Page 39 of Our Ruined Beginnings

Dad clears his throat at me swearing but doesn’t pull me up on it. I’m not sure if Mom knows whatitis, but she accepts my apology anyway, pulling back to look up at me with sympathy in her eyes.

“Madden, we’re not going to pretend to know how you feel or suggest for a second that it’s not valid. But we love Harper too, and I’m not about to sit back and watch her struggle while we do nothing. We all have our own healing journeys to take with Caleb; I just wish yours would bring you peace soon.”

I nod dumbly, trying to stay numb to it all.

“You two always were close,” my dad adds. “After everything with Caleb, we thought you’d be a good support system for each other.”

“Yeah, well, I guess she doesn’t need me.” That’s not fair—I’ve been the one to cut her out, to make sure we’re ruined for good. But they don’t know that.

Mom forces a chuckle. “That doesn’t sound like Harper. That girl has always needed you.”

“Things change, Mom,” I say, curling my fingers around the ceramic mug. “Maybe Caleb was our glue, and without him … there’s no us.”

“I’m not sure even you believe that.” She cups my cheek and gives me a sad smile as my dad puts his hand on my shoulder in a silent show of support. Thank God I still have these two. I don’t know what I’d do without my family right now.

Something Harper doesn’t have. Why is everything determined to make me look at her in a new—or maybe old—light?

“I’m gonna go visit him before I crash,” I tell them, and I’m sure my mom winces slightly.

“I took Harper there earlier.”

“When?”

“This morning, around eleven. She must’ve gotten an earlier flight than you.” That was hours and hours ago; I’m sure she’s gone by now. I nod and send them a smile before leaving to visit my brother.

The room is nearly silent when I enter, and the scent of chemicals is overwhelming. Steady beeps come from the machines that confirm Caleb is still alive. Sterile white walls fill my vision, and my chest aches at the sight, nervous energy coiling as I drag my eyes over the space before they land on the figure lying in the bed.

After five months, I thought I’d be somewhat desensitized to the sight of my perpetually sleeping twin, but sorrow swamps me just as heavily as it did that first day. It never gets easier.

Today, though, he’s not alone. Harper is hunched over the side of his bed, her forehead rested on his hand, seemingly asleep.

As the door closes behind me, Harper sits up straight and whips her head around to see who has entered. When she registers it’s me, her face of surprise turns to worry.

“Sorry,” she mutters quickly, pushing herself to stand from the chair. although she doesn’t unlace her fingers from his. “Your mom said it was okay… I’ll go now.” She turns back to Caleb, but I don’t want her to go. I don’t want to sit here alone again, wishing for him to open his eyes.

“It’s fine. Stay.”

She frowns at me over her shoulder. “Are you sure?”

I nod and make my way to the other side, where there’s another chair, and settle myself into it. She doesn’t look convinced, but she looks at Caleb, and clearly, more time with him is enough to put up with me too.

She doesn’t let go of his hand, but her fingers start to twitch with his, tangling and fidgeting. I watch her more than I watch him, even as her eyes stay resolutely on Caleb. If she weren’t here, I’d be telling him all about the semester. About how Harper started at DU, and instead of everything being great, it’s been fucking hell. It’s probably a good thing—he’d want to kill me if he knew the way I’ve spoken to her recently. The way I’ve spoken to Mom, too. Would he understand that I can’t seem to help it? That I look at her and see him? I know that’s not Harper’s fault, but there’s never been a Harper without Caleb at her back.

I watch her, and I wonder if she spoke to him before I got here. She had enough time—Mom said she’d dropped her here hours before. Would she have told him everything I’ve done?

“Is this the first time you’ve seen him?” I ask, the sound in the silence making her jump. I’m pretty sure I already know the answer. I was the one who told her not to, after all.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, barely a whisper.

And you know what? It doesn’t feel satisfying to make her feel small right now. I don’t know if it’s being away from campus or because it’s us three back together, or if it’s the fucking holiday spirit, but I just want to hear her voice for a moment. I don’t want to hear it wary or nervous or like anything except the Harper I used to know.

“Mom said she invited you to stay.”

“Invitedisn’t a strong enough word,” she says with a chuckle.

“Yeah. She’s a force to be reckoned with.”

“It’s where you get it from.” Surprisingly, even though she can’t meet my eye, she says it with warmth.

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