"Oh! Hi, honey."
"Hey, Em," I said as I slipped through the door, swinging my car keys around my finger.
"He's in the living room," she said with a smile.
I gained speed as I walked, swerving through the doorway and careening to a halt when I saw Ethan sprawled out on the changing mat, kicking his pudgy little legs in glee. Sam was kneeling in front of him, holding a dirty diaper out away from his body like it was a live explosive.
"Hey," I said.
He looked at me, half-panicked. "Good morning."
"Hey, buddy," I cooed, sinking to my knees beside Ethan and taking his little hand. "Have you been good?"
He blew a spit bubble at me and gave one last definitive kick, then let out a squeak. My heart clenched at the sound, warmth spreading through my chest. I scooped him up from the mat after properly fastening the clean diaper Sam had attempted to put on him and cradled him to my chest, running my fingers through the silky wisps of red on the top of his head.
"Thank you so much for looking after him," I murmured softly, smiling as Sam slid an arm around Emily's waist and kissed the top of her head.
"Not a problem," Emily said. "He had a bit of a hissy fit this morning, but other than that, he was good as gold."
I bounced gently from side to side and patted Ethan's back when he hiccupped. "Only one? That's a new record."
"How was your night?"
"It was...interesting."
Emily raised an eyebrow at me.
"Jake's surprise appearance at the reception party spiced things up a bit." My eyes flashed to meet Sam's for a moment, and he locked his jaw.
"Oh, yes," Emily said. "I heard about that."
"The kid gets a bit hot-headed," Sam murmured.
I hummed.
Emily's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Did anything else happen?"
I blew out my cheeks and tilted my head. "Well, my brother, who I haven't spoken to in about a year, showed up early this morning."
Emily blinked. "Really? Why?"
"Our mum died," I said. "He came to tell me and start making arrangements."
Death was an incredibly effective conversation killer.
"Oh," Emily breathed. "I'm so sorry."
"Thank you," I said softly. "I should, uh, get going. Thank you again for looking after him."
"Anytime," Sam said, tone a little more gruff than usual.
The drive back was irritatingly silent.
I'd been banking on Ethan to make noise and distract me, but he just stared up at the roof of the car with wide, gormless eyes. Barely made a peep. So instead, I was forced to contemplate what was going to happen next. I needed to get in touch with Elliot, sort out what we were going to do about the funeral and the inevitable debts our mum left behind and do all of that without biting his head off about the disappearing act. He deserved a family as much as anyone—I wasn't going to begrudge him that. But I deserved an explanation, a phone call, even a measly postcard. Anything but the total silence I received.
I needed to tell Meg. That is, if she didn't already know. She was at work and wouldn't be back until the early afternoon, when she would want to sleep. I would have to tell her quickly; else it would never feel like the right time. Would she want to see Elliot? Probably. Did I want her to see him? No, but it wasn't my call.
I was nauseous by the time I pulled up in front of the house. I shut off the engine and was suddenly surrounded by tanned limbs and lopsided smiles, no shirts to be found despite the drizzling rain.
"Morning!"
"Hey!"
"How was the wedding?"
I shut the car door to break up the flood of voices and took a breath. My bags were removed from the truck before I could blink and Paul was in front of me, staring me down with suspicious eyes.
"Are you alright?"
"Ask me again in ten minutes," I grumbled, moving to get Ethan out of the car. He'd fallen asleep during the journey and his chin was shiny with dribble, but he looked peaceful. I envied him.
"How did you guys get in?" I asked as I stepped into the kitchen, finding breakfast items spread across the table and the sink full of coffee cups.
"Meg gave us a key a couple of weeks back," Jared said with a shrug, taking a bite of a piece of toast.
I blinked. "Okay."
Embry smacked Quil's hand away a plate of muffins. "Don't be greedy."
"Excuse me?" Quil retorted. "You had four."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Embry, we saw you."
"Foul, vicious lies."
I took Ethan through to the living room and lay him down in his day crib, settling him with a blanket and his stuffed elephant. I rubbed the back of my neck, which had started to ache, as I returned to the kitchen.
"Hey, guys?"
"Jared, you saw him eat them, right?"
"Yes. Yes, I did."
Embry glared at him. "Traitor."
"Guys," I said again, a little louder.
"I don't think you're in a position to regulate my muffin intake," Quil sniffed.
"I'm bigger than you, I need the calories," Embry retorted, flexing his arms.
Jared snorted. "Shut up, Embry-
"Actually, could you all shut up, please?" I snapped, loud enough to catch their attention. "I have a sleeping baby in the other room. Don't be dickheads."
They went silent.
I put my face in my hands for a moment, forcing myself to take a breath. None of this was their fault, I shouldn't get angry at them. But their obliviousness set my teeth on edge.
"Is something wrong?" Jared asked, hesitant.
"Everything is fine," I said as my hands dropped back down to my sides. "I'm just tired, so I think it might be time for you guys to go."
Embry looked at me. "Is this about the muffins? I'll replace them."
"No, Embry, it's not about the muffins."
"We'll wash the dishes, we promise-
"Oh my god, this isn't your house!"
They all flinched at the volume, shock slackening their faces.
"If I ask you to leave, you leave," I said. "Simple as that."
"Right," Jared said quietly as he rose from his seat at the table. "See you later, I guess."
Quil and Embry wordlessly followed him to the door and jogged out onto the drive. Only Paul remained in the kitchen.
"Why are you still here?" I snapped, pinching the bridge of my nose.
"Oh, I won't be for long, don't worry."
I met his eyes, the bitter tilt to his words twisting my gut.
"You don't have to be so rude, Im."
"But I do!" I protested. "You all invite yourselves here, whenever you want, without a care in the world that you might be intruding on someone's life! I shouldn't have to start screaming to get you all to leave me alone, but here we are!"
He recoiled, face scrunching in hurt. "We're just trying to help-
"Well, stop," I said. "If this is what you think is helpful, I don't want it."
My stomach dropped as soon as the words left my mouth, but I couldn't claw them back. They were out in the air, hanging between us in the heavy silence, and I was left with nothing to do but watch Paul's eyes glaze over.
"Okay," he said, voice steady. "Got it."
"Wait, Paul, I didn't mean-
"I'll see you around," he cut in, heading for the door.
"Paul," I said. "Paul-
I was cut off by the front door clicking softly shut.
Then I started to cry.
The kitchen felt so empty. And cold. But my face was burning, hot and wet with embarrassed and furious tears. I felt so stupid.
They'd been so sweet. They'd welcomed me to the town, looked after me, dealt with my antics and helped me with Ethan, and I tossed them out of the house in a heartbeat. The looks on their faces were seared into my mind, and the hurt in Paul's eyes would haunt me until the day I died. Forced proximity had made him trust me, and I'd ripped that to shreds in the space of thirty seconds.
I stared at the half-eaten breakfast and the coffee cups stained around the rim. I wanted to scream.
It felt cruel. The moment something good happened—my friend got married and I kissed a boy—the rest of the world came crashing down around me in retaliation. My mother died, my brother—who abandoned me—came back without a shred of remorse for what he'd done, and I was stupid enough to ruin one of the best things in my life. The timing was almost too perfect to be unintentional.
The empty plates were mocking me. So were the butter-smeared knives and the spoon in the jar of jelly, the ajar cupboard doors and the pint of milk left out on the side. In a thrill of rage, I swept a mug from the table and onto the kitchen floor, the shattering cacophony of clinks barely audible behind the sobs pouring from my chest.
Elliot didn't even know I had a son. My mum would never meet him. Whether or not that was a good thing, I wasn't sure. I would never get an explanation from her as to why she was she way she was. Why she treated me the way she did, and why she continually allowed people into our lives that treated us both like shit.
I hadn't experienced grief before. I didn't know if I was doing it right—I wasn't crying for her; I was crying for me. It was a selfish, self-pitying cry that had been building up for months, but the pain and self-loathing curdling in my stomach was nothing to do with her. It was strange, and the confusion of it just made me feel worse.
I slid down the kitchen counter and the handles of the cabinets dug into my back as I settled on the cold floor, trying to remember how to breathe.