Page 61 of Sorry, We're Closed

I do not give her an answer. She does not deserve an answer, of which I know she will refuse to understand. I tear my wrist from her grip as I power down the stairs, my bags brushing against the banister. I reach for the front door handle as quickly as I can, gripping it tightly because I will not have this opportunity ripped from me.

Her voice, now higher and raspy, shrieks from the top steps of the staircase, “Sawyer Sombre! You can’t just leave me! I am your mother! If you walk out of that door, you will be dead to me!”

I can see her entire body shaking with every breath, her eyes wide and beading at me. For once in my life, I’m in control of my entire being.

“Wasn’t I already?”

Twenty-Eight

Gwen

“Xander?” I call out as the twinkling of my keys and oversized keyrings hit the glass bowl standing on our random crap drawers.

I’ll organise them at some point.

As I stroll through our bold, bright home filled with cosy décor I obviously chose, a living room and kitchen combined with two bedrooms and a bathroom which tuck themselves away down a hallway, a stocky figure leaves the furthest bedroom and appears in said hallway.

“Hey, Gwen. Is everything alright down there?”

He’s referring to the bakery. Whenever he leaves work slightly earlier than usual – which is an incredibly rare occasion, but something caught him off guard on his phone today – he continuously worries about me having to deal with everything on my own from cleaning up to the finances. However, he forgets that I am not his little sister who waddles at knee height anymore. He needs time away from that place, I’ll have to see what I can do about getting him a break.

He waves a hand my way as he lounges in his usual white vest shirt and baggy joggers, peeling the fridge door open and grabbing a can of our usual premade gin and lemonade. He offers a can my way and I nod in return.

“Yes, I’ve left all the reports and cash collections in the office for you tomorrow.”

Both cans hiss towards Xander as he opens and pours them into two tall glasses, handing me a glass with one hand and wrapping his other around my shoulder, pulling me to his side. He kisses the top of my head, which I’ve learnt over the years is his way of showing his gratitude. He’s always shown his appreciation and love for those around him in actions and quality time but hardly ever his words. It causes new people to perceive him as this brute with muscle, but I know him far too well to understand that he craves and enjoys our evenings like this. Our evenings of cheap canned drinks, the newest season on the countries favourite baking competition, and the comfort of our floral candles and knitted blankets. Of course, I chose those as well.

As I scroll through the episodes, Xander’s head falls backwards onto the plump cushions and a deep, controlled exhale leaves his body. I grab his hand with my free one.

“What’s up? Is it to do with the reason you left early today?”

My thumb rubs circles on his rough skin as I press play, the pastel colours and fanfare introduction filling the room.

“Why must social media have memories? And why must it send me multiple notifications throughout the day of a memory I want to forget?”

He sits up and swigs his drink, sucking on his teeth slightly at the sharpness.Damn you, cheap lemonade.

“Him again?”

He nods silently, his eyes now fixating on the competitors preparing their baking station on our curved screen.

“Is there no chance that you could reach out to him? It’s been over a year, maybe you guys could talk things out?” I offer my thoughts, but I know what Xander’s like.

“I can’t. Not after I hurt him.”

I bite my bottom lip slightly because I know there isn’t anything I can say to help him. Instead, I slide myself against his side and squeeze myself under his arm, hoping to provide some sort of comfort as we continue our evening.

After hours of watching, we finally reach the most recent episode, but we have also reached the bottom of our glasses on a few occasions. As I collect our empty glasses and make my way into the kitchen, stepping over Xander’s kicked out legs which rest on the coffee table, a sudden ringing screams throughout the flat. It’s the doorbell which we have just had installed – I’m still not used to it.

“I’ve got it.” Xander lulls as he struggles to save himself from the comforting dip, which we both know is deadly to sit in.

“You’ve succumbed to the dip, I’ll get it.”

I drop off the glasses in the kitchen sink for tomorrow before throwing my blonde waves over my shoulder and answering the front door.

“Sawyer?”

I know that we have always offered our home to him whenever he needs it, but it has been so long since he’s accepted it that he serves as a surprise. He stands there, his cream jumper rising and falling rapidly as his chest seems to struggle for air. His face appears flushed in scarlet and paler shades of his usual tanned skin, and his hazelnut curls twist knots all over his head.

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