Page 34 of Loverboy

I was private about my depression. After years of Mom trying to fix it with everything from therapy to electroshock treatment, I’d learned to live with it because I had to. My family needed me. I was the only one strong enough to keep us together.

Despite Mom’s best efforts, it had stopped feeling like home when Milo and Blane left. I was born an only child, but I’d forgotten what it felt like over the years of having them with me, and being forced to remember it this last year had everything I’d sealed away seeping through the cracks.

I’d always been a loner. I was the weird kid, your stereotypical nerd, who got relentlessly bullied. There wasn’t anything special about it. I went to my classes, got tortured a little in between by shitty teenagers, went home and buried myself in books to forget about it all. I kept my head down, knowing one day I’d never see any of those kids ever again. At least life was consistent.

Milo upended all of that. He was spontaneous and fun, everything that I wasn’t. He didn’t let me stay in my little bubble. Before I knew it, all of his friends were my friends, and I was being dragged to parties and getting the full-blown teenage experience I thought I’d never have.

But I saw where that fun-loving, heart-on-his-sleeve personality got him. In the end, he was always getting hurt because of the way he let everyone in, and I couldn’t stand it. So I got a little protective. I grew a backbone, one strong enough to carry the weight of two.

He’d always be safe with me.

The car had gone cold in the few minutes the engine was off, and I was sure we’d see snowfall by the end of the month. I had to go inside. The sooner I got my check-in with Mom out of the way, the sooner I could move on to my next wellness check.

Inside, my attention immediately turned to the recliner in the corner of the living room. Even empty, it was lived-in. The fabric was worn, the colour faded, and many threads were loose. The empty chair meant Dad was still out of town.

Relief hit instantly. I didn’t hate my father, despite having a dozen reasons why it would make sense to. The only thing I felt was disappointment, like I’d been robbed of a family dynamic everyone else had. When he was absent, Mom was happier, which meant less for me to worry about.

I went to the kitchen first, taking inventory of what she had and what she might need. It was another way I soothed my own wounds, making sure the cupboards were full after growing up with so little. With three kids packed into such a small space and limited income, it was a small thing I did to make things feel right, like I’d fixed them.

Dozens of photos were stuck to the fridge, three teenagers present in every one—me, Milo, and Blane. A familiar explosion of colour caught my eye, just like it always did, from the one time the three of us thought it would be a great idea to paint the kitchen an offensive shade of bright green. Arms draped over each other’s shoulders, we were covered head-to-toe in paint.

I’d find a way to get Milo back to that paint-covered smile, even if it killed me.

I moved on quickly, the weight of everything I should’ve done differently as a teenager threatening to pull me under. In my childhood room upstairs, I’d tucked away all of the medications I removed to keep Milo safe from himself. Even though he didn’t come here on his own anymore, I still checked the closet, making sure they were right where I’d left them.

Sleeping pills. Anxiety medication. Over-the-counter cold and flu treatments.

I ran my fingers slowly along the shelf.

Something was missing.

“How’s Milo doing?” Mom’s voice startled me.

“Better,” I said quietly, shutting the closet and turning to face her. “He’s doing better.”

“That’s good.”

I studied her clinically, taking in the familiar sight of heavy bags under her eyes. She was still wearing her restaurant apron, hair tied haphazardly into a bun, loose strands of brown and grey sticking out. It pissed me off. How could Milo know she was struggling and still choose to put her through this?

To put me through this?

“You’re doing great, baby,” she said, rubbing my shoulder. “He’s gonna be okay.”

“I know,” I said tightly, my eyes beginning to burn.

“I’m good here. You focus on your brother.”

She didn’t have to tell me. I never had to choose—not when it was never a choice in the first place. I didn’t feel bad for putting Milo first. I only felt bad for how easily the decision came.

“I’ve got it under control,” I assured her, my voice sounding half-hearted even to me.

“Good.” She smiled. “When he’s feeling better, bring him over for dinner.”

“I will,” I promised, running a hand down my face. “He just needs a little more time.”

She wrapped her thin arms around me and squeezed tight. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, returning the hug with a heart full of lead. I couldn’t admit that it felt like I was failing all over again.

“I’m going to head out now,” I murmured, tucking her head under my chin. “Call me if you need anything.”