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It started when they were young, after their mother passed. Their father was staunchly against all “outward displays of emotion,” especially between the boys. He said he wanted his sons to be real men, whatever that meant. What exactly was the opposite, anyway?
Their mother never hesitated to tell the boys she loved them. She would kiss the twins goodnight and whisper, “I love you, don’t ever forget that,” before leaving their room. That was when they felt safe and comfortable sleeping in their own beds, and never needed to crawl into the other’s in the late hours after a nightmare.
When Courtland would come home with a good test score, his mother would beam at him before saying, “I’m so proud of you, Court. I love you.” She would tuck the papers into a box where she kept everything Court brought back from school – report cards, tests, art projects. Each of the boys had their own box filled with such things, and their mother was always so happy to be able to add to it. It made them feel seen and loved and appreciated.
After she passed, nothing was ever added to those boxes again. Court was twelve when it happened—some drunk asshole ran a red light, T-boned her at an intersection—so his box of mementos was much more full than the twins’, whose were mostly scribbles from daycare and a couple hand-turkeys from the few Thanksgivings they had when she was still alive. Still, they had their memories, however faded they may be, and Court’s promises that their mother loved them more than anything in the whole world.
The first time it happened was a few months after she passed, once the boys had had time to accept that it was just the three of them and their father now. Their father, who would bite his tongue when their mother was around, stay his hands if he thought he heard her coming down the hallway, leave the room in a huff if she was present and they weren’t acting “manly enough” (how exactly does a toddler act manly?). Without their mother, they had no more intervention. Nobody to kiss them goodnight and make them feel safe.
The twins were four and a half, Courtland twelve. They were on the floor of the living room, playing with a LEGO fire station set that was a Christmas present from a few years ago. The twins were pretending they were the Ghostbusters while Courtland sat nearby and watched, ready to break up any squabble that might happen (or, sometimes, egg one on, if he got bored watching).
“You be Egon,” Colt said to Ryland. “He has glasses like you.”
“I always have to be Egon!” Ryland whined. “Why can’t I be Veng—Venkedman for once?” He struggled to say Venkman’s name, his eyes crossing slightly in concentration.
“You can’t even say his name,” Colt replied, sticking his tongue out. Ryland sighed in resignation, as if that settled the matter fair and square.
The twins played firefighter-Ghostbusters for a while, making up the kind of convoluted and nonsensical story that four-year-olds tended to do. Court went back and forth from watching his brothers to watching his dad, seated in his armchair a few feet away, to make sure nothing the twins did caught his attention and ruined playtime.
It must have been nearing the end of the plot, because Court heard Colt talking in a high-pitched voice, holding a female character from a different set who was talking to Ryland’s fake-Egon. Egon must have saved the day, which usually didn’t happen, but Colt, in his four-year-old brain, probably wanted Ryland to feel better about “always having to be Egon.” Court smiled at the thought.
“Egon, I love you,” Colt squeaked out in his character’s voice, putting his toy up to Ryland’s and making kissy noises. “Egon, thank you, I love you.”
Ryland was giggling at his brother’s antics when they heard a loud stomp and a “Hey!” from their father. All three boys looked up at him, eyes wide in fear and confusion. Court’s body tensed, ready to jump in the middle if anything happened.
“What have I told you boys?” their father growled through gritted teeth. He leaned forward and forced the twins to meet his gaze. “None of that girly shit.”
Colt and Ryland lowered their heads in shame. Court could see Colt’s small hands trembling as he rested them on his knees, gripping the fabric of his pants. Ryland’s lower lip quivered slightly.
“That’s right.” Their father leaned back in his chair. “Now get out of my sight.”
Court was quick to shove the toys back into the box, tucking it under one arm and his brothers under the other as he ushered them down the hall to their bedroom.
“It’s okay, guys,” he whispered as he closed the door behind them. He set the LEGO box on the floor and brought the twins to sit on Colt’s bed together. “He’s just upset, is all.”
“Why?” Ryland’s voice was quiet and Court could hear tears forming in the way it cracked. “We didn’t do anything.”
“I know. It’s okay,” Court repeated as he wrapped his arm around Ryland’s shoulders. “Let’s just play in here for a bit, okay?”
Ryland nodded, but instead he crawled under Colt’s covers and pulled the blanket over his head. Court heard a loud sniffle and then silence, and thought he felt his heart break for the second time that year.
***
After the incident with the LEGO, the brothers never said “I love you” around their father again, even as a joke. Eventually, after skirting the topic for so long, the phrase fell out of their vocabularies entirely, and they took to saying it to each other in different ways.
Maybe it was Court walking the twins to the bus stop for school and telling them to “have a safe day” before the bus door closed. Or Colt trying to hype up Ryland before a presentation in front of the class, telling him to “be strong!” while puffing out his chest. Sometimes it was Ryland grabbing Colt’s hand as they crossed the street to the school, huffing out a “you didn’t look both ways!” as he struggled to catch up to his brother.
Mostly, though, it was Courtland tucking the boys in at night, their father too drunk to leave his armchair. It was Courtland kissing his little brothers on the forehead and saying, “Goodnight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” He would then tuck the blanket tighter around Colt’s body, stuffing it under his sides and legs while the boy giggled. It was Courtland picking up Ryland’s favourite stuffed fox from the floor and putting it in bed next to him, the younger boy silent but watching with grateful eyes.
It was Courtland, only thirteen years old, having to be a parent to his baby brothers while he had no one to be one for him.
***
Once the twins were in foster care, they became more independent, but only in the sense that they stopped relying on anyone outside of themselves and each other. Even their foster parents, Sarah and Ted Grace, who did everything to let the boys know they were safe, and loved, and could depend on them for anything they needed from now on, were shut out for a good, long while after the boys joined their home. They were patient, though, and let the boys open up on their own time.
The trauma of their father still left them unable to say the words “I love you,” even to each other, but they had their own ways of showing it. Sarah, who was around more than Ted simply because he worked long hours outside the city, noticed early on the way the boys would dote on each other in the same way a parent should.
Not long after the twins joined the Grace household, they both fell sick with the flu. It seemed to hit Ryland particularly hard, but Sarah decided to keep both boys home from school for a week to make sure they got better. She hoped that, even if it was just for that week, Colt would relax and take care of himself instead of focusing all his attention on his brother.
“Colt, please,” Sarah begged, trying to tuck Colt into his own bed. “Please, you have to rest, or you won’t get better.”
“I’m fine!” he croaked. “I want to be with Ryland. He doesn’t like being alone when he’s sick.” He rolled out of his bed, comforter wrapped around his shoulders as he trudged out of his bedroom and into Ryland’s. “He needs me.”
Sarah sighed. They were so young, yet so old; and just so, so stubborn. She decided to give up trying to wrangle Colt, instead grabbed a couple pillows from his bed and followed him to Ryland’s room. He was already making a little nest on the floor next to the bed and gratefully accepted the pillows from Sarah.
“Thank you.” He put the pillows on the floor and sat there, staring at Ryland as he slept. Sarah stood in the doorway for a while, watching Colt as he watched Ryland.
“Court would always make us chicken soup when we were sick.” Colt’s voice was quiet, almost inaudible. Suddenly he looked much older than the seven-year-old Sarah knew he was. “Ryland always gets more sicker than me. Sometimes I would fake sick when he was sick just so I could stay home with him. He doesn’t like to be alone when he’s sick.”
Sarah felt her stomach drop as she listened to the boy speak. They were twins but Colt clearly played such a strong older brother role for Ryland that it must have gotten difficult for him to remember that he was also just a child, only a few hours older. She was glad that the boys were safe now, but cursed the circumstances that brought them to her.
Sarah pushed away from the doorframe, trying to hide the tears that had welled up in her eyes. “Do you want some soup, Colt?” she asked him quietly.
“Okay!” he squeaked excitedly. “Save some for Ry too.” Of course she would.
As Sarah left the boys alone in Ryland’s room, Colt turned to his brother and lightly jostled his shoulder. “Ry? Are you awake?”
Ryland groaned and cracked one eye to stare at his brother. “Maybe.” His voice was more hoarse than Colt’s.
“Sarah’s making soup,” Colt whispered, as if anything louder would hurt Ryland’s ears. He smiled and pushed Ryland’s sweaty bangs off his forehead. “I told her to save some for you.”
“Thanks, Colt.” Ryland closed his eye and buried his face in his blanket to cough. “Wake me when….” He was already back to sleep before he could finish the sentence, mouth open so he could breathe around his inflamed sinuses.
“I will.” Colt rested his head on the edge of Ryland’s bed, pulling his blanket tight around his shoulders. He closed his eyes, excited at the prospect of soup. It wouldn’t be Court’s soup (which was just Campbell’s chicken noodle soup, but he let the boys believe he made it himself), but he was sure it would be just as good.
When the soup was ready and Sarah came back to tell the boys, they were both fast asleep. Colt was still sitting on the floor next to Ryland’s bed, his head resting on the edge of the mattress. She went in and gently maneuvered Colt so he was lying down on the stacked pillows on the floor, thinking there was no need to add a sore neck to his flu symptoms. She turned off the light, closed the door, and went back to the kitchen to put the soup in the fridge for later. It would be there when they woke up.
***
As the twins approached teenagerhood, they became more active. Colt was in taekwondo and the school’s soccer team, and was considering joining football when they entered high school. Ryland was active, too, but more in the academic realm—AV club, debate club, the kinds of things that just made it too easy for Colt to (lightly) make fun of him for being such a nerd.
They had long since grown into their new home with the Graces and were grateful that they had been able to stay with them so long. They knew other children in foster care who were bounced around from home to home, never allowed to settle, and they weren’t sure what made their situation so different (they didn’t know how hard Sarah and Ted fought to keep the boys under their roof).
Still, although they now trusted Sarah and Ted, they tended to fall back into old ways and relied on each other more than anyone else. Colt found it difficult to shake his need to make sure Ryland was taking care of himself, even if that meant ignoring his own needs.
Colt didn’t think Ryland noticed the same things he did (is Ryland drinking enough water? did he have breakfast today? is he sleeping well?) but of course he did. Colt didn’t realize it, but Ryland had his own processes for making sure his brother was doing well; Ryland was more subtle in his care, while Colt tended to hover and pester.
“Colt,” Ryland said one day, staring at his brother from across his room. Ryland was sitting at his desk, studying for a test later in the week, while Colt was lying on the floor, feet extended up the wall as he tossed a small hacky sack in the air and stared at the ceiling. “Colt.”
“Huh,” Colt replied, turning his head to stare at his brother. “What’s up? Something wrong?” He sat up and put his back against the wall.
Ryland chuckled quietly. “No, Colt, nothing’s wrong.” He turned in his chair to face his brother. “Have you eaten today?”
“Huh?” Colt repeated. “Oh, yeah, I had—” He paused, thinking. “No, I guess not.”
Ryland sighed loudly as he stood up from his chair. “Come on, Colt, we talked about this.” He exited his room and continued talking as he walked to the kitchen. “Your brain, it—it needs certain things to run properly. Glucose!” His voice was muffled slightly as he opened the fridge and stuck his head in, searching. “Your brain needs sugar to function, Colt, seriously. I’m not kidding.” He closed the fridge door and returned to his room with some juice boxes and leftover sandwiches he’d made the night before. He tossed a juice and a sandwich to his brother. “Eat or I’ll start hitting you.”
“There’s no way that’s true,” Colt scoffed as he stuffed the straw into the juice box. “Sugar? So I can just eat sugar and I’ll be fine because my brain needs it?”
Ryland laughed. “No, idiot.” He unwrapped a sandwich and took a bite. “If you get too much sugar, it’s not good. But yes, your brain runs on glucose.” He lifted his juice box as if giving a toast. “To sugar.”
“To sugar!” Colt echoed. He was so glad to have a brother as smart as Ryland. And he didn’t make a half-bad sandwich, either.
***
“Does he know we’re coming for his birthday?”
Sarah met Colt’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Yes, of course he does.”
Colt nodded. He just had to make sure. They hadn’t visited their brother in prison all year, and he was nervous that Court would be upset with them for it. They didn’t even have a good excuse—it just hadn’t been on the twins’ radar for a while because of school and extracurriculars. He felt ashamed for sidelining his brother like that.
It was a chilly April morning as they made the drive to visit their brother. Ryland was nervous—he always was when they were on their way to see Court—and kicked himself for having the momentary thought that I’d rather not see him right now. He wasn’t sure why he felt that way, but he felt guilty nonetheless. Maybe he was just tired of only getting to see him three or four times a year, tired of the sad look in Court’s eyes whenever they had to say goodbye, tired of seeing how much it hurt him to have to leave them behind again.
“Hey.” Colt’s quiet whisper broke through Ryland’s thoughts. He turned to look at his brother. “You okay?” Colt flashed a quick thumbs up, his brows raised inquisitively. It was their way of communicating to each other when words weren’t enough, or sometimes too much. Ryland didn’t have to say anything back, but as long as he gave the thumbs up, Colt knew he’d be okay.
Ryland gave a silent smile as he returned the thumbs up. Colt nodded and turned to look out his window.
The twins knew the routine when they arrived at the prison—empty pockets, take off shoes, go through metal detector. Sarah presented the necessary forms and identification to the guards while Colt and Ryland waited, anxious. Ryland fiddled with the stack of photos he had in his hands while Colt shuffled his weight back and forth, hands stuffed in his pockets, impatient.
Once they were in the visiting room, they knew they had to wait a bit for Courtland to show up. Colt was eyeing up the vending machine in the back when he asked his brother, “Do you have change?”
“Huh?” Ryland seemed a million miles away, still fidgeting with the photos. “Oh, yeah.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple dollar bills.
“Thanks.” Colt stood up and walked over to a vending machine that he knew had Court’s favourite snacks in it. He purchased two packages of Skittles and walked back to the table, barely able to contain his grin.
They didn’t have to wait much longer before they saw their brother approach the visiting room, followed by a guard. “He’s been fighting again,” Ryland whispered to Colt, who nodded solemnly. It wasn’t as bad as some of the other times, but there was a visible cut through his left eyebrow and he had a bandage across his nose. His eyes were bright, though, and he flashed a toothy grin at the twins as he stopped next to the table, arms out and waiting for a hug.
“Come here, you little shits,” he said as he wrapped his arms around his brothers and pulled them in for a hug. He squeezed them tight for a moment before letting them go, aware of the prison’s strict policy on contact during visiting hours, although they were a little more lenient with hellos and goodbyes. He sat down at the table across from the twins.
It was silent for a moment as all three boys looked at each other. Ryland examined Court’s hands, looking for more evidence of fighting, but found none; his knuckles were clean and unbruised. Colt was doing the same, but decided to address it out loud.
“What’s the deal—” he began, motioning to Court’s face with a sweeping gesture.
Court chuckled. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he replied, touching the cut on his eyebrow. “I didn’t start it, trust me.”
Both twins huffed, unsatisfied with that answer. They crossed their arms in unison and leaned back to stare at their brother. Court, just as stubborn, refused to elaborate further.
“Well, fine.” Colt leaned forward again and pushed the packages of Skittles across the table to Court. “Here. Happy birthday. I got you these.”
“Hey!” Ryland lightly smacked his brother’s arm. “With my money.” Turning back to Court, “Oh, happy birthday.”
“With his money.” Colt rolled his eyes.
“Thanks, guys.” Court smiled at his brothers’ bickering as he accepted the candy. He opened one of the packages and stuffed too many in his mouth at once. God, he thought as he chewed, I fucking love Skittles.
“I brought these,” Ryland said, offering the photos to Court. They were only allowed to bring ten photos, so Ryland had spent the last two weeks sifting through the pile that Sarah had collected over the last seven or so years. He was kicking himself for not bringing any sooner.
“Oh, cool.” Court reached out for the photos and began looking through them, still chewing on Skittles. “Is this you, Colt?” he asked, looking at his brother and showing him the photo on top.
“Of course it is,” Colt replied, feigning offense that Court could possibly think that Ryland had placed first in a taekwondo tournament (Court had never had trouble telling the twins apart, even before Ryland got his glasses). “That was a couple years ago, I think.”
“Awesome.” Court set the photos aside as he looked through them, occasionally asking one of the twins for some contextualizing information. “Ryland, what’s this here?” He turned around a photo of Ryland standing in front of his science fair project from earlier in the current school year.
“Oh.” Ryland’s cheeks turned pink as he grabbed the photo from his brother. “That’s me and my science fair project. I won first place.” He pointed to the display in the background, barely visible. “I demonstrated the effect of ultraviolet rays on yeast colony growth.” He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Nothing special.”
“Nothing sp—” Court’s eyes were wide as he gaped at his brother. “Seriously? That’s so cool.” He smiled as he picked up the photo to look at it again. “My baby brother, Albert Einstein.”
Ryland chuckled. “Well, no, but thanks, Court.” He was used to Colt and Sarah and Ted praising his projects, but to hear it from Court for the first time in his life was like nothing he had ever felt before. He smiled sheepishly at his brother.
Court looked through the rest of the photos, which were mostly birthday parties, tournaments, and a couple trips to the beach. When he was done he looked through them again, and then a third time. When he landed back on a photo of the twins around age eight, sitting on the beach together building a sandcastle, he put the photos down and rubbed his eyes, sniffling loudly.
“I’m sorry, guys.” His voice broke as he wiped his eyes on the collar of his prison jumpsuit. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you like I should have. It’s not fair.” This happened every couple times they visited. One of them would get overwhelmed with the situation and start crying, apologizing for something that wasn’t their fault, and the other two would comfort him while feeling the same on the inside. The twins often wondered—to each other and to themselves—if they should stop visiting just to avoid the extra hurt. They never came to a decision.
The twins reached out at the same time to grab Court’s hand, forgetting about the guards watching nearby, but they didn’t react. “Court, it’s okay,” Colt whispered, even though he knew it wasn’t. It wasn’t okay, but what else did you say when you were watching your older brother cry in front of you? “We’re okay.” That was true, at least for the most part.
Court sniffled again and flashed a weak smile. “Kind of lame, huh?” He looked up at the twins sitting across from him, identical except for Ryland’s glasses. Their eyes were filled with the kind of concern that should be reserved for parents looking at their hurt child, not younger brothers, “Watching your criminal big brother cry in prison?” He laughed humorlessly.
“Oh, shut up,” Colt said, clicking his tongue. “Just finish your Skittles, because we can’t take them and I know you haven’t had any in forever. Your brain needs the glucose.” He winked at Ryland, who rolled his eyes.
Court laughed again, this time with more humor. “Yes, sir.” He was almost done the second package anyway.
The remainder of their visit was spent talking about the twins’ activities, how excited they were to start at a new school next year, and Colt expressing annoyance that he wasn’t allowed to drive for another year or so. Court just laughed as he listened, relishing every moment with them as if it were the last. He wasn’t sure when he would get to see them next.
Eventually, a nearby guard stepped forward to remind the three of them that their time was up. They all sighed at the same time as Ryland gathered up the photos and Colt scrunched up the discarded Skittles wrappers to toss in the trash. The three brothers stood up and faced each other, silent as they all took one last look before Court held out his arms for another hug.
“Come here.” The twins allowed themselves to be wrapped up in Court’s arms again. This time, Court held on tighter, putting his hands in their hair and rubbing his thumbs back and forth soothingly. “I miss you guys so much.” The twins grunted in agreement. Before pulling away, Court kissed each of them on the top of the head. “You boys be good,” he told them, staring into their blue eyes that were so like his own. He cupped Ryland’s face in both his hands. “You be strong.” Ryland nodded, eyes glistening, as Court turned to Colt to do the same. “And you be safe.” With his thumb, he wiped away a tear that had escaped Colt’s eye and was making its way down his cheek.
With a sad smile, Court turned away from the twins and walked to the visiting room door, waiting for the guard to gather him. He gave them one final smile and wave goodbye as he disappeared down the hall, leaving the twins alone again.