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Jonah and me—we were bonded before birth.
Brothers from his first breath.
Our mothers had planned it that way.
Made sure of it.
Until…
I push down the emotion clogging my airways and look away, tell him, “I feel like I should’ve brought something…”
“Nah,” he says, and I can hear the relief in his response. “Come on. Let’s see what Dad’s cooked up, because we might need an excuse to bail after and grab a proper meal.”
I follow him into the kitchen, where his dad is at the counter, finishing up on a salad of some type, and his mom and Lana are standing by the sink, deep in a whispered conversation. They separatewhen we enter, covering their guilt with their smiles, and if I wasn’t paranoid before, I sure am now.
Jonah picks at the salad, and his dad smacks his hand away. “You can’t wait two minutes?”
“I’m hungry.”
“Go sit down and wait at the table,” Connie tells him, and he groans, gestures for me to follow him into the dining room, where Hillary, changed into a dress now, is setting the table. “You can sit next to me, Jace,” Hillary tells me, and Jonah tells her to “knock it off”—whatever that means. Amber’s already seated, her doll, Harlow, on the table beside her plate.
“It’s Anna fromFrozen,” Jonah tells me, motioning for me to sit. He waits until he’s seated beside me to add, “Amber thought Harlow looked like her, thus… Harlow now eats dinner with us every night.”
“Have you seenFrozen, Jace?” Hillary asks, and I shake my head in response, which garners another one of those weird smiles from her. “Maybe we could watch it sometime, you and me?”
Jonah groans. “I told you to knock this shit off, Hillary.”
I don’t know what “shit” he’s referring to, but Amber giggles. “Daddy! Jonah saidshit!”
“God! You ruin everything, Jonah!” Hillary snaps, and suddenly, there are three more people in the room, and its chaos as everyone loads their plates, and I watch, listen, too many hands, too many voices, too much of everything at once.
Lana sits beside me, serving both our plates, and I wonder if she’s noticed the fact that I have no idea what I’m doing. I’d had dinner with Harlow and her dad a lot, but I was comfortable there. I’m not here. I sit, the fork held in my hand, staring down at the plate, and I try to be present. Try to listen to the conversation around me. But I can’t. My mind is spinning, getting more and more lost with each passing second, and I don’t know what happens that makes my hand tremble, or my eyes water, or my breaths to become sharp and uneven. I remember the sound of glass shattering… and the view from below as shards rained down on me. I remember the sound of it crunching beneath my weight… the look in his eyes…a life for a life…I rememberthe agony, the throbbing in my face, my ribs. I remember the pain when the glass pierced my skin, right at my throat. I remember the darkness…
I remember the darkness as it fought to take over, and for a second—just one—Iwantedto let it win.
There are voices in the distance, but I can’t wake up from the nightmare. “Girls, it’s time for bed.”
“But we haven’t eaten.”
A life for a life, Isaac.
Grandpa… stop now, okay?
A hand covers mine, and I immediately drop my fork. The sound of it landing on the plate rings in my ears, and I look up and around me. Through the tears coating my eyes, I can make out three faces, all watching me. Eric and his daughters are no longer here. “Jace. You okay, honey?” Connie asks.
“I’m sorry.” I stand so quickly, my chair tips on its back. “I need to go.”
“No.” Lana’s on her feet, blocking my path. “Stay, Jace. Please.”
My heart pounds against my chest, pulse rapid and unsteady. “I can’t.”
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” Connie says, stopping beside Lana.
“I need to go,” I repeat, and I can’t see. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. “I’m sorry.” I hate that I cry. That there are people around to witness it. “I’m just having a moment. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry.”
Connie steps forward, circling her arms around me, and I don’t know why…
I don’t know why I choose now to fall apart, to hold on to something that once was. Connie tightens her embrace, and I lift my arms, hug her back tight, as if I’m afraid she’ll disappear, and I…