Page 105 of Second Alarm
"I know."
"I'm going to be mad for a long time." His eyes are wet — have been since he opened the door. "Hanna."
"Yeah."
"I love you."
"I know."
"I never stopped."
"I know."
"I would have loved you if you had told me at nineteen."
"I know that now."
"You were wrong."
"I know, Cal."
"You should've told me." He rubs his good hand over his face. "But — I was also — I was a bad listener. You were right that I was going to be angry. You were right that it would've been hard. I don't think you were right that I'd have cut him off. But I think you were right that I was — that I wasn't a man you could tell back then. I was a kid with a dead dad and a rage problem, and I'd have made it worse. I don't know if I'd have cut him off. But I know I'd have made it worse."
"Cal — "
"And you couldn't take that at nineteen. So, you left." His voice cracks. "I'm not going to say you were right to leave. Because it cost us ten years, Hanna. Ten years. And that's a price I'm going to be mad about for a while. But I see the math you did. I see it. I don't forgive it. I get it. There's a difference. I'm working on the difference."
I start crying.
Openly. In Cal's kitchen. In front of him. Without the jokes.
"Stop crying. If you cry I'm going to cry, and my shoulder is in a sling, and I can't wipe my face."
I laugh-cry harder. I reach across the table with a paper napkin and wipe my brother's face for him.
He looks at me. His eyes are still wet. His jaw, under my hand, is the jaw I used to pinch when we were kids.
"You're going to actually be with him?"
"Yes."
"Like — a relationship."
"Yes."
"Married," Cal says.
"Cal — "
"Eventually. Don't — don't — "
"Eventually."
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"I said okay." He looks at his hands. "I'm going to be furious for a while. And then I'm going to need to — I don't know. I don't know yet. I need time."
