Page 70 of When I'm Gone

“I did sign up for it, actually. My eyes were wide-open from the second you showed up on Brady’s doorstep looking like a spooked rabbit. It’s not that I can’t handle it, I’m just having a hard time walking back the worst-case scenario when I still have no clue what went wrong. What I did or didn’t do.”

Easton’s gaze is sympathetic, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been up all night getting the right words in order for this very conversation. “Love, it wasn’t you. I messed up by putting myself where I couldn’t see you, then when I tried to look at you, there was something in the way. It just sent me off the cliff with no warning.”

Love.

Holy shit. He hasn’t called me that before. That seems fucking significant. But also… “That’s what it was? Not being able to see me?”

His head bobs in agreement. “I didn’t know it was a thing until it was too late. It makes sense, I probably should have thought about it if I’m being honest. When things are out of control, something about you grounds me.”

“C’mere,” I rasp, opening my arms to him. He slides off the counter and comes straight to me, enveloping me in his warm, comforting scent. “I think we're gonna be okay,” I mumble into his hair.

His voice is soft, but firm. Resolute. “Yeah, I think so too.”

CHAPTER 21

EASTON

Cautiously optimistic is the theme these days. Chase is still licking his wounds a bit, but after believing he did something awful, that’s understandable. I scared him; I know that. But talking it out really helped both of us—yuck, I really hate that communication actually works—and since then, we're doing better than ever.

As much as my instinct was to clam up until it festers into a massive problem, I’m quickly learning that if I do the opposite of whatever my knee jerk reaction is then I’ll probably end up okay. Aggravating, but hey, I can change.

Really, the hardest part for me to let go of is how failed I feel by Mom and Dad. I didn't think it bothered me, but it's obviously still causing issues for me. Maybe because I just don’t understand so many aspects of my childhood. Brady has made it clear to me that we both walked out of their house for the last time without the slightest clue that we didn't know a thing about how to live outside of their influence.

He was able to unpack the worst of it in college withChase gently nudging him in the right direction. I, on the other hand, got dog-piled on and accidentally cemented things that had no business sticking around in my head. Jackhammers are a thing, though, so maybe all this mess I’m sorting through will become more manageable.

Chase is easy. He might need a few more words of encouragement than he did a couple of weeks ago, but I’m a praise whore who can give as good as I get, so sign me up, Coach.

My brother… That's a more challenging issue. Talking shit about the way we were raised comes easy, he still has some lingering resentment too. But anything else and I’m dragging my feet about it.

Since the one time I acted out of desperation and told him what happened with Chase, I’ve been able to repeat that exactly zero times.

I can only do so much at a time, or that’s how I’m consoling myself about it.

But all of that is going into a nice little box for the weekend because Parker is here for holiday and the main event—my first concert.

He might be as excited as I am. It does something horrific to my insides to even think about how important this seems to be for him so I’m choosing not to. Besides, we have bracelets to make, anyway.

Another thing I’m choosing not to think about is how much he spent on beads for this project. But that's because I spent every last dime I had buying a GED test prep course and a new ID.

Something about my old one wasn't sitting well with me. It’s hard to put my finger on, but I really don't think I posed for the picture on it. I spent a huge chunk of time emotionally checked out, and it’s bugging me. As I unpack more andmore about my relationship, the more red flags start standing out that should have been noticeable to me all along. This is just one of the ones I can do something about, so I will. Seems easy enough.

And once I have my GED, who knows what I’m capable of. I’m hovering on the edge of connecting with my art. What I’ve been able to scratch out so far is rough, hard around the edges. Wobbly, almost. Nothing like what I used to be able to create, but it is a vast improvement over giving it up entirely so I’m trying to not be hung up over it.

Parker hums happily as he starts unpacking the boxes and boxes of plastic, colored beads. “Think we have enough?” he asks, spreading them out between us on the living room rug, giving us plenty of room to work.

“You got one of every box in the store,” I remind him. He insisted on it, actually. No sooner than we’d gotten back from the airport that he’d whisked me away on a treasure hunt. Chase only laughed and wished me luck.

But Parker and I had a ton of fun. Sure, he can talk like an auctioneer but it was almost comforting in its familiarity. It reminded me of what Brady and I used to be like before there was a mile of baggage between us. When he’d steal me away on a lazy Saturday and we’d spend all day laying in the sand or window shopping, while he’d go on and on about whatever struck his fancy.

Parker told me about his girl troubles, the cute things Sage had been up to this week—apparently he lives with her and Logan part time, this was his week with them—and how whatever drama was going on at work. Veterinary offices are the new hair salons, yes; that was a direct quote, although I’ve yet to figure out how he ended up working there when he graduated with a degree in sports medicine.

It was a wild ride, considering all we did was stop at acraft store and a smoothie bar. “Well, they all had different colors and we needed options.”

If you don't judge a book by its cover was a person, it’s Parker. His chocolate hair is cut stylishly and his clothes are well-thought out and intention-looking, making him seem really put together for someone in his early twenties. His forest green eyes sparkle with mirth, but the sharp jawline and straight nose give the impression of someone who is confident and imposing. If I saw him walking down the street, I’d think he has no personality besides being pretty and makes everyone hate him for it.

But here he sits, cross-legged on the rug, carefully arranging the color pallet for an armful of friendship bracelets he intends to wear to a three-hour pop concert. It’s baffling. I like it. “Options are good,” I agree, joining him and starting construction of my own bracelet. It’s impossible to tell why, but for some reason, this is important to him. And not for the obviousI spent a shit-ton of money on this so it better be good reason; more like he’s trying to create a special memory? I don’t really know, but it’s sweet.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go with your brother? I would totally understand.” It’s out before I can stop it as embarrassment floods my cheeks. Why do I have to be like this? Who needs this much reassurance? It can’t be normal.

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