the back of my neck as I tried to keep my emotions in check. “My brother and I would share a song with one another every single day, no matter what. This was the last song he shared with me.”
Her eyes watered over, and she didn’t even try to keep the tears from falling. Her hand landed against mine, and she squeezed it lightly. “I’m so sorry, Oliver. I know you hear that a lot from so many people, but I am so deeply sorry.”
I gave her a tight grin and shrugged. “It’s all right.”
“No. It’s not.”
She was right.
She closed her eyes as she listened to the song, and the tears kept streaming down her cheeks as she felt it. I saw it happening—she wasn’t just listening to the words; she was feeling them. They were being imprinted on her soul, the same way she was being imprinted on mine.
When the song came to an end, she opened her beautiful eyes and took both of my hands into hers. “Can you play it again?”
And I did.
It was crazy how life worked. For the past few months, I hadn’t been able to play that song without feeling as if my heart was being ripped out of my chest. But having someone to listen to it with me, having Emery there to experience the song, the lyrics, the story behind its meaning to me, made it hurt a little less. As if she was sharing the burden of it with me.
When I was with her, I felt less confused, less sad. Less lonely.
“Thank you for sharing that, Oliver. It means a lot to me.”
“Thank you for listening.”
She wiped her emotions away from her eyes and cleared her throat. “So question time? Should I go first?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you keep your mirrors covered?”
I grimaced and shifted a bit, but I didn’t drop my hold of her hands. I wouldn’t dare drop her touch. “It’s hard to look in mirrors. Because it feels like I’m looking at my brother.”
“I figured that was it. I get that . . . but . . . and I don’t mean to be offensive or anything, but I feel like that could be a bit of a gift. You know? To see your brother every time you look into your own eyes. It’s as if a piece of him gets to keep living on within you.”
“I’ve never thought of it that way.”
“Yeah. Maybe that’s stupid. That’s just how my mind works, though.”
“I like how your mind works.”
A slight squeeze to her hands.
She tilted her head and didn’t break our stare. “Okay, now your question.”
“Does Reese not know her father? Is he not in the picture anymore?”
Within seconds, Emery sat up straighter, and a somber look found her eyes. Her hands slipped away from mine, and I realized that maybe that was the one question I shouldn’t have asked about.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, no. It’s fine. I did say any question,” she laughed. “That came back to slap me in the face.”
“You don’t have to answer.”
“No. It’s fine. I just don’t talk about it a lot, so it’s hard. But, no. She doesn’t know her father. I don’t know him, either. I have no clue who he is.”
My chest tightened as I narrowed my eyes. “Was it a one-night stand or something?”
She shook her head. “No. I mean, I’ve never met him. I have no clue who he is, what he looks like, or anything about him.”
How was that possible? What was I missing?
Emery must’ve seen the confusion in my eyes, since she gave me the saddest frown she’d ever produced. “Reese isn’t my biological child. She’s my sister’s.”
23
EMERY
Five Years Ago
They were going to disown her before she even parted her lips. I knew that the moment Sammie told me about her pregnancy. She knew it too. That was the truth about who our parents were. They set their judgmental opinions down before they offered compassion, no matter what. Theo and Harper Taylor weren’t millennials, by any means, but they were well versed in cancel culture. They’d canceled my aunt Judy for getting a divorce. They shunned the gospel choir director for having photographs online of herself at a Drake concert.
They’d belittle children who celebrated Halloween.
I’d never met two souls who placed judgment like they placed prayers—every morning and night.
Sammie’s hands weren’t shaking, because she was frozen still as I sat beside her on the sofa in Mama and Dad’s living room. I’d gone off to college two years