5 Ways to Ruin Casey Brandt

e l e v e n

♡ BRIAR ♡

Two things happened the morning my life changed forever: My father's estranged sister called me, and, Casey Brandt asked me a question.

I'd gotten the first call during my sociology class. I was too busy taking notes to look for my buzzing phone, so, it was left to incessantly vibrate in my bag. Still, when the lecture was over and I stepped into the bright afternoon, my phone was still ringing continuously.

I dug it out, watching as the screen faded to black and then lit up again. When I noticed it was my father's contact photo flashing on the screen I rushed to pick up.

Looking back now, I wonder if I should've. I know I had to; that there wasn't ever going to be a choice. That when your chronically ill father triple calls you, it means something is wrong. It means there is something that can't wait.

But should I have waited? Should I have steeled myself in preparation? Could I have known what was to come?

"Hello?" a woman's voice asks on the other end. "Briar?"

"Aunt Hannah?" I walk a little way down the quad, finding a bench on the edge to sit on. "Are you calling from my Dad's phone?"

"Yes, I am. Listen, Briar, I'm going to have to tell you something. And you have to promise you won't come home."

"No," it slips out before I can stop it. Before I know what I'm saying no to.

No, I don't want to be told.

No, I can't hear this and not want to run home.

No, this is too weird.

When your aunt, who has never remembered your birthday and barely speaks to your father, calls you from his phone with demands, you know something is wrong. You know something is going to change. To shift into something you can't go back from.

I'm not sure why I recall this next moment so clearly, why it's what I think of first when looking back on this. Yet at that exact second, a group of freshmen I knew from orientation walked past. I remember they were laughing. Throwing their heads back as they walked across the quad. They seemed so happy. Like this was just another day, and to them it was. But to me, it was a show of what I just lost.

I curled my fingers around the edge of the bench, wishing I could grip the before picture of my life that was slipping away.

"Briar," she scolded me. "This is important."

I took a breath. I let the snapshot I was clinging to slip a little more. "Okay."

"I'm at the hospital. Your father is here, but he's resting. They gave him something for the pain."

"Pain? He's in pain?"

"Well, honey, he had a stroke."

"He what?" I felt my heart knocking against my ribcage. I thought it might jump out. I tried to imagine what a stroke felt like and thought maybe it felt something like this. "When? How? Do people just have strokes?"

"Briar, people who have chronic heart and health issues do."

I could practically hear her rubbing her forehead in irritation. I tried to imagine her getting the call and groaning at the idea of her brother having yet another hospital visit under his belt. I couldn't picture any worry on her face. Only annoyance. I couldn't even begin to imagine her reluctance to call me to let me know what was happening. To my Aunt Hannah, anything she doesn't want to do is a complete inconvenience. And she wanted you to know that.