Page 63 of Sleepover

The look Brooks gives me now is in a whole other category. Like I just told him I’ve taken up ballet dancing.

“You like her.”

I shrug. “ ’Course I like her.”

“No, I mean, you like her like her.”

“What are we, in seventh grade?”

“I just wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t see you getting over Luce anytime in this cent—”

“I’m not over Luce.” My voice is hard.

Brooks puts both his hands up and takes a step back. “Yikes, man. Sorry.”

“I’ll never be over Luce.”

My heart is pounding with anger and a deep, gut-clenching sadness.

“I didn’t mean it that way.” Brooks takes a step toward me and puts his hand on my arm. “I shouldn’t have said that. Look, I think it’s a good thing. A real good thing. It’s okay to be happy, you know? Luce would want you to be happy. You know that.”

I shake my head.

What I know is that it’s complicated to give up the person you love most in the world, and knowing you have no choice in the matter doesn’t make it any easier.

When Lucy knew she was dying—I mean, when she really, really knew there was nothing left to do—she told me, I know you’ll have to move on.

We were home—in the old house—downstairs in the living room, where hospice had set up a hospital bed for her. Her hand worked convulsively at the thin sheet. I want you to move on, in the good, big part of my heart. But there’s this mean, selfish part of me that wants to throw things when I think about you falling in love with someone else.

By that point, she’d been too weak to actually follow through on the threat to throw things, and yet, she grabbed my hand so hard it hurt and drew me in. Her lips were perennially chapped, her eyes huge in her thin face, her skin smelled strange and feverish, but I still wanted to be as close to her as I could get. I’m pretty sure that when I die, the mean, selfish part will die and the good, big part will be the only part left. And all I’ll know, and all I’ll care about, is that you’re happy. So I guess what I’m saying is, even if it hurts to think about it right now, I want you to fall in love again.

She took a deep breath. It rattled, just a little, in her chest, like her rib bones were leaves blowing in an early winter wind.

Just make sure she deserves it. Because your love, Sawyer Paulson, is the best thing I know, and you shouldn’t go around squandering it on anyone. Make sure she loves you like you deserve.

I pull myself together, swab at my eye with the back of my sleeve. I think I got something in it.

I glare at my brother.

“I’m not over Luce.”

I’m expecting Brooks to back down, if only to avoid the potential of my losing my shit again, but he levels a stare at me that’s surprisingly fierce.

“I get it,” he says. “You know I loved her like a sister. There’s no one like Luce. But don’t forget I’ve known you your whole life. You’ve fucked a lot of women but you’ve only really liked one, ever, and that was Luce. So I take it kind of seriously that you like this one—Elle—”

He’s gotten her name right, and he nods at me to acknowledge it.

“—enough to invite her to your kid’s birthday party. To stand up for her when your brother calls her a caramel. You like her,” he repeats. “You like her like her. And that’s gotta mean something. So I guess I’m just saying, as your brother…”

He takes a deep breath.

“Try not to fuck this up too bad.”

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