Page 23 of Release Me

“I’m glad you like them. They’re supposed to symbolize rebirth, so I thought it was fitting for your new beginning.”

“Oh.” I bite my lip to hold back the sudden onslaught of emotion coursing through me. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I can be thoughtful.”

Any verbal response I might have wanted to give him is crowded out by the lump building in my throat. I don’t know where the happy sob was conceived, but I do know that it wants out, to be birthed, to come into the world loud and fast, announcing the arrival of goodness in my life.

“I have to go.” I’m amazed when the words come out relatively normal and decide to push my luck by adding something else. “Thank you, again, Sebastian.”

The expression of gratitude is meant to encompass more than this one act of kindness. I hope Sebastian gets that because I can’t elaborate.

“You’re welcome, Nadia,” he says, and the softness in his voice tells me that he does.

10

SEBASTIAN

“You’re welcome, Nadia,” Luca repeats in an annoying rendition of what’s supposed to be my voice. I’d stepped away to make the phone call to Nadia to avoid being overheard, but of course my little brother doesn’t understand or respect boundaries. I slip my phone into my pocket and grab the bottle of olive oil Mom asked me to get from the pantry off the shelf to my left.

“Shut up, Luc.”

I brush past him, but of course he follows. There’s a bounce to his stride as he catches up to me, clapping one of his large hands on my shoulder as we cross the threshold of the patio where Mom decided we should have our impromptu Sunday dinner.

“Who’s Nadia?” He asks loud enough for everyone at the table to hear. As expected, Mom, Dad, Zoe and Andreas all turn their attention to us as we take our seats at the end of the table.

“Nadia?” Mom asks, her brows lifting to meet the soft curls at her hairline. “Who’s Nadia?”

“Don’t ask me,” Luca says, smiling wide because Mom has just played right into his hand. “Ask Seb. He’s the one who was on the phone in the pantry, whispering to someone named Nadia.”

In true younger brother fashion, he uses his thumb and his pinky to make a fake phone and pretends to murmur into it with his face warped into some kind of love sick expression.

“Oh, Nadia,” he whispers. “You’re so welcome, baby.”

I roll my eyes when Zoe and Andreas both laugh at his antics. “I didn’t call her baby.”

“But everything else about that—” Dad asks, gesturing to Luca who is still going. “Is accurate?”

I give him a look that urges him to be serious. “No, Dad. Nothing about that is accurate.”

Mom laughs and passes Zoe a wooden bowl filled with pasta salad. “Then please, Sebastian, give us an accurate recount of your conversation, so Luca can stop doing whatever that is.”

“It’s called acting, Ma,” Luca exclaims, placing one hand on his chest to feign hurt.

“Don’t quit your day job,” Andreas says, taking the bowl from Zoe and handing her the platter filled with chicken kabobs.

“That would require him to actually have a job, Dre.”

Zoe’s comment is what gets Luca to finally end his imaginary phone call. His mouth drops open. “Zo, I thought I was your favorite brother. How you gone play me like that?”

Our little sister shrugs, her lips pulled up into her signature, joyous smile. Before I met Nadia, I never thought about how easily Zoe’s smiles come to her. How their regular appearance on her face speak of the shelter she’s thrived under for her whole life. Not just the money she’s grown up with but the family she’s grown in. Two, loving and attentive parents. Three older brothers who would lay down life and limb for her. Zoe’s smile is the smile that belongs to a person who knows what it means to be safe, to be protected, to be loved. Nadia’s smiles are few and far between, and they never look quite right.

Joy is a stranger to her features.

The thought occurred to me when we shook hands last night over the cold remnants of our meal. She was excited about the job, but she was too afraid to let it show. I kept catching glimpses of it though, the anticipation and excitement lingering under the layers of self doubt she’s always so comfortable with revealing to the world. I sent the flowers because I wanted to bring the other, more positive emotions to the surface even if I wasn’t there to bear witness. It was enough just to know she experienced them.

That was the lie I told myself before the images my brain conjured of her rare smile stole what was left of my self control and forced me to call her. She’d sounded strange on the phone, but the thanks she’d given was genuine. It made the risk I’d taken sending the flowers to the address she put down on her application worth it.

“I don’t have a favorite brother,” Zoe says finally, which only makes Luca look more hurt.

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