Page 85 of Emmett
Like always, I pull in as much oxygen as I can hold before I sink beneath the water’s surface, but this time I keep my eyes open. I don’t remember a time that I ever have; at least not on purpose. Only when the fear took hold and startled me, then my eyes would pop open for just a moment before I made my way to the surface.
This time, I want to see it. I watch the way that the overhead light hits each small ripple above me, some of it catching like sunlight through a window on a clear summer day. Not a cloud in the sky, just the bright, shimmering sun lighting up the world.
For just a minute, I wonder what it might feel like to drown for real. I wonder if, after the fear, there’s a moment of peace. I wonder if it hurts. I wonder if it feels like floating.
I blow out all of my air as I begin my countdown, ticking down each slow second and every minute that I deprive my lungs of filling themselves. I make it to four minutes before I feel the claws of terror scratching at my brain, making my heart race and my chest ache.
You could just keep going, I tell myself.You don’t have to come back up.
Yes I do. I’m not finished yet.
As I argue with myself, the fear that I need grabs onto me with both hands, sinking itself deep into my chest, and I gaspas I push myself up and out of the water. I hang over the edge of the tub, pulling in deep breaths until my pulse slows and my muscles relax. I climb out all too casually as I head for my living room, settling onto the couch when I get there. I don’t care that my clothes are soaked or that as a result, so are the cushions.
It’s late; I should probably go to bed. I should get some rest and give myself the chance to process and sort through all of this shit tomorrow…but I don’t.
Instead, I head for my closet and change into a heavy knit sweater and pair of jeans, sending Logan a quick text to meet me.
•
This bar still smells like piss.
I stagger toward the bar and settle onto a stool as the bar’s owner approaches to take my order. It’s quiet in here; eleven o’clock on weeknights must not be their busy hours. A few people hang around, some at the bar and others hovering over the pool table behind me, but other than that, it’s pretty much dead. A half-empty bowl of peanuts sits next to me, surrounded by discarded shells of probably varying age, and I grab a handful of them. I eat a couple of them, but I mostly just use them to fidget, peeling the shells away and tossing them back into the bowl.
Twenty minutes pass, along with a couple of Jack and cokes that I probably don’t need, before Logan finally drops onto the stool next to me. “I had to double check my GPS,” he tells me. “Why the hell are we inthisplace? It smells like—”
“Yeah.” I finish the rest of the drink in front of me and order two more; one for myself and one for Logan, giving him a few minutes to sip on his.
“You good, dude?” He asks me. “You seem a little…”
“You know those ancestry-whatever kits? I bought one a couple months ago,” I answer, pulling my phone from my pocket to scroll through my email. “I got the email today with all the results I asked for. Dad’s side is pretty unremarkable, but on my mom’s side, I’m predisposed to cancer, high cholesterol and mental illness.” I drop the phone in front of him and pick up my glass instead, bringing it to my lips. “I guess you already know you are, too.”
“What?”
I don’t take my eyes off of the wall of liquor behind the bar. I can’t look at him. I don’t even want to be near him. Swallowing down another swig of my drink, I ask him, “How long have you known you’re my brother?”
Logan – the kid that I’ve known for years, the guy that I’ve called one of my best fucking friends and would have trusted with my life – goes a ghostly shade of pale. He stammers as he speaks, as if he’s starting to panic. “Em, I didn’t—”
“Do me a favor and don’t lie to me. You were already in the system. You took the same test I did, and I’m willing to bet it was for the same reason. How long?”
“Since you told me your name was Fowler,” he admits. “I should have told you.”
“Remember the text I sent you a few weeks after I met her?” I scroll through the messages in our chat thread, all the way back to the day I sent it, until I land on the one that I’m looking for. “’She had another kid. I have a brother somewhere, dude.’ Fucking right, you should have told me.”
I should have seen it sooner. I should have seen it, period. We’ve been told we look alike, but we always laughed about it. Looking at him now, I can see Anna in him. Where I havemy dad’s eyes, he has hers. He has her mouth and her cheekbones, and I bet if she would have smiled at me, that would match, too.
I throw the rest of my drink down my throat and slam the glass back down on the bar, knocking it over.
“Em, I think you’ve had enough.”
“Did you meet her, too?” I demand while I scoop the spilled ice back into my glass and wave the bartender over for a refill. “Did you already know our mom didn’t want anything to do with us beforeIhad the fucking pleasure?”
“No,” he says with a shake of his head. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Don’t talk to me again,” I say, stumbling over my words as I pull the glass to my mouth. “Delete my number. Tear up your contract with Fowler Enterprise. And leave.”
“Em.” He’s almost pleading with me. “Let me drive you home, dude. We’ll laugh about this tomorrow.”
“Go home, Logan.” When he just sits there, fucking staring at me with his hand on my shoulder, I repeat myself with a shove to his shoulder. “Go. Fuck off. Seriously.”