I’ll admit, when he first got arrested, I thought he deserved it. I hoped that it would turn him around, but as I walk through the several checkpoints, getting scanned and ID’d, I think about Danny; the blond-haired skinny kid who slept in the bunk bed above me for the first seven years of my life, until Fia was born. He was always a troublemaker, but he wasn’t a bad kid. He was not a bad person. He got wrapped up in the wrong scene and made some poor decisions.
But sometimes I think competing with me was the issue all along.
I was little miss perfect—perfect grades, didn’t date, and got a full ride to college, while he was barely getting by in school and spent his weekends getting high. He received nothing but discipline from Nan, while I got nothing but praise.
I thought I was doing the right thing, but maybe I should’ve tried harder to pull him up with me.
Maybe I’m part of the reason he’s here.
After the final metal detector scan, the gray metal door outside the visitation room buzzes, that harsh electric sound signaling it’sunlocked, but my tennis shoes stay planted on the speckled linoleum floor. I glance down, half expecting them to actually be glued. An impossible prank from my brother.
My white leather sneakers, scuffed near the toes, under my faded blue jeans, stay put, even though my mind screams to move my damn legs. Nervously, I pull at the sleeves of my bright-pink sweater with white beaded bows and swallow hard. I chose my brightest, most cheerful sweater, because I thought a little color might soften the edges around here. I thought it would cheer him up.
As I stand,stuckin this hallway on the verge of a panic attack, that seems stupid now. The sweater suddenly feels too loud, too bright, like I’m trying too hard, and my lip throbs…I didn’t realize how hard I was biting it.
“Ma’am, you can’t block the door,” an older woman’s voice snaps at me, stern and tired, and I meet her eyes for a split second.
“Yes, sorry.”
I step forward, arms instinctively folding across my torso. I feel like I’m about to walk onto a stage, ass naked, and tell everyone about all the ways I’ve fucked up in life.
As I enter the visitation room, I’m instantly overstimulated by the rows of hard plastic chairs occupied by families and couples, some leaning in close, whispering fast, others just...staring. My heart flutters, eyes snapping to the blinking clock on the far wall.
Thirty minutes is too much time to spend here.
The white cinderblock walls are streaked and chipped, like they’re molting. Overhead, the fluorescents hum low and cast a sickly yellow glow. There are windows at least—high, narrow ones—but the light they let in is filtered through layers of grime and bars.
The rush of blood in my head is so loud it drowns everything else, so I suck in the deepest breath I can manage—air thick with disinfectant and coffee—and let it out slowly, praying I stay standing.
When I open my eyes, we catch each other’s stare.
Across the room is Danny. My brother.
Sitting in the far corner, with his hands folded on the table, a small but nervously crooked smile wavers on his face, like he’s been waiting for me forever. It feels like I’m floating as I move closer, like my feet aren’t really hitting the floor, but before I can register everything, I’m standing beside the table. Probably paler than a ghost.
“Penny.” His voice startles me out of the underwater cage my mind is in. It’s deeper than I remember, and I study his face. His smile’s the same—always mischievous, even if it’s genuine, but now it’s punctuated by faint lines around his eyes, and the shaggy blond hair he used to hide behind was traded in for a crew cut.
His face falters, just barely, as I blink hard at him for several seconds, the manila folder still clutched in my clammy fingers.
“Ma’am, you need to sit or move along,” another guard mutters, appearing out of nowhere with a disapproving scowl.
I nod and force my rigid body to sit.
The plastic chair is cold beneath me as I settle into it, and the table between us wobbles when I lean, so I sit back carefully, arms tucked at my sides. Danny hasn’t stopped staring at me.
He looks smaller. Wewerepremature twins—always on the little side—but this is different. He’s not the cocky kid from high school anymore. He’s quiet and peaceful in a way that unsettles me.
Maybe I expected to come here feeling rage. Was it naive to think he would be the same asshole he was in high school? Decidedly, that would’ve made things easier.
But this?
This is unexpected and strange. Because instead of battling my brother, who should hate me, I just see a man. One who’s been sitting in this place alone for ten years. That thought makes me want to scream. I want to sob. I want to throw my arms around him and apologize for everything. And I think he knows it.
“Hey, it’s good to see you,” he says quietly, placing his hand on the table between us.
I stare at it.
Are we allowed to touch?
