Page 23 of Unsteady

“Didn’t know you were skating with someone at the rink those early mornings.” There isn’t an accusation in his words, not really, but my back is up anyways.

The lie slips quickly. “I invited her. We, uh, had a class together last year.”

“World’s worst liar award still belongs to you, Rhys.” Mom sighs, reaching for the wine bottle across the table. My dad beats her to it, refilling her glass for her.

It feels good to talk about her, at least a little, but it's another reminder that no matter how often I think of her—of the way her gray eyes settle on me, her music in my headphones after another nightmare, the fantasy of her hips in my hands haunting my empty head—Sadie is not really anything to me. I doubt she’d even call us friends.

Meanwhile, I find myself desperate, if only to be near her.

SEVEN

SADIE

It’s a good night. Really, really good.

The warm late July air sails though the rolled down windows while “Waterloo” plays through the staticky speakers. Liam sings every word at the top of his lungs from his car seat, and although I don’t know where his ABBA obsession came from, I’ve definitely encouraged it. Even Oliver smiles and hums along from his seat.

I pull through the drive-thru of Oliver’s favorite fast food place, which he swears makes the “perfect milkshake dipper fries.” His face lights up with another bright smile that I pocket away; they’re so rare nowadays.

But tonight, he’s made of them.

He played the game of his nearly-12-year-old life tonight, scoring two of the team's three-point win. Even playing on this mixed exhibition team, Oliver shines; and I know come fall, he’ll shine even more with his school team.

Oliver like this—wet hair drying in the summer heat, mouth smudged with chocolate shake remnants, smiling through too-large waffle fry bites—that’s the brother I remember. The one buried beneath the hurt.

He plays the alphabet game with Liam without complaint, both of their giggles giving me more sustenance than the spicy grilled chicken sandwich I’m scarfing down.

I leave the car in park for a while after we’re all finished, watching the sunset over the slight hilltop that rolls down to a small park and a popular lake that we have skated on many times when frozen. It’s moments like this where I can imagine another life for us all, where I’m torn by the urge to drive off into the sunset, chasing the light until we’re somewhere new. I’d never skate again if it meant an endless supply of nights like this for my brothers.

My phone rings, cutting the low playing music in the background.

Mitchel Hanburgh.

The lawyer.

I excuse myself, stepping out of the car and under the cover of a tree, far enough away that their little ears can’t hear, close enough to keep watch over them.

“Hi, this is Sadie.”

“Sadie.” He sighs. I can almost picture him the way I saw on the video call before. “Listen, I still need Oliver’s birth certificate—”

“I found it,” I cut him off. “I can send it over tomorrow if I go by the school.”

“Great,” he agrees, but there’s enough hesitancy that I know what’s coming next. “And your father? Did you speak with him?”

“I-I haven’t had time.”

“Ms. Brown, I have to have his signature on the consent documents. And I haven’t even broached the topic of Liam’s—”

“I got it,” I snap, then run a hand through my hair, snagging on the tangles before yanking it free. “Sorry, I just—I’ll see what I can do.”

“Alright,” he sighs, resigning. “I’ll let you go. Send me what you have and I’ll see what I can do on my end with the custody papers.”

“Thank you,” I reply, before ending the call.

It’s like my perfect frozen snow globe moment has been shattered. So, the smile I give my brothers isn’t as bright as before.

I hate that Oliver notices, even more that he doesn’t ask. Watching his smile sink and dim, until it fades entirely—the tightness in his body as I start to drive towards home—makes tears prick behind my eyes.

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