Time (Laws of Physics #3)(35)
“You mean philosophizing with you.” He cleared his throat, his head seeming to sink deeper into his pillow.
“Of course, yes. Theoretical physics is married to philosophy. The nature of things, of reality. Perception.”
“And art is the product of how humans interpret their reality.”
That made me smile. “Look at you, smarty-pants. So, what you’re saying is, physics and philosophy are married, and their child is art?”
“Or, the marriage of physics and philosophy is art.”
I loved that. My smile deepened, my attention lowering to where he held my hand. He’d moved it to his chest, pressing my palm against his heart.
“Being with you . . .” he began, drawing my eyes back to his face. His were dazed, unfocused, like he was looking within and without.
“Being with me?” I prompted after almost a minute, curious, a bubble of something reluctantly hopeful expanding in my chest. So of course, a joke slipped out. “Is as the prophesy foretold?”
Abram’s gaze sharpened on mine. He smiled, a real smile. His left dimple making its first appearance, stealing my breath before his words could.
“It’s living artistry, Mona.” Abram’s gaze turned cherishing, earnest. “Being with you is like living in a song.”
As the sun came up, I read the latest Lisa Kleypas novel to Abram. I’d already read it, but he hadn’t, and I didn’t mind at all. Eventually, he drifted back to sleep. A nurse came in to unobtrusively check his vitals. A doctor stopped by and asked if I was family. I explained that his sister and parents would be arriving soon. The nurse then returned with a food tray—for me—and then left again, informing me that I should call for his breakfast when he awoke.
Peeking at the food on the tray, I was surprised—but not really—to discover the fancy nature of my meal. Two poached eggs on avocado toast, a kale and rocket salad, a berry compote, freshly made yogurt, and cinnamon granola. The coffee came in a French press and the orange juice was pulpy, freshly squeezed.
Ah, Los Angeles VIP treatment. It was truly another world.
Marie and Abram’s parents arrived just as I finished breakfast and was setting the tray outside the room. To my surprise, Leo was with them. My brother didn’t seem at all surprised to see me. Confused, but not surprised.
We didn’t hug. He made no move to do so and neither did I, a fact that hadn’t struck me as strange in Aspen or at any point in the past prior to right this minute. But now, after being embraced by the Harris family, and seeing how they greeted each other, how genuinely they seemed to look forward to and enjoy each other’s presence, I felt the lack of greeting between my own brother and me.
Almost immediately—as soon as we exchanged our tepid, polite hellos, and the Harris family was no longer within ear shot—he steered me a little further down the hall, away from Abram’s room, and pulled out his phone.
“I thought you should know, you were photographed last night, coming in with Abram’s parents. But they assumed you were Lisa. Let me show you the pictures.”
Studying my brother’s profile as he stared at the phone, and despite the unresolved tension between us since our conversation in Aspen, I had the sudden urge to hug him. Therefore, I did.
I gently pushed his phone out of the way, slipped my arms around his torso, and tried to mimic Marie’s hug from last night. I wanted to hug Leo like I meant it. He didn’t respond at first, and his body tensed like this might be an assault rather than an embrace. But as I continued to hold on, my big brother’s arms encircled me, held me with an equivalent tightness ratio, and he pressed a kiss to my temple.
“Hey,” he said against my hair. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” I tried to relax, turning my head against his shoulder and resting it there. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” The tension left him by degrees until his big arms held me comfortably. “What’s going on, Mona? Do you want to talk?”
“We should hug, I think. When we see each other, and just sometimes for no reason, because I love you, Leo. And I think I haven’t been so great at knowing how to show you in a way that you understand.”
I felt his cheek curve with a small smile. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For being a dick.”
Leaning my head back, I expected to find him smiling—since his voice held a smile—but he wasn’t. He looked remorseful, serious.
“In Aspen?”
“Yeah. In Aspen. But also, I guess, for a long time. Lisa and I, we—uh—talked last week.” He readjusted his hands at my back, I felt him lock them more completely together, and his eyes grew dark, heated with anger. “And she told me about what happened to you at school.”
Oh.
Oh God.
Lisa told Leo?
Yes. Of course she did. She’s worried about you.
I forgave my sister immediately, but wished she’d warned me. I wasn’t prepared to discuss this with my brother.
Therefore, I tried to say, Nothing happened, but the words wouldn’t form. I tried to draw a complete breath but couldn’t. I stared at Leo, helpless to the rising anxiety. However, when it came, when the cold sweat broke out over my skin and panic reached eyeball level, it rose no further.