Page 76 of Lessons in Faking
Henry groaned. “This whole thing has taken twenty years off my life,” he muttered, rubbing his face before he looked at me again. He hesitated for a moment.
When he moved, I half expected him to tackle me the way he had when we’d been younger. I did not expect his arms around my body, squeezing harder than he should.
“Please don’t ever do that again,” he muttered, anger replaced by desperation. The same desperation that made him cling to the hug like a toddler. “Please.” His breath came unevenly. I felt his chest rise and fall rapidly when I leaned into him. And I nodded, unable to say anything—not quite sure if I wanted to.
It had been seven years since I’d been in my brother’s arms like that—when he wasn’t mysteriously drunk, trying to annoy me, or playing around. His last serious hug had been right after we’d found out about our parents’ deaths and right before he shut me out.
Chapter 32
Wren gave us the privacy needed for the inevitable. Henry’s ankle rested across his knee, bouncing as he sank further into our brown leather couch.
“I called Stephanie.”
His words caught me off guard. There were a lot of things I expected from this conversation, but not our therapist’s name coming out of his mouth. As I watched him trace the sofa’s stitching, one leg still restlessly moving, he seemed nervous enough for the both of us.
I tried to keep my expression blank because I wasn’t sure what would play on my face otherwise. Surprise about the admission? Compassion for how hard this conversation was going to be for him? Relief because we were finally having it?
So my face said nothing. Neither did I.
And the words began tumbling out of him.
“About what happened, why I—” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes like he was trying to recite somethinghe’d studied over and over again. “Why I feel the need to control your life whenever I lose some control over mine.” The words rushed out of him so quickly that I was almost tempted to make him say them again. His hand drove through his hair, and he sighed again. “I just want what’s best for you, and sometimes I forget that’s not always what’s best for me too.”
Rain splattered against the windows, and I tried not to break at the first sign of affection from him. “Did Stephanie help you figure that one out?” I wondered, barely keeping my voice even. “You know, it shouldn’t take a professional who charges two hundred dollars an hour to be able to see that.”
His dry laugh filled the space around us. “I know,” he said. “I know. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lia—” His voice broke, and he didn’t even bother masking the slipup.
I’m sorry.
I repeated the words in my head over and over again. My eyes stung. But there was no feeling of accomplishment. I thought his apology was what I’d been aiming for. I wanted him to realize he fucked up. I wanted him to care. He seemed to be doing both now, yet I didn’t feel any closer to him.
“Would you say something?” Desperation edged into his tone.
“For what?”
He looked puzzled. “What?”
“What are you sorry for, Henry?”
“Lia—” He wanted to argue, but the look on my face stopped him. With a resigned sigh, he continued, “Foroverstepping. For sending that email. I apologize for everything. Why are you... laughing?”
“You really think I did this entire thing because you sent Shaw an email you shouldn’t have? Was I pissed? Of course. You overstepped. Massively. And you should work on that, but—” I shook my head. “This thing, dating McCarthy—it was the first time you actually seemed to care. We never talked about anything but school and grades until you stormed into my apartment with those statistics notes.” I was almost embarrassed to admit it. “And when you thought there was more between us... youcared. I’ve been wanting you to care since they died.”
He blinked at me, and I could tell he didn’t know what to say.
But I was on a roll. “I’m sorry for leaving without telling you. I never wanted to worry you like that. But you cannot blame me for wanting my brother back. Even if it means we’re fighting, at least we’re doingsomething. At least you thought about me, fucking talked to me.”
Seven years of suppressed feelings flooded out of me. The dam that had kept my cheeks dry broke when my brother’s eyes started to glisten and his teeth dug into his bottom lip to keep it from quivering.
For the second time that night, and for the second time in seven years, I found myself in Henry’s arms. He squeezed me so hard, it felt like he was making up for the fact that it had been so long.
“Fuck,” he breathed against the top of my head. “Fuck, Lia—”
“I felt so alone, you know? And you just kept moving further and further away. Until you were way out of reach.”
He swallowed hard, and he exhaled loudly. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I never wanted you to feel alone. I just wanted to give you space. I didn’t want to keep you from making your own choices unless absolutely necessary. Like I would’ve wanted—” He cut himself off like he’d remembered something. “But I guess what I think is best for me isn’t necessarily what you think is best for you.”
I smiled against his chest, sniffled. “I really love Stephanie.”
