when a single tear managed to spill over and slide down my cheek actually made a hysterical laugh bubble up and burst out.
"You're acting fucking crazy right now," he declared as the laughs kept coming, as the tears kept streaming at the same time.
"Your... face... oh... God..." I gasped, leaning my forehead into his shoulder, trying to pull it together. "Okay. Whoosh," I said, straightening, reaching up to wipe the wetness off my cheeks. "Wow. I needed that. You looked ready to bolt," I told him, smiling. "Didn't you ever have to deal with your sister crying?"
"You'd have to meet Gus to understand, but she's not really much of a crier. A shit-starter, a pain in the ass, the reason I had trouble sleeping my entire life until she settled down and moved away, sure, but not a crier. And if she did cry, I'm guessing that was what she had Ayanna for."
