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Predictable. Safe.
“It’s coming along nicely,” I answer, offering a smile that feels more like a grimace. “The website is almost done. We’ve worked out most of the packages, and even added a few surprises. But there’s still a lot to do.”
“Baby steps, honey. You’ll get there,” Mom reassures, her faith in me a balm to my frayed nerves.
“Any clients lined up?” Jamie’s question is innocent, but it hits like a sledgehammer.
“Umm, Luce has a few leads,” I manage to say without choking on the lie.
Coming here was clearly a bad idea, and I have no one but myself to thank for it. I should have canceled like I did a couple of weeks ago. I knew Dad would grill me, and that I’m putting my brother in the shitty position of having to lie to cover my unemployed ass.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, pushing back my chair. “I need some fresh air.”
I know I’m drawing everyone’s gaze as I abruptly leave, but with the way my stomach is churning I need to get out of here.
Before going for the fresh air I need, I walk into the bathroom and lean against the cool wall, my breath shaky. I pull the wig off, allowing the streaks of black and white to snake through my fingers. It’s a small defiance, but it’s mine, and right now, I feel like I need a reminder that I’m allowed to do what I want.
“Get it together, Gail,” I whisper to my reflection in the mirror. Squaring my shoulders, I slip the wig back on and leave the bathroom.
Instead of rejoining my family right away, I grab my coat and sneak outside. The cool air bites at my skin as I look up at the stars, glittering pinpricks in the vast expanse above. They seem so fixed, so certain of their place in the universe, and I envy them that assurance.
Now that I’m no longer surrounded by the heavy scents of the food, and the weight of my dad’s expectations, I feel better. I’m just about to turn around and head back inside when Jamie makes his presence known.
“What’s going on, Gail?” he asks, using his big-brother tone. The one that tells me that he knows I’m keeping secrets. “Are you okay? Did you and Lucia have another fight?”
I go to tell him that I’m okay, but when I open my mouth a sob breaks free. He immediately wraps his arms around me, pulling me in for a tight hug.
“Talk to me, Gail. You need to tell me what’s going on so I can help you,” he implores.
“I-I’m not okay,” I hiccup. “I think I’ve really fucked up this time, Jamie.” At my admission, I hold him tighter, using his embrace to ground myself while I feel like a ship being tossed carelessly around by the waves of my stupid actions and decisions.
“Whatever it is, I bet it’s not as bad as you think,” he says while he rubs his hand up and down my back.
I take a deep, shuddering breath, preparing myself to tell him. “I-I’m pregnant,” I admit weakly. “A-and I d-don’t know who the d-dad is.” My tears are coming fast now, making my vision blurry and my throat burns as I try to swallow through the ball of emotions lodged in my throat.
Jamie slides his hands up to my shoulders and takes a step back. “I’m going to be an uncle?” When I look up at him, he beams down at me.
“Y-you’re not angry? Or disappointed in me?” I ask.
He shakes his head and pulls me back into his embrace. “Gail,” he sighs. “You need to stop being so hard on yourself. Why would you making me an uncle upset me?”
I shake my head against his chest. “I don’t know who the dad is,” I whisper, too scared to speak at a normal volume. It’s irrational since I’ve already admitted it once, but there’s nothing rational about the way my brain works right now.
“Was it consensual?” Jamie asks, using his police tone. I nod. “Then why would that be any of my business? Look, I can’t say I revel in talking about your sex life, sis. But you do you.”
The way he says it makes it sound like he knows more than he’s letting on, and instead of relaxing me, it puts me on edge. “What do you mean?” I ask, needing to hear him say whatever it is he thinks he knows.
Jamie sighs and lets go of me, then he pulls me over to the old swing set we used to play on as kids. I wordlessly sit down on the swing and let him push me like he used to do when we were younger, and, honestly, have done many times since.
“When you lived with me I was really worried about you,” Jamie says as he keeps pushing me. “So I monitored your internet usage.”
“You what?” I squeak, feeling anger building in my stomach. “You had no right.”
He scoffs. “Had no right? Gail, come on. Some days you wouldn’t even get out of bed. You wouldn’t talk to our parents, Lucia, or even go see your doctor. I had every fucking right.”
I deflate as I listen to him explain things from his side, something I should probably have considered already. It’s hard to hear how worried he was, and my brain immediately wants me to feel bad as it tells me I failed him.
But for the first time, maybe ever, I refuse to berate myself. It was a hard time, one I couldn’t have gotten through without my brother, and I acknowledge that. I refuse to feel bad for feeling bad, though.
