I put the parcel down and kept staring at it. Then I took it and put the pictures carefully in the drawer. I don't wanna think about it. I'm not ready for this right now.
For breakfast I fixed some instant noodles for us. I felt too lazy to cook anything else. Thankfully, Josh didn't complain as he sat down to eat. Alice already left as she wanted to visit the library before class.
I hover near the doorway longer than necessary.
"Mom sent an invitation," I say finally.
Josh doesn't look up from his bowl. "To what?"
"Her wedding."
That gets his attention.
He pauses mid-chew, spoon suspended in the air. Slowly, he looks at me, eyebrows drawing together like he's trying to solve a riddle he already resents.
"With that guy?" he asks.
"Richard Moreland, her fiance. Don't tell me you forgot him already." I say. The name feels wrong in my mouth, like I borrowed it from someone else's life.
Josh lets out a quiet laugh. Not amused. Just disbelief finally finding somewhere to land.
"Wow," he says. "She really went through with it. I don't know why, but I did hope she'll realize he's a jerk before the wedding and save her the trouble." He scoffed, "Just wishful thinking, what else can I say."
"She wants us there. Next month."
He sets the cereal box down. The spoon clinks against the bowl as he leans back against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. I brace myself. I expect sarcasm. Anger. Something sharp enough to cut the air.
Instead he says, calmly, "I'm not going."
The simplicity of it throws me off.
"You're not?" I ask.
"Nope."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
There's no tremor in his voice. No hesitation. Just finality.
"I'm not standing in a room pretending the last three years didn't happen," he continues. "And I'm definitely not calling that man my stepfather."
There's no venom in it. No drama. He says it the way someone states a preference for tea over coffee.
"I'm done, Ash," he adds more quietly. "I don't have the energy to be mad anymore."
Something tight twists in my chest.
Josh has always been the loud one. The explosive one. The one who reacts first and thinks later. Seeing him like this, calm and settled, unnerves me more than any shouting match ever could. And here I am, still struggling with controlling my emotions and developing some maturity.
"I told her I have exams," he says. "Which is technically true. But even if I didn't, I still wouldn't go."
He looks at me then.
"You okay with that?"
I nod too quickly. "Yeah. I wasn't planning on going either."
"Good," he says. "At least we're consistent."
He turns back to his noodles like the conversation is finished.
But it isn't. Not for me.
Because standing there, watching him casually put the noodles into his mouth, something heavy presses against my ribs.
Guilt.
Sharp and immediate.
I realize, with a sick drop in my stomach, that I've been doing the exact thing we resent our parents for.
Keeping the truth.
There's a whole person-shaped secret sitting between us, and I've been stepping around it like it might explode if I look at it too closely.
"Josh," I say.
He hums in response, eyes back on the television.
"I need to tell you something."
That gets his attention. He glances at me. "That sounds ominous."
"It is," I admit.
He sets the bowl down properly this time and turns toward me. "Okay. Go on."
I take a breath. Then another.
"This is about Samuel."
His expression flickers. "Your favorite topic," he deadpans.
"I'm serious."
"So am I," he says. "That guy's a mess."
"He's more than that," I say quietly.
Josh frowns. "What does that mean?"
My mouth goes dry.
I think about our parents. About all the half-truths and silences that shaped us. About how much damage came from adults deciding we were better off not knowing.
I don't want to be like them.
"Samuel is related to us," I say.
Josh stares at me.
"…Related how?"
I swallow. "He's Dad's son."
The room goes very still.
Josh blinks once. Twice.
Then he snorts. "Okay, no. Try again."
"I'm not joking."
He studies my face, searching for a crack. A punchline. Something. When he finds none, his posture shifts.
"You're saying," he begins slowly, "that Samuel Blake is our what. Cousin?"
"Half-brother," I say. "Something like that. It's complicated."
Josh opens his mouth, then closes it again. He drags a hand down his face.
"You're messing with me."
"I wish I was. Dad had a girlfriend, Maria, before our mother. He didn't know he had a child with her until much later. Samuel feels wronged and now chose me to take out his anger."
Silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable.
I brace for the explosion. The yelling. The pacing. The questions fired like bullets.
None of it comes.
Josh exhales long and heavy. He sinks into the chair at the table, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor.
"Huh," he says.
That's it.
"That's all you're going to say?" I ask, stunned.
He looks up at me. There's no fury in his eyes. No betrayal. Just exhaustion.
"Do you know how many weird family dramas we already had?" he says. "This one just joins the pile."
"I should've told you earlier," I say. "I didn't know how."
He shrugs, smaller this time. "You're telling me now."
He's quiet for a moment, then adds, "I don't care about him."
The words land clean and firm.
"He can be Mark's son, Maria's son, the king of hell for all I care," Josh continues. "It doesn't change anything for me."
He looks at me then, eyes steady.
"I have one brother," he says. "And he's standing right there looking guilty for no reason."
My throat tightens.
"You don't—"
"Ash," he cuts in. "I don't need more family drama. I don't need surprise siblings. I need you. That's enough. At least for this lifetime."
He stands and steps closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. The weight of it grounds me.
"You've always been my brother," he says. "That's the only thing that counts."
Something in my chest cracks open quietly.
"I was scared you'd hate him," I admit. "Or hate me for not saying anything."
Josh scoffs. "Please. I reserve my hate for people who actually deserve it."
Then his voice softens. "You did what you thought would protect me. I get it."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"Coffee?" I ask suddenly, desperate for something normal. "My treat."
He checks the time. "Can't. I've got stuff to do."
"Stuff," I echo.
"Top secret. Possibly illegal. Definitely boring."
He disappears down the hallway, his door closing behind him.
I stay where I am, the hum of the refrigerator filling the space.