Crash Into Me

‘Rise and shine, kid. The boys will be here soon.’

My eyes were still heavy with exhaustion, but I managed to pry them open enough to look across the room at Uncle Brian. He stood in the open doorway looking every bit as tired as I felt, though his hair was shower fresh and he had managed to change clothes since that morning. He hadn’t yet found the time to shave, and three days’ worth of stubble sat strung along his jaw. Combined with the stress of the past two weeks, it made him look a decade older than the thirty-nine he actually was.

Not that I would ever tell him that.

Despite all of this, there was a smile on his face and a light back in those tired eyes. It took my sleep-deprived self a moment to catch up to what he had said, but then the realisation was there at the forefront of my mind: today he would be seeing his sons for the first time since he had left for Australia, and his relief at this had been evident since before we had even boarded our Sydney to Los Angeles flight. He hadn’t admitted as much to me, but I knew he’d been missing them greatly.

Funerals would do that to a person.

‘I know you’re tired,’ he said as I forced myself to sit up, ‘but you need to eat, and I’d really like for you and the boys to meet before Monday. Dinner seemed like a good time.’

Dinner?

I pulled back the curtains and looked out through the guest room’s window, where I was surprised to find a steadily darkening sky. Was it really late afternoon already? It certainly didn’t feel like it, though it hadn’t felt like early morning when our plane had touched down just before dawn either. Uncle Brian had warned me that the time change would be a hassle, but I hadn’t realised just how much it would truly affect me. It almost made my head spin, knowing that I was half a day off balance.

‘You’ve got about half an hour before they get here,’ he went on, amusement tugging at his lips. ‘Can I trust you not to go back to sleep?’

My body was going to protest like crazy, but I nodded. I could stay awake.

‘Good. I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything, okay? Just come down when you’re ready.’

He waited a moment longer to make sure I really was going to stay up, and then he was gone—leaving me to prepare for the arrival of my two cousins.

I swung my feet towards the floor, and with the last bit of afternoon light seeping in I was able to get a good look at the guest bedroom where I had crashed some twelve hours before.

It almost looked like a display right out of IKEA, done up in different shades of blue and white with watercolour paintings hung on each of its four walls. It held a bed and its side cabinet, a dresser with a mirror, and a painted-white bookshelf filled more with vinyl records than actual books, and the whole thing looked so perfect that I was tempted to take my two suitcases and stuff them somewhere they would be out of sight. It was almost intimidating. I didn’t even want to put my feet on the floor, out of fear that I would ruin the pristine, sapphire carpet.

It was a relief to know that outside of the guest room, the rest of the house wasn’t so perfect.

There had been clutter in the living room and an abundance of shoes left just inside the back door; there were posed family photos hung on the walls, but more than one had been askew. It was all familiar and new at the same time, reminding me of home while still giving me space to breathe, and that was something I hadn’t realised I needed until it was right there in front of me. It was all the encouragement I was going to need to get out of my new room.

I set my feet down.

The sounds of somebody busy in the kitchen crept up the stairs, and I wondered for a moment if that meant Uncle Brian’s wife was home. A nervous flurry of butterflies kicked up in my stomach when I realised that I would be meeting her for the first time too, and I couldn’t even remember the poor woman’s name—Jean? Jenna? I would have to ask Uncle Brian before I made a fool of myself.

But first I was going to need to straighten myself up.

I didn’t need to look in the mirror to know I was a mess. My bruises were mostly faded, my few scrapes a thing of the past, but there would be no hiding the bags under my eyes or my lack of enthusiasm. I could fix my hair as much as I wanted, but it was still going to look limp and lifeless; I could put on a party dress and more make-up than a clown, and it would still be obvious that my heart wasn’t into this meeting. But for Uncle Brian, I was at least going to try.

It took me all of ten minutes to change into fresh clothes and brush my hair, and then I was heading downstairs before I had the chance to chicken out.

Although we’d both been ready to sleep when we finally made it to the house that morning, Uncle Brian had still taken the time to give me a quick tour—just in case, he said, I woke up before him and needed to know where something was. The house itself was big, but the layout was easy enough to remember: four bedrooms, and a bathroom on the top level; kitchen, dining room, living room, music room, and a second bathroom on the lower. The laundry was somewhere down here too, but he hadn’t deemed it tour-worthy, and I didn’t feel the need to go searching for it now.

Instead I followed the sounds of clinking cutlery into the brightly-lit kitchen, where I found my uncle setting a table that was almost too big for the space it had been shoved into. There was a pot boiling on the stove behind him, with something sizzling in a pan beside it, and I could have sworn he was humming, too—some old rock song that I vaguely recognised from the records my mother had played when I was younger.

He stopped when he turned and spotted me in his kitchen.

‘Well, you don’t waste time, do you? The boys take forever to get down here in the morning.’

‘Did you need a hand with anything?’ I asked. ‘I could finish setting the table for you.’

‘No, no, that’s fine. Just make yourself comfortable, huh?’

I sat, watching as Uncle Brian finished setting the table and went back to his cooking. He had a tea towel thrown over one shoulder, and he took up his humming again as he stirred the contents of the boiling pot. He looked right at home by the stove, like one of those chefs on a home and garden show.

‘I didn’t know you could cook, Uncle.’

He chuckled. ‘When you’ve got two hungry boys to feed, T.V. dinners will only go so far. You learn quickly.’

‘Your wife doesn’t cook?’

‘She does, but she doesn’t live here anymore.’ He looked sheepish as he added, ‘I never got around to telling your mother—Jan and I divorced a few months ago.’

‘Oh.’ It was my turn to look embarrassed. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. Jan and I are still friends. We just…weren’t in love anymore. It was a mutual agreement to part ways.’

He turned the gas off, and in the silence that followed I heard the slamming of a car door and then the metallic squeal of Uncle Brian’s front gate. The butterflies in my stomach kicked up again in anticipation of the inevitable new arrivals, and I gripped the edge of my seat. I had to remind myself to breathe.

‘Relax,’ Uncle Brian said, a smile in his eyes. ‘The boys won’t bite.’

The door sprung open. Heavy footsteps made their way into the front hall, louder than necessary on the timber flooring, and immediately came stomping towards the kitchen. The tiniest of frowns intruded on Uncle Brian’s otherwise cheerful face, but there was no time to remedy it before one of his sons was stepping into the kitchen with a sour look on his own.

There wasn’t even a hello before I was hearing, ‘I want her to stay for dinner. Make her stay!’

The boy was maybe twelve, stocky and dressed in clothes that looked two sizes too big for him—something that he no doubt thought was fashionable, since they didn’t look like hand-me-downs. His hair was starting to grow into his narrowed eyes, the same shade of brown as his father’s, and there was a scowl on his face that could have been permanent for all I knew. He stood with his fists balled at his sides.

‘Nice to see you too, Brent,’ Uncle Brian said with a sigh. ‘Come and say hello, would you?’

My butterflies parted to make room for something else: dread. Because Brent wasn’t looking at Uncle Brian anymore. Instead, his eyes had swung to me, and there was a mixture of both annoyance and absolute confusion swimming in them. I had been prepared for surprise—given that Uncle Brian had not yet told his sons that I would be staying with them—but the annoyance left me uncomfortable, feeling even more of an intruder in this house. Brent rounded on his father once again.

‘Who the hell is she?’

Down the hall the front door closed in a nicer manner than the way Brent had opened it, and it was followed by the sound of a heavier bag being set down in the hallway. A voice called out to Uncle Brian, to which he shouted back ‘In the kitchen!’, and then there was a second set of footsteps coming down the hall. I prepared myself for a second dose of hatred and started planning my escape.

But when Uncle Brian’s second son—the older of the two, by the look of things—stepped into the kitchen, he had eyes only for his father.

‘Hey, Dad. How are you?’

His expression was one of concern, the complete opposite of his younger brother’s contempt, and it reminded me so strongly of the way Uncle Brian had been looking at me for days that I had to look twice between father and son. This one took after his father more than the second, both in looks and in manner, and the moment he had stepped into the kitchen it was like a weight had been lifted from Uncle Brian’s shoulders.

‘I’m fine, Junior,’ was his response, at the same time as Brent gave an indignant cry of, ‘Dad has another girlfriend!’

Uncle Brian sighed again. Junior turned to look at his brother, and it was then that he noticed me trying to make myself sink into the kitchen wall. I flushed as all three sets of eyes landed on me, and looked to my uncle for help. He was all too happy to oblige.

‘She’s not my girlfriend, Brent. She’s your cousin.’ He smiled encouragingly at his youngest. ‘Boys, this is June. June, this is Brent, and Junior.’

‘Brian,’ Junior corrected his father with a grimace. ‘Please.’

Cousin or not, Brent was still not happy to see me. He gave his father one last scathing look before turning on his heels and marching right back out of the kitchen, not even glancing back as he went. He stomped up the stairs so loudly that it had to be on purpose, and a moment later a door was slamming upstairs. There was silence in the house once more.

‘Sorry about that.’ Uncle Brian smiled apologetically. ‘Brent’s, ah… He’s not taking the divorce so well. Every now and then he lashes out. It’s nothing to do with you.’

‘Just don’t bring it up around him and you’ll be fine,’ was Brian’s helpful input.

I nodded, but I wasn’t entirely convinced.

Uncle Brian turned back to his meal preparations, seemingly oblivious to the uncomfortable air between his eldest son and myself, and Brian slid into the seat across from me. I looked to him carefully, trying to get a read on whether or not he hated me as much as his brother did, but his expression was neutral—even when his eyes lifted and met mine across the table. He seemed to be assessing me the same way I was him.

‘So you’re Aunt Shelley’s girl, huh?’

I winced. He hadn’t said it in a mean way, but hearing my mother’s name so unexpectedly sent my mind racing and made my chest hurt. I had to take a second to steel myself against the memories that tried to push forward. Uncle Brian glanced my way at the sound of his sister’s name, and I gave him the best smile that I could to let him know that it was okay.

‘I am,’ I admitted. And then, in an attempt to lighten the situation, I added, ‘What gave it away?’

‘Dad said cousin, and I’ve only got the one aunt.’ Brian’s eyes softened. ‘I’m sorry about your mom. Your brother and sister, too. I can’t even imagine…’

Uncle Brian stilled, eyes on his eldest son, and it didn’t take a genius to know what they were both thinking about. So much for lightening the situation. I had to chase my own thoughts away again and take a deep breath before I could even consider responding.

‘Thanks. But I’m okay.’

Brian looked about as convinced as his father had every time I’d said the same words. But where Uncle Brian had spoken of denial, his son chose to leave the subject alone.

‘So is this a permanent thing?’ he asked instead, looking between his father and myself. ‘Are you here to stay?’

‘I’m only here until social services can find my father. So I shouldn’t be in the way for long.’

‘Don’t talk like that, kid.’ Uncle Brian set plates down in front of his son and myself. ‘You’re not in the way. This is your home now too, for as long as you need it. You’re family.’

Was I? My cousins were strangers to me; Uncle Brian was a man I had met as a child—and while I did see him as my uncle, it was mostly because I still had these ideas of him being the legend my mother made him out to be. Getting to know him over the past week had told me there was still a lot I didn’t know about him. So while we may have been blood, were we really family?

I wanted to believe it, but I wasn’t quite ready to.

Dinner didn’t serve to remedy that. After Brent refused to come down from his room, I ate mostly in silence with my uncle and his oldest son. Every now and then Brian would ask a question or his father would try to get a conversation going between us, but now that the scary parts were over exhaustion was creeping back into my bones once again and making me think of nothing but sleep.

Getting through dinner felt like a miracle in itself—and Uncle Brian could obviously tell.

‘Go on back to bed,’ he said with a small smile. ‘We have a lot we have to do tomorrow, and you’re gonna need to be awake for it.’ He gave my shoulder a squeeze. ‘You need anything at all and you come wake me, okay? I don’t care what time it is.’

I nodded and slid out of my chair, watching as Uncle Brian grabbed the empty plates and used cutlery from the table and set them beside the sink. It didn’t look like he was going to be touching them again anytime soon, so I made a mental note to wash them for him when I got up.

‘See you in the morning then,’ I said, bidding both father and son goodnight. I headed for the stairs.

I was half way up when a new conversation met my ears.

‘She seems all right,’ Brian was saying to his father. ‘Are you?’

There was silence at this, and unable to see through the wall that separated the kitchen from the stairs I could do nothing more than guess at what his reaction to this question might have been. It almost made me regret not asking him the question more myself—I’d only asked him once, and accepted his answer when he said he was doing all right. And why shouldn’t I have believed him? He was so adamant that I was in denial that it seemed absurd he would lie about it himself.

‘Just do me a favour and keep an eye on her, okay? Especially at school. You know how kids can be dicks.’

‘Sure, Dad. I can do that.’

Father and son fell into silence after that, so I made the rest of the journey up the stairs before either of them could catch me standing there.

When I hit the top floor, I was surprised to find Brent peering out from behind his partially open door down the hall. I stopped when I noticed him, and he narrowed his eyes at me in a way that was decidedly not friendly. A part of me wanted to turn and run back down the stairs. Instead, I held my ground—something that was obviously not to the youngest Haner’s liking.

‘I hate you,’ he hissed.

Then he slammed his bedroom door, hard enough to make me jump back in surprise. I stood for a moment, unsure of what to make of him, before my aching body began to protest my not moving.

I went to the guest room grateful that at least one person’s feelings regarding me were transparent.