37

O BROTHER

HEPHZIBAH WAS at her house when Esther got home from Reg’s funeral several days later, sprawled across her bed with Fleayoncé on her back and a laptop open in front of her. Familiar figures danced across the screen, chased by a horde of homicidal geese. Hephzibah giggled.

“What are you doing?” Esther whispered.

Heph turned and raised her eyebrows. “Watching you be a hilarious badass,” she signed with a grin.

Esther slammed the laptop shut. “Don’t ever watch them again. Jonah put them on the internet even when I specifically asked him not to. Do you know how messed up that is?”

“The videos are beautiful.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“I get that but . . . it’s not like he was trying to hurt you. He was trying to help you. I think you should give him a chance to apologize. To explain himself,” signed Heph. “It would be the bravest thing to do.”

“What do you know about bravery?” Esther snapped. “You don’t even have the guts to talk to your best friend. How do you think it makes me feel when you speak to almost everyone except me?”

Hephzibah stood slowly, her jaw set, and walked out of the room without another word. “Yeah, go,” Esther said as she went.

Eugene appeared in the doorway less than a minute later. “What did you say to her?” he demanded.

“Something that I knew would hurt her.” Eugene pursed his lips, flared his nostrils slightly. Causing Hephzibah pain was off-limits to everyone, even Esther. She changed the subject. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m super sick of telling everyone how I’m feeling.”

“Sorry.” Eugene sat down on the end of her bed, his head in his hands. Esther patted him on the back. “How weird was it seeing Dad outside today, right?” Despite the doctor’s protests, Peter had insisted on attending his father’s funeral. He’d worn Reginald’s red knit cap and reading glasses, and Esther and Rosemary had taken turns pushing his wheelchair.

“It was nice,” Eugene said. “I know I was supposed to be super sad all day because Pop’s dead, but the whole thing just made me feel kind of . . . normal. For the first time in a long time.”

“On that note, I think it’d be a good idea to try therapy again, but really try it this time, don’t just go in there with the intention of scaring the shit out of people. It’s like a broken bone, you know? You can’t keep walking on it and expect it to heal.”

“Is this the superstitious Esther Solar acknowledging the existence of mental illness and not just behaving like I’m cursed?”

“Shut up.”

Eugene ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t really want to talk to anyone.”

“I don’t really care. If you broke your leg and didn’t want to go to the hospital, I’d take you anyway.”

“I don’t want people to know I’m crazy, you know?”

“Oh, honey. You slit your wrists with a veterinary scalpel. I think it might be a little late for that.”

Eugene laughed. “No way. I can totally get away with the tortured artist thing. I only did it for my craft.”

“Oh great, this only adds to your mysterious legend. The boy witch, in so much pain he couldn’t face another day. The girls at school are going to fall for you at an unprecedented rate.”

“Ugh. Just what I need. Adventures of the Boy Witch, Episode One, in which our hero survives a brutal attack by his own mind.”

“You know what? I think it’s actually a really good idea. You could write a web comic about a depressed superhero. I mean, who saves the superheroes when they’re mentally ill?”

“That’s . . . not a terrible idea.”

“Well, I mean, I am practically famous on the internet, right? I could plug you on my channel.”

“Wait, you’re gonna keep going?”

“It was a joke.”

“You know, if I were to write a web comic, a certain charming young artist would be a handy mentor for me to have around.”

“You can be friends with him. But he betrayed me when he promised he wouldn’t, and I can’t forgive him.”

“Esther.”

“What?”

“I mean . . . it’s not like he cheated on you, or killed your cat, or hit you, or had six kidnapped girls locked up in his basement.”

“Well I haven’t verified the last one.”

“You didn’t check for basement girls? Damn, you’re gonna get a rude awakening one day. Always check the basement.”

“Betrayal is betrayal, Eugene.”

“Is it though? Remember when we were like seven, and we were at Pop and Gran’s house, and Gran found that expensive plate she loved broken and hidden under the bed in the guest room?”

“Yeah, they blamed me for some reason, even though I had no idea how it got broken.”

“I broke it. I ratted you out. I said I saw you do it.”

“You little shit. I didn’t get to go swimming that afternoon because of that.”

“So there you go,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Jonah and I have both committed a heinous betrayal against you.”

“You’re my brother. It’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

“You love him, too.”

“I want to talk about you, not him.”

“You do though, don’t you? You love him.”

“Eugene.”

“Okay, okay. Maybe not as much emotional development as I thought.” Eugene stood, but before he left, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “If I can work up the courage to walk in to a therapist and say—” He exhaled loudly, shook his head. “Shit this is hard. If I can say to a therapist, ‘Hi, I’m Eugene and I need a cast for my very fractured mind because I frequently have suicidal thoughts,’ then you can be brave enough to forgive him. Deal?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Everyone we let into our lives has the power to hurt us. Sometimes they will and sometimes they won’t, but that’s not a reflection of us, or our strength. Loving someone who hurts you doesn’t make you weak.”

“Staying with someone who hurts you does, though.”

“Jesus. Try telling that to a victim of domestic abuse. Try telling them that they’re pussies for not running.”

“This is different and you know it.”

“I get it. You think Mom’s weak, because she stayed all these years.”

“Yes.”

“You think she should’ve left Dad, like she left her first husband.”

“Yes.”

“Sometimes you’re brave if you run. Sometimes you’re brave if you stay. It’s important to know the difference. Important for both of us, probably.”

Esther had never thought of it like that before. “So you’ll talk to someone?” she asked.

“On one condition.”

“I can’t let him back into my life. Not yet. I’m not ready.”

“I’m not going to force you to make up with some dude if you don’t want to. That’d be pretty shitty brotherly love. You’re first, always.”

“Then what’s the condition?”

“You have to come with me.”

“To therapy? Eugene, I’m totally—”

“Fine? Sane? Stable? Happy?” Eugene shook his head. “I know working your way through the list is helping you, and I think you’re brave as hell for facing some of your fears. But I don’t think your makeshift self-help is enough. If I need more, then you need more. Come with me.”

Suddenly she got why Eugene didn’t want to go to a therapist, even though she could see clearly from the outside that it would help him, that it was the best thing. The thought of sitting down in front of a total stranger and spilling her guts out on the table for a therapist to sift through like a medium scrying animal entrails for a message . . . made her skin crawl. She liked to keep all of her emotions locked inside where she could see them and catalogue them and control them and make sure they didn’t spill out.

But she said okay because she wanted him to go. She needed him to go. Her life depended on his continued existence.

“I know you think love is dangerous. But I look at you and me, and I don’t see that.”

“Really? Because you have more power to destroy me than anyone else. I gave you that control by loving you and you went and tried to kill yourself. Why would I want to give anyone else the power to hurt me like that?”

“That’s just the thing. It had nothing to do with you. So maybe love isn’t the poison you think it is. Maybe people just make mistakes. Maybe they’re even worthy of our forgiveness if they hurt us.”

“Ugh. Sink the scalpel a little deeper next time, oh wise and annoying one.”

“You can’t say that to me, I’m emotionally fragile.” Eugene grinned. “I’m gonna go find the cheapest therapist in town and hook us up with an appointment.” He opened his laptop and sat it on the floor in front of her. It was open to the Semi-Definitive List of Worst Nightmares YouTube channel. “Now, time for you to do something you’re actually afraid of.”