Page 16
“I’m sorry.”
God this is fucking embarrassing, more humiliating than anything I’ve ever experienced in front of my sister.
They just came home from going to the movies, and here I am, losing my sanity on their kitchen floor.
“You have nothing to apologize for, Sunny,” she whispers against my ear before pulling back, cupping my cheeks and forcing me to look her in the eyes. “Remember when I was fourteen and I used the bathroom for an hour and forty minutes every morning and you called me the slowest snail in the world?”
The question and the memory are enough to snap me out of the downward spiral I was sliding into.
“Yes?” I answer, though my confusion comes through. I was fifteen, and just as annoying as she was, only in different ways, but man, I really needed to pee.
“You are my brother, Sunny. There is literally nothing you could say to me that would make me feel attacked. You don’t ever have to defend yourself from me, or from Barry.”
My eyes shift up to her husband, to his imposing stature, and his hands . . . which are no longer curled into fists.
“I know,” I whisper to Hannah. “I swear I do, but my brain . . . it won’t let me decide how to react.”
“That’s okay,” she assures me.
Barry comes closer and crouches in front of us.
“We’re more than happy to keep reminding you until your brain gets with the program.” He offers me that kind smile that sponsors love, the one that’s boyish, a little playful, and the one my sister swears is the main reason why she tolerates him day to day.
It’s a great smile.
It made us all trust him pretty quickly despite the public image he had before meeting Hannah. I mean, the way he looked at her helped, but it was that honest smile . . .
I can’t know why his fingers curled, not exactly, but I do know he’d never hit me.
I know.
“God, Hannah, I’m—”
“Do not apologize again.”
There’s no sympathy in her voice anymore, and that helps. She’s back to her bossy self as she stands and offers me her hand.
“You’re not going to apologize for being stuck in the hell your mind has turned into. You’re going to stand up, and then sit while Barry gets us something fresh to drink, and we’ll wait for the takeout we already ordered.”
“Okay.”
I sound pathetic and weak.
I feel pathetic and weak.
She’s right, though.
My mind has turned into my own personal hell.
“I need help,” I realize as I say it, and the sob that builds as I rise doesn’t get a chance to escape before Hannah and Barry are squishing me in a group hug that . . . helps.
It really helps.
They don’t say anything, and I don’t think they need to.
Until the doorbell rings and Barry pulls back, gives my shoulder a final squeeze, then goes to get the takeout that I realize . . .
Yes, Hannah told me we’d get takeout today, before they left.
