Page 77 of October
1. Put her before you.
2. Show up when it's ugly.
3. Seeherneeds.
4. Respect her—here, there, everywhere.
5. Protect her from everything—including yourself.
6. Choose her. Every day. No exceptions.
It was all there, spelled out, embarrassingly simple, and yet somehow it had taken me this long to see it.I sat in that parking space with the windows rolled up, holding that list like it was something sacred, like it was the only map I had left to find my way back home.
I turned around and went back to my apartment. I'd moved in weeks ago, but it still didn't feel like home. Everything was... organized, at least. The boxes were lined up neatly against the walls, labeled in my handwriting—kitchen,clothes,books,bathroom essentials. A few were opened, their contents folded or stacked with care, but most were still sealed. Like I knew where everything belonged, but I couldn't bring myself to finish the process. Couldn't make it real.
I kept the apartment clean—borderline sterile, honestly—but it still felt empty. Like I was visiting someone else's life. The absence of October was everywhere, sharp and constant, pressed into every surface I touched. And the kids...I felt the hole they left every single night. The hours I did get with them weren't enough, not by a long shot. Which was the cruelest part becauseI'm seeing them more now than I ever did before.
I had barely stepped into the apartment, arms full of groceries, when a voice cut through the quiet behind me.
"God, this is so you," it called out, dry and amused. "Boxes lined up like you're planning a military compaign."
I turned to see her leaning casually in the doorway, arms crossed, watching me with that familiar mix of affection and judgment only a sister could master. Beth always had that look, like she loved me but fully expected me to be a disaster at any given moment.
She looked different now, though—not in some dramatic way, but in that subtle shift that happens when someone's been living everywhere and nowhere all at once. Her jeans were worn, soft at the knees, the kind of faded that doesn't come from a store but from actual living. She wore a loose button-up over a tank top, mismatched bracelets lining one wrist, a thin leather cord around her neck holding a tiny, chipped pendant I didn't recognize. Her boots were scuffed, laces fraying, like they'd walked through more countries than I could pronounce. And slung across her shoulder was some beaten-up canvas bag, patched and stitched in places—proof that she didn't stay anywhere long enough to need furniture, just books, notebooks, a few clothes, and memories.
Beth, the nomad. The one who ran before the rest of us even realized we were stuck. She'd always been restless, curious, allergic to permanence. But somehow she still looks like home.
"It's annoying how much I have missed you," she said, voice soft.
Before I knew it, I crossed the room and pulled her into a hug. Tight. Solid. Necessary. Beth was the only woman I hugged besides October. I didn't like touching people much—never had.Too much noise in it, too much awkwardness, but with Beth it wasn't like that. Same with Joseph. Joseph didn't ask, just dragged me into bear hugs like I owed him rent. I always acted annoyed, rolled my eyes, muttered something sharp, but the truth was—I loved it. I loved it because it felt safe. It felt like someone holding the edges of me steady when I didn't know how to keep from falling apart.
Beth hugged me back, fierce like always, pressing her face into my shoulder like she'd been carrying this moment across miles just to give it to me.
"You smell like the best parts of my childhood," she said, her voice almost breaking. "It's good to see you."
I stepped aside and nodded toward the kitchen. "Come in. I was about to heat something up. It's not terrible, I promise."
Beth raised an eyebrow but followed, kicking off her boots by the door. "Is this one of those moments where you've been secretly hiding gourmet skills this whole time?"
"Not quite. Just YouTube recipes and stubbornness."
While the food reheated, the two of us leaned against opposite counters, that easy sibling silence filling the spaces between words.
"So," I finally said, glancing at her, "whyareyou here? Thought you'd sworn off this whole side of the country."
Beth shrugged, tugging absently at one of her bracelets like she wasn't sure where to start. "Mom's lawyer called me. Something about sorting out old accounts, tying up paperwork. Honestly, it wasn't clear."
She looked up at me, her voice gentler now. "That was weeks ago, Thomas, and when I called Mom last week just to check in, she said she still hasn't heard from you. You won't tell me anything about where things stand with her, but she told me it's been silence since... well, everything. You've never gone this long without calling her. Not even once. But I get it"
I didn't say anything, and she didn't press. Just nodded like she expected the silence.
"So yeah," she continued, her expression somewhere between annoyed and concerned, "I figured, knowing you're separated from October, and you're not exactly Mister Sociable on a good day, that maybe you could use your little sister showing up uninvited."
The microwave beeped. I dished the food onto two plates and handed one to her.
She took a cautious bite, then her eyes widened slightly. "Wait, this is actually good. What the hell?"
I smirked, but it didn't quite reach my eyes. "Been learning. Trying things I think October would like. I don't live there anymore, my fault, obviously, but I keep thinking about how her mom's not well. How October's tired, and I just—I like the idea of her eating something I made. Something good."
