Page 36 of Time for Change

I have a brother.

And a sister.

I have no doubt in my mind BJ will find out very soon. Jameson doesn’t seem like the type to sit on information like this, even if he wanted to protect her.

I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I definitely feel the weight lifted off my shoulders by telling him. Even if the outcome isn’t the loving and supportive family I’ve always dreamed of having, there’s a huge sense of relief just from sharing the secret.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I easily drift off to a deep, uninterrupted sleep.

***

At exactly eight thirty the next morning, there’s a knock on my door.

I’m a little stunned, considering I never have visitors. No one really knows me, so unless it’s a neighbor stopping by to borrow a cup of sugar on a random Tuesday morning, the list of who can be on the opposite side of the door is small.

Despite having run to the gas station about an hour ago for a couple bottles of water and to use their bathroom, I’m still in my warm pajamas and fuzzy socks, I make my way to the door and take a peek through the hole. My heart stops beating as I take in the woman on the opposite side.

Holy shit, BJ’s here.

Another loud knock causes me to yelp. I quickly cover my mouth with my hand and take another look through the peephole. BJ is smiling and looks to her left, whispering something. An indication she’s not alone, and suddenly, my heart is working overtime as nervousness sets in.

Knowing I can’t leave them standing in the hallway, especially since she likely heard my little chirp, I release both locks and slowly open the door. BJ practically blows past me, entering my apartment without being invited, and says, “I brought pastries. This feels like a donut and cinnamon roll conversation, so I stopped by Lyndee’s bakery and grabbed us some.” She walks straight into my kitchen and places them on the table before turning to face me. “Hi.”

“Hey,” I squeak out, the word sounding like it didn’t come from me.

The door I’m holding moves, and I realize it’s Jameson trying to shut it. I step back, giving him the space he needs, and stand off to the side, waiting. BJ approaches and stops in front of me. She reaches out and takes my hand, her eyes evaluating and assessing, just like her brother’s.

Ourbrother’s.

Suddenly, she pulls me into her arms and squeezes. I’m not exactly a hugger, probably stemming from the fact I was never hugged as a child, so the gesture feels foreign to me. Not exactly unwelcomed, just…different.

BJ pulls back and smiles. “Sorry. I was never a hugger myself until I became a mom, and now I tend to forget some people don’t like to be touched.” She points over her shoulder to Jameson. “This guy hates it.”

I glance his way, noting the tightness in his body and the rigid look on his face. Not really knowing what to say, I just nod.

“Come on. We have pastries to eat and a lot to talk about,” BJ states, walking over to the kitchen table and taking a seat.

There’re only two chairs, so I hang back, waiting for Jameson to take the other. When he doesn’t, I make my way over to where she sits, pulling items from a small white box, and gingerly slip into the seat across from her.

“Cinnamon roll or something else?” BJ asks, waiting for me to decide.

“Oh, um, anything’s fine.” My stomach is so knotted up, I’m not sure I could eat.

“Do you like bear claws? They’re Jameson’s favorite, so I got extra,” she says, pulling a second one from the box.

“Yeah, those are…my favorite too.” Though, I’ve never really found a pastry I don’t like, I choose those over almost anything else.

“I was a little shocked to get the phone call from my brother last night,” she starts, pausing and turning my way withwide eyes. “Sorry, our brother. This is so weird, isn’t it?” she asks, almost absently.

Understatement of the year.

“Yeah.”

“I can’t believe that when you were telling me about your shitty childhood you were referring to the same woman responsible for my own shitty childhood. You knew then, didn’t you.” It’s not a question.

I nod in confirmation, even though it’s not necessary.

She exhales. “Okay. I can see why you wouldn’t want to just blurt it out, but I’m still a little hurt you sat in my chair and let me tattoo you and didn’t say a word. I mean, I get it. Really, I do. If I were in your shoes, I probably would have done exactly the same. But it still stings.”

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