“Yes.”

“How about exercise? Did he go to swimming last week? Or do his stretches?”

“Swimming, yes. I haven’t seen him stretch much lately.”

“I’ll try to get him out for a walk with Renzo later. Sometimes that helps with the sleep.” Asher loved walking Renzo and just being around him in general. I think he enjoyed feeling like a caretaker, since he was always the one being worried about and fussed over, usually by my mom. Despite the fact that she worked full time, she refused to hire any outside help for Asher except for a neighbor lady named Mrs. Reynolds, who drove him to and from work or therapy, and occasionally put together meals for him if my mother had to work late—which she often did. I knew she worried about money, especially with my dad gone, but I’d promised him I wouldn’t let her run herself into the ground, and I was always trying to get her to take a vacation.

“You book your ticket yet?” I asked her. For months she’d been hemming and hawing about visiting her two sisters in Florida during the winter, or joining them on a Caribbean cruise. She had terrible arthritis that was always worse during the cold months, and it got pretty fucking cold during Michigan winters. I’d told her a million times to book it—I’d stay with Asher while she was gone, or he could come stay with me. I had a downstairs bedroom all ready for him.

“Not yet. Here. Make yourself useful.” My mother handed me the platter of eggs and bacon. “Put this on the table, please. And the orange juice.”

I stole a piece of bacon off it first. “Take the trip, Ma. You’re not getting any younger.”

My mother poured more coffee in her cup. “I’m still thinking about it. But it’s difficult to get all the days off at work, and—”

“I specifically remember you and Dad talking about retiring in your sixties so you’d still be young enough to enjoy your life,” I said. “You’re sixty-two already.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” she said drily.

“I’m just saying, you need to do these things while you still have the energy. Didn’t you two always talk about going to Ireland?”

“You think I want to do that by myself?”

“So get your sisters to go. Ask a friend. Join a tour group. You don’t have to go alone if you don’t want to.”

“He’s right, Mom,” my sister chimed in. “There are plenty of options. You should do it.”

She wiped up some spilled coffee on the counter, her lips pressed together. “It’s not just work. It’s the expense. And leaving Asher is hard. He needs me. I cook all his meals and do all his laundry. I make sure he’s eating and sleeping and not working too much. I make sure his communicator is charged because he often forgets to plug it in. And the disruption to his routine will—”

“I can handle it all, Ma,” I assured her. “You don’t need to worry about any of that.”

“Noah McCormick, you’ve never cooked a meal in your life.”

“But I am excellent at ordering takeout. And I know all his favorite places.” I made it a point to take my brother out for dinner at least once or twice a week. He didn’t love being out in public because ignorant people often stared, but I knew from experience that letting him stay home all the time just made him depressed. I wished more than anything that he had a wide circle of friends to hang out with on weekends, but as much as we encouraged him to be social, he was more of an introvert. And I felt bad trying to pressure him to be something he wasn’t.

“Maybe if you had a wife, someone to help you with the day to day, I wouldn’t feel so bad leaving you with so much responsibility,” my mother went on, switching tactics like a pro.

Refusing to take the bait, I stole another piece of bacon. “Want me to call the kids in?”

“Yes. And tell them to wash their hands. Nina, will you go get Asher? Everything is ready.”

My sister headed down the hallway off the kitchen toward Asher’s first floor bedroom. A few minutes later, he followed Nina into the kitchen, carrying his speech-generating device, or SGD. He walked slowly and with a lot of difficulty, but at least he was on his feet without the walker.

For a long time, we weren’t sure Asher was going to walk at all. In fact, the doctors told my parents he probably wouldn’t. But they refused to believe it and never stopped working with him, even when the poor kid was exhausted and in tears. It used to make me want to cry too. I’d shut myself in my room with my hands over my ears. I felt so bad for him, and so guilty for being able to walk and run and jump without giving it a thought. It wasn’t fair.

“Hey, Ash,” I said. “How’s it going?”

He sat at the table and answered using his device, which looked sort of like a tablet and allowed him to “talk” by tapping on words or phrases or letters. It had made a huge difference in his ability to communicate. I wished he’d had it in elementary school.

“Good,” he said. “Did you bring Renzo with you?”

“Yep. He’s outside but he’s coming in. Want to walk him with me later?”

“Sure,” he said.

We weren’t identical, but we looked somewhat alike—same brown eyes and dark hair, although his was slightly longer and usually messier because he didn’t like combing it. He had learned to use an electric razor, so he was often clean-shaven while I always had some scruff. The biggest differences related to physicality—I was tall and broad, while he was shorter and much thinner. Difficulty swallowing and aversion to certain food textures made eating a chore for him, and he’d never had a big appetite. And where my limbs were long and muscular, his had a thin, twisted appearance due to his body’s overexcited nerves.

When we were all seated around the big oval kitchen table, my mother said grace, her eyes closed, her hands folded on the table. “Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

“Amen,” I echoed, reaching for the eggs.

“And, dear Lord, if I could just add a prayer for my son, Noah,” my mother went on, a bit louder than before. “I’m so concerned for his sad, lonely heart.”

I rolled my eyes, and my sister snickered.

“Dear Lord, please let him find someone to settle down with. Someone kind and caring and beautiful. Someone smart. Someone who remembers when it’s Sunday. Someone who will tell him to take a shower before coming to his mother’s house for a meal. Someone who—”

“Okay, I think that’s enough, Ma. God gets your drift.”

She opened one eye and looked at me. “But do you?”

“Yes. And I thank you for your concern, but as I’ve told you before, my heart is just fine.” I slid two fried eggs onto my plate and changed the subject. “So how’s school going so far, you guys?” I asked my niece and nephew.

Violet sighed dramatically. “Kindergarten was fun, but first grade is a real shit show.”

“Violet Marie, you watch your mouth!” my sister snapped. “We don’t talk like that.”

“Uncle Noah does,” my niece insisted. “Last time we were here, I heard him say ‘the dispatch desk at the station was a real shit show this week.’”