The Place We Were Made Read online

  “This sucks,” Bea says, her basic observation hitting the crisp night air with a slight puff of steam.

  “Mild understatement,” I reply as I lift my thighs and tuck my hands beneath them to stop myself from picking at my cuticles.

  “I only knew about the house, and Mom made me promise not to tell you.”

  “Sounds like something Mom would do.”

  Bea yanks on the sleeves of her knitted sweater, pulling them down to cover her hands. “How did we not see it? I mean, Dad doesn’t say much, but Mom is an open book. I can tell the day she’s had by the number of wrinkles on her forehead.”

  “True.” I chuckle. Dad has always kept to himself, but the one thing that’s written all over his face and in every facet of his body language is how much he loves Mom. You can hear it in his voice and in the way he holds her every chance he gets; how when he gets home from work, he kisses her temple before he drops his keys on the bench. It’s like muscle memory. He’s conditioned to show her how much he cares for her.

  “This is so out of left field.” I exhale. “And selling the house is too final. Why can’t they keep it until they’re certain they don’t want to be together?”

  Bea takes my hand and I close my eyes as the night air brushes my cheeks. The smell of that incoming storm is getting stronger.

  “I don’t want to lose our house.” Bea looks around the yard. “Our entire childhood is here.”

  That thought cuts close to the bone. No matter where we go, or what we do together or independently, this is home. It’s the place we always come back to. It’s the place where we can just be us.

  As though summoned, Alex and Eve step out the back door and cross the yard. Alex has two coats hanging over his arm.

  “Put these on and move over.” He holds our respective coats out, and Bea and I shuffle over to make room.

  “This sucks,” Alex says as he settles beside me. Eve follows, our older siblings bracketing us and huddling close.

  “Mild understatement,” Bea mumbles.

  Eve frowns as she cradles my twin, and the air is thick with her unspoken thoughts.

  “So, neither of you knew about the divorce?” I ask my older siblings.

  “Dad told me they wanted to sell the house and Mom said she wanted to tell the rest of you herself,” Eve answers.

  Eve rarely does what Mom asks of her, so Dad was the one who made her keep the secret.

  “What about you?” I address my brother, who holds a hand up defensively.

  “I didn’t know. I swear.”

  We huddle in silence, but even in the safety of our treehouse, my mind continues to race. My parents are solid. They’re in love and have been since they met as twenty-year-olds. They had it all, they still have it all.

  “Is anyone else wondering what Mom did to make Dad finally leave her?” Eve couldn’t hold her tongue forever.

  “Evie,” Alex scolds. “Don’t say shit like that.”

  “It’s true, though. Didn’t any of you notice they’ve been snapping at each other for almost a year?”

  “They have not,” Bea disagrees quickly, but I stew on it for a moment and place the last twelve months under a microscope in my mind.

  Dad’s been working for the same logistics company since he left high school and even with the long hours, he always made time for Mom on the weekends. For the last year, however, he’s been busying himself with tasks like building a garden bed along the back wall of the house, painting the exterior trim, and tinkering with any electronics he could find in the house. He also got really into meat smoking and compound-butter-making around Thanksgiving last year.

  It’s like he’s been looking for something to do.

  How did I not notice this before?

  “Everything is going to be okay,” Alex says softly. “We’re all here and we aren’t going anywhere.”

  Bea reaches over and cradles my hands in hers. She squeezes tightly while Alex rubs my shoulder. His words are only a partial comfort because he’ll be gone again soon. I am thankful for my sisters, though.

  “Mom’s already asked if I can take the property photos,” Bea admits. “I’ll have to use the wide-angle lens to convince the internet there’s extensive space for entertaining in this yard.”

  It cuts a little deeper knowing Mom has already contracted Bea’s services as a professional photographer to sell our home.

  “I told Dad to rip up the carpet in the dining room,” Eve adds. “The hardwood under there is beautiful.”

  Alex looks up at the stars and lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m going to have to come clean about the hole in the wall behind the headboard in my room.”

  Bea raises a brow. “How did you put a hole in the wall?”

  “I’m not telling you.”

  “Eww.” I turn up my nose.

  Eve laughs. “Wait, is that why you asked Mom to leave your room exactly as it was when you left?”

  He shrugs. “I intended to fix it at some point.”

  Alex doesn’t have the skills to execute such a task. Eve vocalizes that thought and she and Alex squabble while I stare out over the backyard in silence.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Bea whispers, noticing I’m not engaging in the conversation.

  I sincerely hope she’s right, because we’re in uncharted waters now.

  “We should go back in,” Eve says. “They’re probably fighting.”

  “Kit and I are going to stay out here for a little while.” Bea continues to hold my hand.

  Alex and Eve go back into the house, and through the back door, I see Mom in the kitchen. She pulls Alex into a hug while Eve leans against the counter with her arms folded. When Mom turns to her, she leaves the room.

  “This might be the last straw for Mom and Evie,” Bea whispers. “She’s definitely on Dad’s side.”

  I hate the thought of taking sides, but this isn’t a surprise to anyone. Eve and Mom have never seen eye to eye. Mom has tried to connect with her eldest daughter, but Eve pushes back. Aside from shared genetics, they have nothing in common and keeping Mom at arm’s length is more like sport for Eve. Mom will never stop trying though. She’s always been about her children. She convinced Dad to buy Alex his first guitar and attended all his shows. She used to drive me to the skate rink so I could hang out with my best friend, Danny and she spent hours sewing costumes for Bea’s middle school dance recitals. She was always front and center with the camera too. But things never really clicked with Eve. My sister had hobbies, heaps of them. In fact, she bounced around from one activity to the next so fast it gave us all whiplash. Mom tried to instill in Eve the importance of seeing things through. It never stuck though.

  I turn my face away from the house. From this height, I can see over the fence into the Larson family’s backyard. They’ve lived on this street as long as we have, and even though all the Larson kids moved out a while ago, I’m left with fond memories of growing up alongside them. When Bea and I were eleven, Alex pulled the nails out of four fence palings at the back of the yard to make a swinging door big enough to sneak through. The primary purpose of the backyard trap door was so Miles Larson, Alex’s best friend, could smuggle booze into the treehouse. That came in handy when Eve was sixteen and she and Spencer tried to turn the treehouse into an exclusive club for their school friends. The cover charge was astronomical for a structurally questionable box you couldn’t stand up in. Still, our treehouse had a rep on the street for being the ultimate hangout. A rep Danny, the youngest Larson, and I improved with a coat of arctic white paint on the internal walls. We wanted to open up the space, really make it pop. Unfortunately, we forgot about proper ventilation and both almost passed out from the fumes.

  “You know Danny’s back, don’t you?” Bea says, noticing that I’m staring over at the Larson’s house.

  I tilt my head to one side. “To see his parents?”

  “Permanently. He’s living at Fletcher’s place.”

  The pit in my stomach doubles
in size. “I’ve been calling and texting him for months. He never responded.”

  Bea shrugs. “With the injury and breaking up with Alissa, I’d say he’d want to be home.”

  “He broke up with Alissa?”

  “Yeah. Months ago, but I only found out yesterday.”

  My throat grows tight and I stumble over my words. “How long has he been back?”

  “Only a week. I think,” Bea responds and even though her tone is casual, her words are like a hot poker being shoved down my throat. Is he intentionally staying with his brother so he wouldn’t run into me?

  As kids, Danny and I were inseparable. His love of hockey meant we spent most of our time at the community rink. I attended all his games and, in return, he tolerated my school debate tournaments.

  When we weren’t at the rink, we were watching games on television or smacking a puck, tennis ball or crumpled soda can across the Larson’s back deck. The bench at the far end was my goal, while Danny aimed at two chalk markings on the wooden fence at the other end. We’d have to redraw the chalk lines every time the Seattle rain washed them away. Until the day Mr. Larson painted the lines on the fence for us.

  When we graduated high school, Danny went straight to college in Minnesota and joined a college hockey program. He was always talented, but everything changed when the scouts noticed. He was only there for a year before he got drafted and signed a contract with Philadelphia. It happened fast, and I still remember every second of the phone call. He could barely string a sentence together. He was overwhelmed.

  Our contact slowed after that. Late night calls turned to infrequent texts until we started going months without contact. It only took a couple of years for him to establish himself in the national league. By that time, he’d met his girlfriend Alissa, and he’d signed a five-year contract with New York. He was living his dream…until it all fell apart.

  Our friendship fell apart too and I haven’t recovered.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I love being a twin. I tried to explain what it’s like to Danny, but all I could come up with was: it’s like having a built-in best friend. I feel like I’m part of an exclusive club with only two members and it comes with a sense of security and importance.

  At least that’s how I felt until the day Bea brought home Jamie Chambers. Watching them together, I experienced an odd sensation. I could see Bea was happy, but instead of a shared rush of dopamine, I felt something else. Like someone had poked a little hole in my soul and our shared magic slowly began to leak.

  It created a small hurdle in getting to know Jamie, the Englishman. However, after spending some time with him, I’ve learned that he’s kind, driven and genuinely cares for my sister. I can’t ask for anything more than that.

  “What’s this for again?” Jamie asks as we approach the bar, Whiskey Double.

  Bea beams as she takes his hand. “All the Larson kids are in one place for the first time in a while and I wanted to get a drink before they fly up to Alaska for Fletcher and Hallie’s wedding.”

  I’m already panicked, knowing Danny will be there.

  “Aren’t Hallie and Fletcher hosting a reception when they get back?” Jamie scratches his clean-shaven chin.

  “Yes they are and I’ve already RSVP’d on your behalf.” Bea pinches Jamie’s cheek as he holds open the door to the bar and ushers us inside.

  I’m immediately overwhelmed, my muscles tense as the wall of sound hits me—laughing, shouting, karaoke and the music accompanying it. My head is swimming.

  Then I see Danny.

  That’s when the room and my head go quiet.

  Bea takes over, steering me toward the table. I stand to the side, waiting, hoping Danny will jump up, pull me into a rough hug and tell me how good it is to see me again. It’s what he used to do and my body itches for it.

  He doesn’t move. Instead, he gives me a lazy nod. It’s the same nod he gives Jamie, a man he’s never met before.

  “Hey, Kit.” Leah, the only Larson daughter, pushes her way between Jamie and Bea to provide a replacement for the hug I was hoping for. “It’s so good to see you again.”

  “It’s good to see you too. I love the blazer.”

  She turns from side to side and pushes the folded sleeves of her neon pink blazer up to her elbows. “Oh. You’re sweet.”

  Leah is always well dressed, and tonight is no exception. She perfectly pattern clashes a polka dot blouse with a houndstooth skirt and her chocolate hair falls in waves around her shoulders. She’s a picture of grace and style in a dimly lit bar that exclusively serves deep-fried food.

  At the table, her husband, Ben, is deep in conversation with Fletcher Larson. Fletcher’s fiancé, Hallie, is chatting with Nolan, the oldest Larson sibling. As a father of three, it’s rare to see him out of the house on a weeknight. Miles is the middle child and he owns Whiskey Double. He and Alex were best friends and bandmates until they moved to LA together. I don’t exactly know what happened but, a few months after the move, Miles gave up music and moved back to Seattle. He and Alex haven’t spoken since.

  “Here, Kit.” Bea pats the end of the booth and I sit, even though I would rather have taken the seat beside Danny that Jamie has now occupied.

  It doesn’t matter because, for the first ten minutes, it’s impossible to have a conversation with anyone over the noise in the bar. I busy myself reading every word on the menu, even though Miles keeps dropping food off at the table. Leah is talking about a vodka campaign she and Bea are photographing, and Jamie is deep in conversation with Nolan about income tax rates in the UK. Danny doesn’t engage with any of the singular conversations—judging by his w­inces, he’s listening to the off-key karaoke singer on stage.

  Bea notices my waning interest in the evening and brings me into her discussion with Leah about Instagram engagement. I only use my account to post an occasional photo from my morning run along the waterfront. As a result, my involvement in the conversation fizzles out and I look back to Danny. He hasn’t changed since we saw each other last, except he has slightly longer hair and he’s lacking a smile.

  Like his brothers, he has a defined jaw and heavy brows, though he sports a thick scar on his upper lip, to the right of his nose. That was my fault. I pushed him off his parents’ back deck when we were seven, and he landed face first on the garden edging. The scar above his left eyebrow has nothing to do with me, though. He took a hit to the head after his helmet came off at a junior club game when we were fifteen. I remember how much my knees hurt when I jumped the boards and slid down next to him. There was so much blood on the ice. I thought he was dead until he rolled over and started laughing. Something about the panic on my face was hilarious; I didn’t talk to him for three days.

  What a waste of three days.

  I’m lost in my thoughts when he looks up and I glimpse his gunmetal eyes.

  They set him apart from his family. Judy Larson provided the rest of her children with the same dark hair and amber-brown eyes, while Danny got his dad William’s dark-blond hair. But he’s the only one in the family to have those stormy eyes. A beautiful genetic anomaly.

  “Can you help me with the next round?” Jamie leans down beside me, bringing me back to the present. I agree and he moves to the side, allowing me to lead the way to the bar.

  “You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself,” he says as we wait for Miles to see us. “Is it because of Danny?”

  Of course Bea told him. If the last three years have taught me anything, it’s that whatever Bea knows, Jamie will know a few seconds later. It doesn’t bother me because, from time to time, Jamie provides useful insight into certain situations. Like renegotiating the lease on our apartment when the landlord tried to raise the rent or analyzing my handful of low-stakes romantic relationships.

  “He’s acting like I don’t exist.” I let out a labored breath. “Why is he doing that?”

  Jamie pats my shoulder. “I’ve been sitting next to him this whole time, and he’s bar
ely said a word to any of us.”

  “He’s always been quiet,” I admit. “But not so much with me.”

  “In my experience as a sometimes-moody individual, often the simplest reason is the correct one.” He taps his temple and winks. “He’s probably tired or not in the mood to socialize. Or hungover. Never discount a simple hangover.”

  I discount that immediately. Danny isn’t a drinker. He’s never taken it further than a few beers at a backyard party out of fear it would affect his ability to train or play.

  “I can drop you back at the apartment if you’d like?” Jamie offers, and I glance back at the table. Everyone is laughing and chatting, except for Danny. Though Hallie appears to be working hard to get a word out of him.

  “Do you think Bea will be upset if I leave?”

  “I don’t think so,” Jamie says.

  I place my drink order with Miles and wonder if he knows Alex is back in town. Eve probably told him, but I doubt he would care anyway.

  When we return to the table, I offer a flimsy lie about my need to be up early in the morning so I can leave. Leah asks me to stay a little longer but doesn’t push it when I decline. Danny says nothing, he just dips his head in farewell when Jamie offers to drive me home. Part of me thought Danny would offer me a ride. It would give us a chance to clear the air, but apparently I have grossly misjudged the state of our friendship. Which is incredibly unfair considering I was the one who tried to maintain contact the entire time he was gone.

  It’s a seventeen-minute drive to the apartment, and when Jamie pulls up outside the building, he cuts the engine and leans back in the driver’s seat. He was quiet on the drive and now he stares vacantly at his hands as his thumbs press into the leather steering wheel.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask.

  He lets out a hurried breath, like he’s been waiting for me to ask. “I have to go back home. My dad called yesterday to tell me my gran has taken a turn and might not have much time.”