Page 76 of Felix

His lips twist into a smile.

The three of us leave the same way we came, Christian in the front passenger seat of my car and Henry in back. We’re quiet on the drive to my parents’, but Henry is back to playing his game, so he must not be too upset.

When I park, Henry opens his door.

“Hey, Henry?” I say before he has a chance to climb out. “Thank you for calling me.”

“Yeah, Emil,” he responds. “You’re always easy to talk to.”

With that, he scoots out the door, leaving my chest swirling with a mixture of happiness and something foreign and a little hot. I watch Henry make his way inside before turning to Christian.

“Would you give me five minutes?” I ask.

He nods slowly. “Of course.”

“Thanks,” I say, opening my door.

My feet carry me toward the house on autopilot, that burning in my chest propelling me forward. The front door is unlocked, and I step inside, not bothering to toe off my shoes. I don’t see Henry in the living room when I pass, and he’s not in the kitchen, either. But my father is.

“Emil?” my dad says, looking up from his laptop, which is sitting in front of him on the kitchen table. His glasses are perched on the end of his nose, and he lowers his head a little to see me over them. “Did you see this article?”

I step around the table to get a look at what he’s talking about. It’s a medical journal, this particular article co-authored by my brother Julian, the cardiac surgeon. Julian, the big deal, as Henry called him. The firstborn who followed in our father’s footsteps, even going so far as to work in the same hospital where our dad is a surgeon still.

“I saw it,” I tell him.

He hums, the single sound full of so much appreciation and parental pride that I snap, just a little.

“Henry thinks he’s a disappointment to you and Mom.”

My dad looks at me sharply, plucking his reading glasses off his nose. “Pardon?”

“Henry. Your youngest son. He thinks he’s a failure. He’s fourteen.”

“Why on Earth would he think that?” my dad asks, sounding genuinely perplexed.

“Really?” I say a touch hotly. “You have no idea?” I wave my hand at the laptop. “Maybe because you can’t go a day without spouting off about Jules’s successes?” I point at the fridge next, where there’s a picture of Eloise and her wife next to one of Rebecca holding her violin. “Maybe because in last year’s Christmas card, Mom gushed all about her activist daughter’s win against big oil and her youngest daughter’s solo exhibition that was ‘art in its purest form,’ but Henry got a single line about how he’s growing up and in high school now?”

My dad blinks at me.

“Do you really not see it?” I ask, my voice betraying me by wobbling. “How is he supposed to know you care when you never show it?”

“Emil,” my mom says quietly from the doorway. I hadn’t even heard her approach.

I turn, speaking to the both of them. “Don’t assume, just because he never says anything, that Henry knows you’re proud of him. He’s hurting, and neither of you can see it.”

With that, I walk out of the kitchen and through the front door. My blood is pumping, my face is hot, and righteous indignation continues to course through my veins as I stomp down the steps toward my car. I don’t think that was the constructive conversation my therapist has been encouraging me to have with my parents, but it felt fucking good nonetheless, even if it was for Henry’s benefit and not mine. Even if my own hurt and anger are still roiling inside of me like a pot left unchecked.

It doesn’t matter. For once, I said the words my parents needed to hear. My brother deserves someone in his corner, and I’ll always be that for him.

If only I knew how to stick up for myself.

Chapter 20

Christian

When Emil returns to the car, he’s practically vibrating. He shuts the door with a bang and pulls his seatbelt into place with jerky movements.

“Okay?” I ask, even though it’s obvious he’s not.

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