Slate | ✓

TWELVE | WILL

The world feels off.

My family surrounds the kitchen table and faces the unfamiliar man at the end. Charlie—his back to me—wears his dark hair buzzed severely close to the skull. All eyes in the room focus on the face that I cannot see.

Victor sits on the opposite Charlie with Annie to his left. Placemats, cutlery, desert plates, and coffee mugs surround their intertwined hands. John stands with his back straight in the corner furthest from Charlie, and I can see the darkness lurking in his eyes. Athena stands over Lizzie's vacant seat. Her hands are on the table as she leans forward to inspect Charlie's face. She kinda looks like a detective interrogating a suspect.

I don't hear whatever Charlie's saying, but the animated motions of his hands as he speaks feels familiar, like his person and mannerisms and voice and girlfriend belong here. I remember that he used to tell Athena and I stories while waving his hand around like a madman. 

Henry, who sits on Victor's lap, ruins the dramatic filter when he claps his hands together and smiles at the sight of me. He verbally mangles my name in his excitement. 

Everything returns to full motion as Victor's attention jumps up to me, followed gradually by everyone else. My gaze follows Charlie's hand, which is placed delicately on the back of his chair as he twists around to face me. His slender fingers curl around the same wooden seats we've always had. He wears business casual blue jeans and a button-down shirt. I can see a tattoo peeking out from under his right sleeve. My eyes rush to his face—searching, picking apart his every feature. How do you meet a stranger when he's your brother? Strong jaw, full lips, long nose, and Victor's grey eyes. He's the same, and yet completely unrecognizable.

This creature known as Charlie Slate slowly rises, as if unsure, to properly face me. I realize with some shock that we're the same height. The tallest in the family. He doesn't say anything and watches me as closely as I watch him. From the corner of the room, I can practically feel the stress rolling off of John.

But, there's nothing waiting to steal away my composure. I've already felt today all there is I can feel. There's nothing left. In this absence, something I don't expect compensates for the emptiness: relief. I can be calm because Charlie isn't dead or paralyzed or homeless or sick or alone. He's here. It's been so long, and I'm so far away that here and gone don't feel as different to me as they once did. They're all waiting on me, and Victor looks younger than I can remember. I've nothing left to give.

I offer Charlie my hand with the same polite indifference I greeted Lizzie with moments ago. He blinks and a wide smile creeps across his face as he puts his hand in mine. "Wow, you look so much like Mom."

I stare back at him.

Henry squirms in Victor's arms. I distantly recognize the concern in Victor's expression as his gaze properly lands on me. "I—I think he wants you, Will."

I shake my head and step away from Charlie. "No. I smell like smoke."

"Oh." Why does Victor not look away?

"Here," Annie motions for her son. Henry protests as he changes hands and reaches for me again. "Why are the two of you home?" Her eyes shift between John and Athena as she gently bounces Henry on her knee to calm the beginnings of a temper tantrum.

Athena pointedly ignores her. Instead, she turns to Victor. "Do you not know how to answer a phone?"

Victor, rubbing Henry's back, frowns at Athena. "I've been busy with Charlie. My phone's been in my work jacket all day." His eyes trail back to me.