ISA
Snowflakes drift into the rose-colored halos of the street lamps below. They settle onto the dingy sidewalks and disappear. It’s supposed to snow for less than an hour. There won’t be much accumulation. I imagine being outside, letting the snow land on my face and my upturned palms, watching the flakes fade to nothing as if they were never there.
“Isabelle?”
I look away from the window. Dr. Patel, our family therapist, watches me. His face, as always, is kind and expectant. Dad is watching me too—only, he looks worried.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I was wondering if you would feel comfortable sharing with us how your mood’s been this past week?”
Dad scratches at the stubble of his beard. Mom is looking at Merrit, who’s staring into his lap, into the void left by his phone, which is on Dr. Patel’s desk. Mom reaches out and presses her hand to Merrit’s knee, an attempt to stop his constant jiggling. He only jiggles his leg harder, until her fingers slide off. Dad takes up Mom’s hand, but his eyes stay on me.
“Fine,” I tell them. I want to look out the window, at the snow.
Dr. Patel moves his head. It’s not quite a nod. It’s just something he does to show he’s heard me. “How has it been taking the subway with your brother? I know that was a source of concern for you in the past.”
“Also fine.” Merrit’s been so mellow these past few months. It’s hard to imagine he did the things he did. I glance at my brother. He’s still not looking at me.
“What has it been like taking on so much responsibility?”
“It’s no problem at all.” If I didn’t bring Merrit with me, Mom and Dad wouldn’t be able to meet with their own psychologist for couple’s therapy the hour before ours. No one thought leaving Merrit alone was a good idea.
“Everyone appreciates the effort you’re making for the family, Isabelle,” Dad says.
I give him my own not-quite-nod to let him know I heard him. Dr. Patel asks Merrit the same question about mood he asked me. I can’t help myself. I turn to look at the snow. It’s my only chance to see it. By the time we go back outside it will all have melted. It will be as if it never happened.
•••
Merrit and I take the subway home alone. Dad and Mom have gone out to dinner, just the two of them. We wait for the train in silence. I search the platform, half worried, half hoping to see the strings of a black hoodie or the tips of Adidas or Converse. I don’t need to worry. There’s hardly anyone on the platform.
Merrit’s face carries a blank stare that probably mirrors my own, like he’s trying not to let any emotion in or out. The train comes, sparing me from thoughts of Alex and Merrit and Chrissy’s words asking me if I’ve talked to my brother about that day. She’d said it as if she were talking to the old Isa, the one who was close to her brother, who knew her brother better than anyone except maybe himself. I don’t know if that’s true anymore. I don’t know why he did what he did, whether he meant it or not. That frightens me the most.
Our shoulders bump, Merrit’s and mine, as the train rockets us back toward Ninety-Sixth. I turn to Merrit, desperation making me bold. “What really happened that day Dad found you? The day he had to call an ambulance?”
Merrit sinks back against the bench, arms crossed in front of him. He stares at his gangly legs, bouncing again with nervous energy. His wary glance shifts to me. “What do you want to know?”
I want to know if he meant to take those pills, if he meant to leave us, and to shout at him asking what was so horrible that it was worth doing that to Mom and Dad and me. I want to know what he remembers from the weeks that followed, being hooked up to machines in intensive care, unable to even pee on his own. I want him to tell me if it was terrible enough to make him never do it again. Mostly, I want to know if he blames me like I blame myself. I want to know that he wouldn’t have done it if I had been home.
Instead I ask, “Why?”
His eyes dart back to me. His fingers dance over his thighs, playing twin imaginary keyboards. “I don’t know,” he says.
It’s too much, not knowing.
He licks his lips when I start to cry. He throws himself back against the seat once and then again. He shoves his hands beneath him. The drumming comes out in his feet. “I—” He looks into his lap. He shakes his hair so it falls next to his face, so he doesn’t have to see me. “You know I don’t mind staying up all night, working on my apps or hanging with other gamers online. It’s like when I was first with Samantha, like I’m on top of the world. Nothing can touch me. Nothing matters, not even getting kicked out of college. Or being twenty and living with my parents. But I know I’m weird when I’m myself. I know it’s hard to put up with me.” He lets out a huff. “So I took the medicines the doctor gave me. I took more when he said it wasn’t working fast enough. But then, all of a sudden, it was too much. They were pulling me down like water dragging toward a drain.” He nods his head. “I tried to fix it. I took a few different pills. And I went into Mom’s room and took some of hers. I didn’t want to feel sad. But I didn’t mean for any of the other stuff to happen.”
Merrit’s teeth worry at his bottom lip. I wipe my face with my sleeve, then reach for his hand. The pull of sadness terrifies me too. Only, my brother is smart. He’s been called a genius since he was four. He knows about side effects and drug interactions. If I can find it on the internet, it’s already downloaded to the mainframe of his mind. There’s no way he didn’t know what he was doing, that the mix he took was dangerous.
I squeeze Merrit’s hand. I press it to my cheek and lean on him. He puts his arm around me. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. I start crying again. I never needed to ask him. I already knew the answer. I was just afraid he would tell me the truth.