Page 91 of The Oath We Give

I watch the coffee brew slowly, taking its sweet time, like it’s not the only thing in this room that’ll get me through what’s about to be the longest day of my life.

“Missed you too, asshole.” My back is facing him, but I know he’s flipping me off, “Interns have a week off, and I wanted to come see Dad.”

“Caleb?”

Lev’s silent, telling me more there than any of his playful words will. When there is enough coffee, I pour it into a mug, turning to face him before repeating my question.

“You know Caleb, Silas.” He sighs, setting down the half-eaten muffin and leaning on my island. “He’s avoiding his problems. Surfing his life away, barely picking up my phone calls. Avoiding home so he doesn’t have to face the fact that Dad’s dying.”

Levi and Caleb being twins is only one of their interesting traits. They’re an array of personality traits that have changed and grown over the years. Levi is studying microbiology in Boston, while Caleb is in SoCal, only going to college so our parents will pay for his apartment on the beach.

But their bond has always remained unshakeable. Until now, until our dad got sick, and the differences between how they handle stress started to show.

Levi is a little like me, wants to face the problem so he can fix it. Caleb is…Caleb is afraid. Thinks if he just doesn’t think about it, it’ll go away. Dad isn’t sick if he doesn’t come home.

Neither of them is in the wrong, but I know one day Caleb will regret not seeing Dad more before he dies. However, that isn’t my battle. I won’t force him to cope the way I think he should. I’ll just be there for the aftermath to help pick up the pieces.

“It’s selfish, him acting this way. He won’t even talk to Mom.” His voice is tinged with an edge of venom as I look over at him.

“Caleb is dealing with it on his own time, his own way. Nothing selfish about it. Give him time to do that on his own. When he’s ready, he’ll come home,” I say calmly, scooping a spoonful of honey into my drink. “And you? How are you handling it?”

“I’m fine.” He shrugs nonchalantly. It’s robotic and practiced. That’s probably what he says to Mom, what he tells Dad, his friends on the East Coast when they ask.

Caleb may be avoiding, but Levi is deflecting.

I move closer until I’m standing next to him. Leaning back against the kitchen island, I peer down at him,waiting for him to meet my gaze.

“Lev, look at me.”

After a few moments of silence, he slowly lifts his head up so our eyes meet.

“I’m not Mom. I’m not Dad. You don’t need to put up a strong front for me.” I cross my arms in front of my chest. “You’re allowed to be sad here. Or angry. Or happy. Feel whatever you need to feel.”

They may think they’re men, tough and out in the world on their own, but they’ll always be my little brothers. Kids who need permission to not be strong all the time.

His father is dying right in front of him; he’s allowed to break.

“You ever get scared, Si?”

“All the time,” I tell him honestly.

“Me too.” He swallows tightly. “I’m always scared. Just waiting for the phone call that he’s gone. Every time my phone rings, I fucking panic. What are we going to do when he’s not here?”

Tears line the corners of his eyes, and I wish I could take his pain away. Wish there was a way to make this better, but nothing I say can do that.

“We’ll live, we’ll remember him, and we’ll be happy because that’s what he wants for us. All he’s ever wanted. It won’t be easy, and there will be days you struggle more than others, but learning to love the memory of someone you’ve lost helps. It just takes time.”

It’s what helped me mourn Rosemary, what will help me mourn my father when he passes. Learning to love the memory, who they were on this Earth instead of focusing on them not being here.

Grief is not an uphill battle.

It’s a process that has dips and turns, not just up.

Levi nods, accepting my words but not really hearing them. He won’t, not until he’s ready to, and that’s all I can ask of him right now.

“How do you do it?” he asks, a frown between his brows. “Dad, Hawthorne Tech, the schizophrenia? I’m fucking struggling, and you’re just like a stone wall, like always.”

I bite down on the inside of my cheek, trying to think of how to answer without adding more pressure on him. I’m not sure how to tell him that I don’t want to be like this, but I have to. For him, for Caleb and Mom. If I fall apart, start trying to explain the truth of my mental illness, it will be too much for them to carry.

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