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Scaling seven or eight cubbies, I finger the top of the box, scooting it closer to the edge. I stretch and tip the box. As I try to catch it, my toe slips off the wood, and I tumble to the ground, landing on my arm. My head bounces off the floor, and everything falls out of the box, showering me with memories.
When I lift my neck off the ground, a sharp pain has me screaming to no one. There’s not a soul within miles of me. Mr. Taylor is at home. Beau is at home. My dad is God knows where. Once again, real life slaps me in the face.
I’m alone. Again.
When I try to roll over, pain shoots up my arm. Overwhelmed with physical and emotional pain, I decide the best option is to lie on my back and cry.
After a few minutes, I shuffle through the memorabilia scattered over the floor, bringing each piece above my face.
A picture from middle school with me in between Beau and Beckett. Written on the back is7thgrade. They’re both so handsome, but I notice that Beau’s smile is wide, showing his pearly whites, and Beckett’s smile is close-lipped. When I look closer, Beckett’s looking at me instead of the camera.
Another picture shows us from ninth grade. By this time, the relationship between the three of us had shifted dramatically. Beckett and Beau were the stars of football, baseball, and basketball in middle school. Beckett morphed into someone else before any of us truly noticed.
In every picture with the three of us, his brother’s smile gets smaller with each year that passed.
How did I miss that he was hurting or that he liked me?
He began making small changes to himself that we all thought was what any twin would do. He styled his hair different from Beau, wore different clothing, anything to have his own identity. By high school, he had quit sports entirely, even though he was better at basketball than Beau. He was an inch taller and a tad leaner. When he turned sixteen he got a motorcycle while Beau bought an older SUV.
Their parents always took photographs of the three of us—until Beckett refused. We were no longer part of his life. I don’t know how long I lie there with that picture on my chest crying, because I doze off.
Am I dreaming or is someone rummaging through my house? I hear slamming doors and the hard slapping of shoes against the floor.
“Nessa, are you hurt? Nessa.”
I’m awakened by Beau’s face over top of mine. Worry lines fold across his forehead while his hand strokes my face. My lips press together as the tears cloud my vision. “You came.” I swallow. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
He leans down and gently pushes his lips against mine. My lashes flutter and a wave of tears gush from my lids. Over the top and out the sides, streaming down into my hair.
“I’m a dumbass for ever leaving you.”
Beau lies down beside me and uses his hand to prop him up. When he sees the photo on my chest, he picks it up and stares for a long time. “I miss him.”
“Me too. I have so much to tell you.”
He nods. “Do you want to talk now?”
“Wait, you’re not supposed to be watching my bedroom. How did you know I’d fallen?”
“Heat sensors show me you’re alive, but when I checked and you were lying flat on your back for over an hour in your closet, I got here as quick as I could. I shouldn’t have let you leave.” His eyes are like a kaleidoscope of blues, the way his tears roll around over his irises.
I reach for his hand, lacing it with mine. It’s warm and safe. “Thank you.”
He gets choked up as he scans the floor and our lives that are laid out in front of him.
“It’s my fault that Beckett changed, but I swear, when I mentioned you had agreed to be my girlfriend, he said,‘I knew you were into her, so I figured I’d nudge you along.’Beckett never admitted to having feelings for you, but clearly he did. However, if it came down to choosing between Beckett and you, it would be you without a doubt, every single day.”
Grabbing a different picture from summer at the pool he continues, “From an adult’s perspective, it’s clear from the way he was mesmerized by you. I tried with Beckett. I did. He never wanted to go to our parties or hang out with our crowd. He shunned everything we had in common—friends, sports, and the military. Do you remember in eighth grade when we did career day?” I nod. “We were going into the Navy together. Things changed so slowly that I didn’t notice when I should have. I turned him into what he became but I won’t apologize for loving you.”
He licks his bottom lip, and it glistens. Full and plump, the best damn lips, and even though I’ve kissed Beckett’s identical lips, they are completely different. Beau’s are full of love. Beckett’s were full of desperation.
He slips his arm under my neck and when I wince, he asks again, “Are you hurt?”
I admit, “I have a bad headache. I hit my head pretty hard on the hardwood.”
“Come on, let me get you in bed.”
“No, I don’t want anything standing between us talking about the past. It’s now or never because I can’t go through this on top of what’s happened with my dad.”
