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Heleans over his plate, pulling his hand from hers to cover his face.Thenews visibly affects him.Ican tell he is moved, butRachellooks unsure.
“It’sbeautiful, isn’t it,Luke?”Itake her abandoned hand, and she squeezes it tightly.
Hisvoice breaks so he clears his throat, but it doesn’t hide the tears in his voice when he mumbles, “It’sperfect.”Suddenlyhe pushes back his chair and escapes down the hallway.
Whena door closes,Rachel’seyes widen. “Shit!Doyou think he hates it?”
“No, baby.It’sjust a direct hit to his heart.”
“ShouldIgo to him?Saysomething?”
“Nah.Hejust needs a few minutes.Let’stalk about something else for a bit so he doesn’t feel put on the spot when he returns.”
Shenods and stares down at her plate.Nothingis said between us.Theair is heavy again, andIwonder if the three of us will ever feel anything except this nagging agony.Whatwill it take?Mebeing around more often?Afew weeks?Afew months?Years?
10
Luke
Standingover the sink in the dark,Iclutch the edge of the counter, willing it to break instead of whatever is cracking inside my chest.Itis too damn much.Mom,Dad,Rachel,Evan…OliviaJeanette.Ican’t for a moment let myself consider whetherRachelis honoring my mother or trying to connect us by naming the baby after our mothers.
Iwant to break something.
Damn, sometimes it’s impossible to keep up this ruse thatI’mokay with everything the way it is.Thatit doesn’t rip me apart, while also filling me with relief, to come home and findRachelinEvan’sarms.Istay away soIcan fucking breathe under all this weight, and yet…I’msuffocating.WhenEvantouched me, spoke to me like we are more than just friends…
Icough trying to clear my throat soIcan catch my breath.
Thepicture in my wallet is somethingIcan feel constantly.Ishould hate this child that has single-handedly come between the three of us, but how canI?Isaw her tiny heartbeat on a grainy screen, andIfelt it in my bones.Iworry all the time, butIhave to be brave.Rachelhas to knowI’mhere for her and strong for her.
ButI’mnot.
Istare at the light seeping underneath the door.They’retalking, but it is little more than a low mumble.Ishouldn’t be away for so long.I’mnot sure ifIcan sit through the rest of dinner.
Turningon the faucet,Isplash cold water on my face and dry it off with the hand towel.Itsmells like her.
Adeep breath does little to strengthen my resolve, but it’s allIhave for now.WhenIreturn to the kitchen, they’re discussingEvan’sdrafting class.Ipick up my mostly empty plate and take it to the sink.
“Youcan leave the dishes,I’lltake care of them in the morning,”Itell her.
“You’releaving?Already?” she asks.
“Earlyday tomorrow,”Isay asIturn to face them.Shereally does seem well-rested this evening. “Thanksfor spending the day with her,Evan.”
Hestands but doesn’t come any closer. “Iwant to be here—more.”
“You’realways welcome here, little brother.Youknow this.”
Rachelstands, andEvanclears the dishes from the table. “Hopeit’s okay ifIgo to bed.Thefurther alongIget, the moreIregret having to be at work so early.”
Iwish she would let me drive her to and from work.Shewon’t.I’vetried. “Ican drive you tomorrow morning.”
Sheglares at me and raises an eyebrow. “Itold you to stop being so overprotective.I’mpregnant, not suffering from a concussion.”
“It’snot a bad idea,”Evaninterjects.
Shethrows her hands up. “Notyou too!Ugh!I’mgoing to bed.”Sheleans up and kisses him on the cheek.Theinnocent action stirs a fire low in my belly.It’sstoked further whenEvan’sfingers slide along her spine.
“Sleepwell,” he whispers.
