The Only Exception

She was dreaming. At least, Sunday was almost completely sure she was dreaming. There was a multitude of binders, magazines and books sitting on the kitchen table of her parents' Huntington Beach house, and she wasn't sure exactly what they were there for. Tentatively, she stepped towards the table and picked up a magazine.

The cover was graced by a pretty model who was dressed in a flowing white gown and held a bunch of white gardenias. There was writing on the cover of the magazine naming many different articles that would be of interest to any girl, but Sunday couldn't take her eyes off the model. From her wavy brown hair to the twinkling diamond on her left ring finger, she was the epitome of beautiful.

Which was shocking, because the more Sunday examined the picture, the more she realized that there was a certain familiarity in the model's green eyes, brown hair and the ring on her finger. After a few moments of scrutiny, Sunday realized that she was the lucky bride on the cover. She looked happy, because she was; how could she not be happy when the ring on her finger had come from Alex?

She set the magazine down on the table and began shuffling through some of the other books. They were all beautiful, filled with different floral arrangements or bridesmaids dresses or locations. As a child, the only thing Sunday had known about her wedding was that she wanted to feel special on that day. The clear cut visions that were suddenly forming in her head were surprising and different, but Sunday welcomed every suggestion as she sat at the table and began leafing through the different themes, color schemes and styles.

There weren't any things that Sunday had seen in real life. For example, she had never been sent a bouquet of gardenias, but the more she saw them pulled together in a soft, blushing pink color, the more she enjoyed the idea of them. Magnolias popped into her head, and her sharp, artist eye easily penciled them into the style.

It was a nice place to spend time, at this fabricated kitchen table. Here, Sunday liked pretending that her parents weren't getting divorced, that she wasn't going to have to go through her wedding without her older brother and that she hadn't had the biggest fight of her life with Amber a few days ago. The only thing that was allowed in the kitchen was the happy: Alex, and the knowledge that she was going to spend the rest of her life with him.

It felt like Sunday had spent hours in the kitchen when she finally decided to look at a clock. She had glanced up at the area above the sink where her mom had hung a mosaic styled clock earlier that summer. The clock wasn't there, and in its place was an envelope.

The wedding plans on the table suddenly didn't interest Sunday anymore. She needed to know what was enclosed by the white envelope's folds, and she crossed to the sink. It was too high for her to reach, even on a chair, so she abandoned all reservation and pulled herself onto the dark marble countertop.

As she reached up and cleanly collected the envelope, she had to giggle a little bit as she thought about how horrified her mother would have been if she had walked into the kitchen to find Sunday standing on the counter in her shoes.

She pulled a beige, parchment styled piece of paper from the envelope and unfolded it to find a concise message scrawled onto it. Upstairs and to the left.

An excited smile broke out on Sunday's face, and she quickly clambered down from the counter so that she could follow the note's instructions. They had to be from Alex, she decided as she started for the stairs. Considering the problems that she was having with her family and Amber, no one else would be able to penetrate this happy place.

The next note was more blatantly placed. As soon as she reached the top of the stairwell and glanced to the left, the parchment paper was found, neatly taped to a picture of Sunday in Kindergarten. She reached out and collected this second piece of paper to find the next direction: You'll know when you get there.

It was a bemusing clue, but as the paper suggested, Sunday was quite sure she knew where she would be able to find the next clue. She let her feet carry her down the hall, past her bedroom, past the office, past her parents' room, past Grandma Ann's room. She stopped at the end of the hall, her chest feeling slightly heavier than it had in the kitche. For a moment, she considered returning to that bright, happy room and trying to recollect the serene feelings that had soothed her there.

But her curiosity and an odd amount of hope prompted her to reach forward and turn the doorknob to Henry's bedroom. Nothing was out of the ordinary when Sunday walked into the room; it was still decorated as it had when her brother had lived, but this wasn't unusual. Whenever Sunday dreamed, she reconstructed the room so that it resembled the way it had the last time she had been inside it while Henry still lived. Everything down to the pile of clothes that had sat in the corner of the room was still present.

The last clue−she was quite sure it was the last clue, although she wasn't sure how she knew this−was taped to the door of the sunroom. With a slightly shakey hand, Sunday collected it and turned her eyes to the scrawling script. Almost there, Sunny D.

Sunny D. There had only ever been one person that had ever called Sunday after the citrus drink.

It couldn't be happening again. Sunday's eyes filled with water, and she took a few steps away from the door of the sunroom, feeling frantic and despondent. She knew that she should leave the room in order to avoid further disappointment, but she couldn't do it. It was impossible. For the millionth time since Henry had died, Sunday pressed her eyes shut and yanked open the door of the sunroom.

After a minute of deep breathing, she nervously let one eye drift open, her gaze directed at the floor. She scanned it quickly with her half closed eye, and when it landed on the familiar sight, her other eye shot open, and Sunday's eyes brimmed with tears once again.

Every night after Henry had died, Sunday had gone to sleep early in the hopes that in her dreams she would be able to see her brother, to talk to him just one more time. To explain what had happened. Or, maybe, if she couldn't find the words to say to him, he'd explain everything to her, and she would be able to make his voice repeat in her head, as if on tape. But every night, Sunday had walked to the sunroom and found it empty.

Until that night.

Sunday threw her arms around her older brother and squeezed. He smelled the same, he looked exactly the same, and the laugh that greeted her embrace was Henry's. "Every time I fall asleep," Sunday began, her tears making it difficult for her to speak.

"Stop that," Henry ordered as he wiped a tear from her cheek.

Although Sunday was beyond ecstatic to see her brother, to hear him, she also couldn't squash the slightly bitter feelings that had been building for the past four years. "Why didn't you come until now?" she demanded, taking his hand tightly in hers.

There was a moment of silence between the siblings before Henry responded. "I didn't want to see you sad, Sun," he told her. "I didn't want you to cry and apologize and hold on to me here because I wasn't there." He met her teary, green eyes with his identically colored gaze and smiled. "You were happy tonight, Sunny. I just wanted to share that with you."

It was enough of an explanation, and Sunday hugged him again before she remembered the kitchen and the astounding creation that was hugging her ring finger. "I'm getting married," she whispered to Henry as she pulled away and flashed him an enormous smile. She placed her hand between them to showcase her ring.

"You could seriously injure someone with that thing," Henry remarked as he examined the ring. "But it's great, Sun. It reminds me of that picture of Enif that you begged Dad to buy you when we went to the pier for ice cream on your tenth birthday."

Sunday smiled as she looked at her ring. It was exactly what that picture had looked like−sparkling, gleaming and clustered in a circle. Sunday momentarily wondered if Alex had been thinking of her fantastic star when he had purchased the ring. "You'd love Alex, Hen," she told her brother. "I don't think I've ever known a person who was more fantastic to me."

Henry grinned also. "There is that small problem about him being a Baltimore Ravens fan..." They both chuckled, Sunday a little more loudly; sharing her engagement with her brother was making her a little giddy.

Yet in the midst of her happiness, Sunday was already beginning to worry. She didn't want to leave this wonderful, fantastic place, and she was secretly cursing herself for spending so much time downstairs in the kitchen. She wished that she would have known all along that Henry was waiting upstairs for her; she would have rushed to the sunroom at the fastest pace of her life.

Henry seemed to notice her regret, and he took a seat on the couch before gesturing her over. "Tell me everything," he ordered, "Everything that I've missed."

Sunday made herself comfortable on the couch as well and began speaking. She started with the basic, everyday things. She explained how big Pepe had gotten, and how the doctor said that he was a little overweight and should probably be put on diet dog food. She told him about the artworks that she had done recently: the silver flowers, the Heineken bottle from the beach, the birds, the stars. She told him that Dad's restaurant was doing well, and that Mom had just sold a four million dollar house in Malibu.

Next, she moved on to the happy things. She told him about how she had met Alex on the beach, their fire with Amber, the costume party at Zack's that had started happy and ended not so well. She told him about the snow in Baltimore, how nice Alex's family was, and how she thought that Melanie might become a really good friend. She told him about the silver roses that Alex was constantly getting her, and she told him about the planetarium that he had rented for her once. Repeating all the things that had made her heart feel light, especially to Henry, made Sunday grin broadly and dried up her tears.

But eventually, they settled on the topic of the unhappy things. She told Henry about their parents' divorce. She relived the horrible fights she and Alex had experienced, and she told him about Amber. Henry listened patiently and quietly until Sunday finally settled on the topic of him. "I think about you all the time," Sunday sighed.

Henry's eyes steered away from Sunday's face. "I'm sorry, Sun."

"It wasn't your fault," Sunday muttered, unable to meet Henry's gaze also. She knew the truth, that it was her fault that her brother was dead, but she was completely unable to admit this to him. The knowledge had plagued her every day for the past four years, and it was only Alex's presence that alleviated her guilt.

She sighed and looked at her older brother. They resembled each other, but Henry had always possessed a calm, carefree nature that Sunday had constantly felt was a little out of her reach. No matter how relaxed she appeared on the outside, she always felt like a million and one thoughts were racing around in her head. "I don't think I can leave," she sighed, a content smile settling on her features.

Henry smiled too. "You have to, Sunny D," he countered. "And you will."

"How do you know?" Sunday challenged, still pleasantly grinning. She had missed their sibling banter, but it was taking a little more effort to hear Henry clearly.

"The only reason I'm here is because you were ready for it, Sunday," Henry told her. "I was afraid that if I visited you before, you really wouldn't go back. But with Alex waiting for you, I have no doubt that you'll go." He paused before he added, with a chuckle, "You know you'll go too."

"How do you know?" Sunday asked, squinting so that she could see Henry clearly. It was getting much brighter in the room.

"Because it's getting harder to focus on me, isn't it?" She couldn't see his face anymore. "You've decided to go back. And that's okay, Sunny." The general outline of her brother faded and blended into the pale yellows and creams that were filling her head.

Sunday opened her eyes and looked around. She was in Baltimore, not Huntington Beach. Instead of being in the sunroom, she was in Alex's bedroom. He was sitting in bed next to her, quickly typing something on his laptop. She sat up slightly, and Alex beamed at her. "Good morning, sunshine," he greeted her, leaning over to kiss her. "Have a good dream?"

"The best," admitted Sunday. "Was I asleep for a long time?"

"It's already ten-thirty," Alex answered. "I thought it was a good idea to let you sleep, though. Yesterday was a big day."

Sunday smiled and nodded as she looked at her engagement ring. "We should probably head over to your mom's for Christmas soon," she mused.

Alex nodded and set his laptop on the sidetable. "I'm gonna go find some breakfast if you want to get ready," he explained as he walked towards the door.

Before he could leave, Sunday called out his name and caused Alex to glance over his shoulder. "I'm glad I'm awake," Sunday told him, meaning it more than she thought she would.

Alex laughed, a little confused by her statement. "I'm glad you're up too, Sun," he replied before he turned and left.

Sunday smiled and glanced upwards. "Love you, Hen," she whispered before she got out of bed and prepared to face the holiday.