Colby

"Show her how you flip 'em!" Luke hollers excitedly. Maryanne grins at him, and I'm stricken by the familiarity between them. Luke looks more at home here than he does in our own space.

She'd taken a break to eat some pancakes while they were still hot, but Luke's appetite is insatiable. The smell of batter and butter fills the kitchen, and she smiles at my brother the way she has always looked at her own son.

"Well," she says, pushing her chair out from behind her. "Marty did always say that the pancakes don't count unless you give 'em some air. That's probably why you're still hungry." She winks at Luke and he laughs, craning his neck to watch her from where he sits in the living room.

Maryanne pours the remaining mixture into her pan, nearly covering its entire surface. The batter hisses as it makes contact with the blistering metal, bubbling as it begins to solidify.

"Y'all better be paying attention 'cause I'm only gonna do it once," Maryanne asserts. "This is a mammoth of a pancake I'm whipping up for you, Luke."

My brother chuckles, his eyes still locked on her as she removes her pan from the burner, shimmying the metal underneath the pancake, causing it to glide opposite her movements.

"You ready?" she asks, and we all nod in unison.

Her eyes narrow in focus as she gives the flapjack a swift push. The pancake takes to the air, turning over itself. Maryanne successfully lands it onto a plate, impressing all of us more than we'd anticipated with her parlor trick. I applaud her and she sweeps into a bow, pan and plate in hand.

Wyatt chuckles at her theatrics from where he lays on the couch in the other room, then clutches his belly wincing. Luke's eyes widen in response, and he springs from the far side of the couch.

"He's gonna blow chunks!" Luke exclaims, putting as much distance between himself and Wyatt as he can manage, stumbling as he backs away.

Maryanne moves quickly, retrieving a bucket from under their kitchen sink. She dumps its contents onto the sixties themed linoleum floor, sending cleaning supplies of multiple varieties scattering in different directions. She tosses the bucket to me, and I rush over to Wyatt, planting it in his lap. His face contorts while his stomach decides whether or not to reveal its contents.

He groans, leaning himself over the olive green bucket. He lurches forward, making an awful sound that makes my own stomach turn.

"I can't take it," Luke shrieks, waving his hands wildly in disgust. He looks away, directing his sights on his enormous untouched pancake. He sits down at the kitchen bar and drowns it in maple syrup, ignoring Wyatt's dry heaving.

Maryanne places another glass of orange juice in front of Luke, and he happily guzzles it down. The two continue chatting amongst themselves while Wyatt fights against the churning remains of pie, pumpkin donuts, cider, cocoa, and candy from last night. It's no wonder he's struggling.

"Thanks for takin' such good care of me, B," he mumbles into his bucket. I run my fingers through his hair, matted from a rough night, and he pushes into them like a cat.

"I should be the one thanking you." I kiss his cheek lightly, and he sits up, placing his pale on the ground beside him. He shakes his head, never willing to accept the gratitude he's due.

"Are you guys tryin' to make us sick, too?" Luke interrupts. He brings his finger to his mouth in a gagging motion, and I stick my tongue out at him.

Maryanne begins tidying the kitchen from our breakfast, so I make my way over to pitch in as Luke polishes off his pancake. He leans back in his chair patting his overstuffed belly.

"That was delicious, Mrs. Matheson," he compliments, still licking the syrup from his fork. She smiles as she finishes with the dishes. "You uh... think it's safe to go back out and watch some football?" Luke nods in Wyatt's direction, biting his lip skeptically.

"The coast is clear, punk," Wyatt chuckles. Luke scampers back over to his spot on the couch, and he looks like he belongs there. I feel ashamed that I never knew how close these boys were before yesterday. Maryanne casts a glance their way and laughs softly.

"Baby, you are a hot mess this morning," she says to Wyatt. "Where'd that black eye come from anyway?"

"That one was my fault," I interject. I fold up the drying towel, tucking its end back over the handle on the stove door as Maryanne eyes me curiously.

"Well, I'm sure you had good reason to hit him, but I never woulda guessed you had such a great right hook."

I giggle at her conclusion, shaking my head. "He was helping my friend, Wynona, and it bit him in the backside," I say. "She's pregnant, and I asked Wyatt to take the heat for her while she worked up the courage to tell the real daddy."

Her eyes widen with understanding. "That poor girl," she says as she bends down to grab a box full of envelopes and invitations of some sort. "She's so young, and I know kids can be ruthless." The box of paper goods thuds heavily onto the kitchen bar, and she clears the remaining debris from the space. She sits before it, removing stacks of different sizes and shapes, placing them neatly in front of her.

"He's a good boy," she adds, meeting my eyes. "I think I feel worse for her than I do about his eye. She's got a long road ahead of her, and if she needs anything you bring her on over, you hear?" I nod, and she pats the seat next to her. "Come, give me a hand with your daddy's invitations."

Sitting beside her, I take an invitation off the top of the stack, scanning over the swirling fonts and dates. I didn't have any knowledge of him planning a gathering, and I'm caught off guard when I read further on to find that he's officially running for city council.

"Daddy's making you put together his invitations?" I ask, mildly irritated at his lack of consideration for her time. She already works more than she should have to, going above and beyond for my family.

"Oh hush, it's fine," she replies, picking up on my miffed attitude. "I'm good at hand lettering, so I volunteered. He's just a bit... particular, so we'd better get them right." She smiles, unfolding a list of names and addresses. I don't say anything, but I know she can sense my disapproval.

"Judging by his contacts, my guess is he'll have a very successful fundraiser," she chirps, removing the cap from her pen. "How 'bout you stuff the envelopes. Cliff said he wants the invitation in the back, then the smaller envelope in front of it, and the R.S.V.P. card tucked under the fold of the envelope."

Wyatt scoffs from the other room, no doubt feeling the same frustration with my father that I feel. Maybe even worse, judging by their interactions last night.

"You doin' alright?" she questions gently.

"I guess I have to be," I shrug indignantly. "He has impeccable timing, that's for sure."

Maryanne looks at me sympathetically. "Sweetheart, did you not know he was running?"

Of course, this would surprise her. She and Wyatt share everything with each other. It's only natural for her to assume that my father would be courteous enough to let his kids know he's decided to run for public office. Meanwhile, we're watching my mama die. After a short pause, I shake my head.

"I'm sorry hon," she utters. "I didn't mean to be the one to tell you. I'm sure he was just trying to find the right time to share it with y'all."

"Probably," I concede, fighting to produce a convincing smile.

The most devastating part of his behavior is that it never used to be like this. He was attentive and present for most of my childhood, but over the years he drifted further down his own path. His business consumes a lot of his time, and he works long hours. He's probably been avoiding the reality of Mama's circumstances like the rest of us, but now, of all times, seems an odd choice to begin his pursuit with city council.

Maryanne glances over towards Luke and Wyatt, my eyes following her gaze. Luke is staring blankly at the wall.

"I've never seen him lose interest in a football game," she observes, her eyes steady on my brother. "Why don't you two get back over to see your mama?"

Part of me wants to stay here, tucked in this little piece of bliss with just the four of us, but I've been thinking about Mama since the moment we left the hospital. I'd bet by Luke's demeanor that he has been as well.

I stand, Maryanne mirroring my movement. She pulls me into a tight hug, and I hold onto her like my whole life hangs on this embrace. Her hands brush over my hair soothingly as she holds me close, and my breath catches in my throat.

I miss Mama so much already, but being here with Maryanne gives me reassurance that Luke and I can be okay. They may not be blood, but this is family. Luke peeks in our direction, and I wish with all my heart that I could save him from the grief we'll soon be trudging through together, even if it meant I'd be doubling my own.

"You tell your mama I'll be by tonight," Maryanne says. I nod, and she pulls me back into another brief hug.

"We're gonna go see Mama now?" Luke asks anxiously. He's already heading toward the door for his shoes before I can reply, and Wyatt looks to me for confirmation.

"Yeah, let's go," I reply, trying my best to smile. Luke is beaming, and the hole forming in my heart deepens.

He still has hope.

Wyatt peels himself off of the couch, adjusting his sweatpants.

"Where do you think you're going?" I ask, and he shoots a stern look my way.

I don't feel as bold when he's towering more than a foot over me. He grabs a cap from the entryway, flipping the bill toward the back and placing it on his head.

"I'm coming," he states, folding me into his arms. He kisses my forehead and releases me, bending down to put his old sneakers on.

I don't argue.

...

We arrive at the hospital, and though I can tell Wyatt's still not feeling well, he hasn't complained. He seems to want to see Mama as much as Luke and me.

When we reach her room, I'm utterly shocked to see Alex standing at the foot of her bed.

She's awake, but somewhere else, her eyes filled with a distant gaze.

Alex's shoulders are shaking as he sobs before her, not bothering to wipe his tears when he turns to acknowledge our presence.

"B, I'm so glad you're here," he says, sniffling as he speaks. "They want me to decide if she should continue her care here, or at home, but I can't do it. What if I choose wrong and she..." He trails off, his gaze shifting in Mama's direction.

"I tried calling Dad, but he was in a meeting," he continues, and Wyatt immediately retrieves his phone from his pocket.

"I'll call him," he gruffs.

He dials and hangs up repeatedly until finally, he gets an answer.

"Mr. Byers," Wyatt says. It's all he gets out before the voice on the other end starts speaking a mile a minute. Wyatt's eyes darken, and he lowers his voice as he speaks, removing himself from the room. My brothers and I wait wordlessly until he finishes his conversation.

I hear Wyatt sigh before he re-enters the space, his jaw tight.

"Cliff can't be bothered to help at the moment," he says, his words dripping with malevolence. "He told me that Alex can handle it."

Alex turns to face me, with dread pinching his features. It's the first time in a month I've seen him sober.

"It's okay, Alex," I say, taking his hand. "We'll figure it out. You said she can stay here or come home?"

He nods. "They said they can send hospice people over if we need them, or we can have someone there full-time."

"Alright," I reply. The choice is already made in my mind, and at this point, I couldn't care less about my dad's opinion. "She's coming home. It's where she'd want to be anyway, and this place sucks."

Luke smiles, his eyes brimming with tears.

"Fine," Alex says, relieved. "That's what I wanted, too."

Wyatt crosses the room, wrapping his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder. "You did good, B," he whispers, his breath tickling my ear.

I'm stricken by the weight of the gravity in the decisions I'm being forced to make with regard to my mama's health. It's not something I should have to do and for so many reasons. My father's ambivalence leaves me cold.

I look at the earnest faces of my brothers. I feel Wyatt's arms surrounding me in warmth and more love than I deserve. It's then that I realize for the first time in a long time, we're a team again. All of us, just like we used to be. I know that we can do this.

Because of them, I know I'll be okay.