Page 58 of Collateral Damage
Cooper
Past - Age 22
I stare at my phone, dead-eyed while trying to read the message from my professor about my midterm. I fucked it up, and he’s going to let me retake it. I should be happy, but I don’t feel anything other than numb indifference. This year has been the worst of my life, and this semester has been hell on earth.
We took a week off in October when Mom died, and then immediately returned to Boston. It was fucked up, but Dad was adamant we do not wallow. That was the term he used. Mom made us promise to stick by our father before she passed. Apparently, we’re only allowed to grieve when it’s not interfering with family plans.
The phone lights with a call from Sybil, and I’m momentarily taken aback. We’re all products of our generation, texting more often than not, so I rarely get calls without a text first. That said, since things with Ethan went long distance, she’s been video-calling more and more. Sometimes she calls me because Ethan sucks at answering.
“Sybil. Hi. How are you? Are you okay?” I clock this is a voice call. “Do you want to video?”
“Not today.” She sighs, sounding so defeated I want to reach through the phone and give her a big hug.
Her well-being is front and center in my mind lately. With the drama between our parents over the last month, things have been awful for everybody.
“Are you with Ethan?” she asks, and I hate that her voice sounds so guarded. My hackles instantly rise.
“He’s at the library with our study group. What’s going on?”
I don’t blame Ethan for being at the library every waking moment we’re not in class. That’s how he copes. When he’s upset, he works. It’s a trait he got from our father and one I don’t think anyone will ever break him of, not even Sybil.
Sybil sighs. “I feel so alone.”
Yeah. I know exactly how she feels. “You’re not alone. He’s grieving. And… you have me.”
We’ve talked about this extensively since the funeral. We don’t want everything going on with our parents to ruin our friendship or their engagement.
“He’s too busy with his MBA, yet you’re talking to me and you’re in the same program. How is that okay?”
“Well, he does get better grades than I do,” I joke. She doesn’t take the bait, and I let out a sigh. “He’s stuck in denial. We can’t put a timeline on his grief. You need to keep being patient.”
“I know,” she whispers. “But that doesn’t negate the fact that my fiancé hasn’t been available to me on any level, not physically and not emotionally. I’ve got nothing. I was prepared for a long-distance relationship, but I wasn’t prepared to be iced out.”
I swallow hard. Sybil deserves better—that’s what I should say. But this is Ethan. My twin and built-in best friend for life. His heart is shut off right now, but it’s a result of our mom’s death and the affair, not because of Sybil.
“I’ll talk to him,” I try. “He’ll come around soon.”
She’s quiet on the other end for a long minute, and I lie back in my bed, staring at my ceiling and not wanting her to end the call. I wish we could talk about normal things again. Every time we talk, it’s about our parents or my brother. It’s never about us, and it’s never fun. Every time I ask her how she’s doing, she tells me she’s okay, which means she’s lying. I should know, considering I do the same thing.
I’m never okay these days.
“I guess if I’m being completely honest with myself, I know it won’t matter. I already know the truth about what I want,” she says.
My heartbeat speeds. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you should plan to be there for your brother. He’s going to need you.”
Panic slides up my throat, rendering me breathless. I cried the day Mom died, and I haven’t cried since. I think those floodgates are threatening to open up. I wish I could see Sybil’s face. She can’t really mean this. She loves Ethan more than anyone. And Ethan? He’s in pain. He can’t lose her, too.
I pull the phone away from my ear and immediately click the video-call button.
“I don’t want to see you right now,” she complains. “I’m all blotchy.”
“Too bad. I need to see your face for what you’re about to say, or I swear to God, I won’t believe it.”
Her beautiful face fills my screen. She smiles softly, but there’s deep sadness behind her soulful gaze.
“What are you doing?” I ask slowly. “Please don’t tell me you’re doing what I think you’re doing. The timing couldn’t be worse.”
