Page 113 of Heart Break Her

He takes off the lid and tips the urn to pour Myth out, letting the wind catch him and carry him away.

My brother. My best friend.

Ashes.

It all feels so temporary in this moment. How one second someone can be here, and the next they can be gone. How we never really know when those last moments will be. Those final hugs, those final words.

I could have held on tighter. I could have told him more. I would have said I was fine with him doing anything, being anyone. Because he was the best brother in the world, and who he was is exactly who he was meant to be.

And deep down inside, I know now, he would have said the same. I used to think he hid me from his world because he was scared for me or embarrassed of me. But it was none of those things. He saw so much more in me than I ever could, and he just wanted to make sure I lived my life to the fullest and embraced it. He wanted me to achieve everything he thought himself incapable of.

My brother saw the girl with the pink hair before she ever existed.

He believed in her.

It isn’t until the urn has been empty for a while that I realize my cheeks are streaked with tears, and my dad has one arm around me and one around my mom. The sun is setting, and I’m not sure how long we stand on the beach, but my feet feel like roots have grown, and I’ve planted a piece of myself in this place that meant so much to my brother.

For the first time in a long time, I feel one with Myth again.

“Pizza?” Dad asks when we walk through the front door to their house, and I nod in response.

As much as their house feels like home, it’s not quite the same anymore. The seat Myth had at the table is empty, and the room that used to be his is always closed.

Mom and I head into the living room, while Dad grabs his phone to order enough food to feed ten people. He really shouldn’t, Mom looks like a ghost of a person under her clothes, and I doubt she’ll eat much of it.

I sit next to her on the couch and hold her hand, spotting that ever-present sadness in her eyes. But unlike this morning when I climbed in the car, I recognize something I haven’t seen in them in a while. A fleck of light.

“You okay, Mom? It’s been a big day.”

“It has,” she says, not actually answering my question. Her eyes move to the fireplace, where it’s lined with family photos, and then back at me. “Why did you come back?”

The unspoken question since I arrived on their doorstep a couple of days ago. But what surprises me is that she didn’t ask why I left in the first place. She wants to know why I returned.

“It was a lot.” I shake my head. “I’m not sure why I thought that was a good idea in the first place.”

“I do.” Mom rubs her thumb over the back of my hand. “You and your brother aren’t as different as you’ve convinced yourself. Sure, he was impulsive and defiant. But just because you weren’t, doesn’t mean your spirit isn’t just as wild.”

I shake my head because I don’t know what she’s talking about. I’ve only ever shown my parents I’m careful and I weigh every decision. I made sure they didn’t see me as being like Myth because I didn’t want to worry them.

“Do you know why I named you Cassiopeia?” Mom asks.

I let out a half-hearted laugh. “To make sure I got made fun of in school?”

Mom shakes her head, and the faintest smile ticks up on her cheeks. “Because from the moment you were born, I saw it in your eyes. You were a light in a dark sky, and the world was going to be in awe of you. I know this past year I’ve been less than present. And I can’t promise that’s going to change. But you’re still my light. And I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom,” I lean in for a hug. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I’m home now.”

It hurts to say that more than I expect it to. Ever since coming home, I’ve planned on staying, but the weight of my decision is a lot heavier all of a sudden.

Mom pulls away, still holding onto my arms. “You don’t need to be here for us, honey.”

“But you were so upset when I was gone, Dad said—"

“Dad worries.” Mom squeezes my hands in her own. “But I knew you were doing the right thing. You’re not reckless like your brother, God rest his soul. But it doesn’t mean you don’t still have curiosity burning in you that’s begging to get out. You spend too much time worrying about us. But honey, your brother is gone, and you’re a grown woman. You need to ask yourself what you want, and who you are, without him or us.”

The girl with the pink hair.

My stomach clenches and those knots that have been sitting in there tighten.

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