Page 201 of Tangled Like Us

Tom remains standing on his chair, and I wait for slingshot banter. For another person to comment onfearor their theatrics, but there is silence. And movement down the table.

Beckett shifts his plate, lining the silverware. He often spends his opening remarks catching us up on his life. Moments we may’ve missed. He stays seated nearly every time.

Powerfully, Beckett rises. Graceful like water, he puts a foot on the cushion to stand, and that’s when I’m certain—this is for me.

He turns. Eyes on mine. “Sacrifice.”

It crashes against my body, and I stare at him, my brother who understands that word most deeply.

“The act of surrendering something to gain something else. Your greatest desire isn’t without sacrifice.”

I swallow hard. I picture Thatcher. But his career is not mine to sacrifice. I will never; I could never.

He’s needed as my bodyguard.

Yes.That’s what we agreed on.

Beckett stays standing on his chair too, and then Charlie snuffs his cigarette on a dish. His opening remark almost never changes.

He will say,I invoke the right to pass.

Careened back on his chair, he kicks his feet up on his plate. Clattering silverware and cranberries. And loudly, he says, “Love.”

I freeze, eyes burning.

I can’t.

Charlie tilts his head to me. “To love is to reach true fulfillment.”

I can’t.

There is no scenario, no possibility, where Thatcher and I can be together beyond the ruse. I can’t love him.

I can be fulfilled without him.

I have to be.

Dropping his feet off the table, Charlie stands on his chair. Staring strikingly down at me.

“Courage,” Ben says as he steps onto his cushion. Towering over everyone as the tallest here. Warmth in his gaze. “Meaningful change takes great acts of courage. Confront what scares you the most.”

Tears prick me, and my sister rises elegantly. “Heartache. What comes with love.” She stares earnestly onto me. “What can be necessary.”

This is a riddle I’ve just solved. My family loves riddles, I love riddles, and this one was meant to rip down my defenses. To be open to love, even if it hurts.

I pull off my mask, and I brush my fingers under my watery eyes.

My parents rise together, not to join my siblings. They value the bond between me and my brothers and sister, and they want us to work together.

Always.

They begin to walk out, my mom staring fiercely at me. Her hand glides across my shoulders in comfort before she leaves.

My dad passes my chair. He pauses, his calming hand on my arm. “Ne fais pas mes erreurs, mon coeur,” he whispers.Don’t make my mistakes, my heart.

He wouldn’t accept how much he loved my mom.

I breathe in.