Page 121 of Familiar Things New

“It’s not your fault. You were wonderful. You . . . oh, Jesus, you called me your brother, Will. You called me your brother.”

Edwin let out another embarrassing sob and buried his face in William’s shoulder.

“Of course I called you my brother,” William said through a laugh, his voice so wobbly that Edwin could tell he was on the verge of crying too. “You are my brother.”

Edwin sniffled and more tears fell.

“I hate you. Now I’m crying from happiness, too,” Edwin said.

He pulled back from William’s hug and tried to wipe the tears from his cheeks with his sleeve. William was a saint. And Edwin still had no idea how he’d ever repay him for what he’d done.

Drying his cheeks with the cuff of his jacket, Edwin nearly laughed at his word choice. Saint. William, ever egotistical, had probably relished the moment he’d hopped into the conversation. Edwin needed to tease him about it. If only so that they could move past how monumental William’s statement had been.

“Thank you, by the way, for inserting yourself into the conversation earlier,” Edwin said, imbuing his voice with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

William’s still-teary eyes grew large. “Are you actually angry with me for that?”

Edwin chuckled. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I really do have to thank you for jumping in. I was starting to fall apart.”

“I couldn’t stand seeing you struggling like that. I could tell you were feeling overwhelmed. And I knew I needed to help somehow. Or, well, I knew I wanted to.”

“Yes, well, your Goddamned need to be the focus of attention saved me from becoming a pathetic puddle of tears in front of your parents.”

“Only for you to become a pathetic puddle of tears mere moments later,” William teased.

Edwin shoved him halfheartedly, and William burst out laughing. Edwin chuckled some more, too, as Will shoved him back.

While the men were still teasing each other, Andrew and Agnes came into the conservatory.

“Are you both all right?” Andrew asked.

“We saw William’s parents pass by the library. I think they went upstairs,” Agnes said.

“Mostly,” William said through a sigh. “But I might have been mistaken about how my parents would receive the, ah, the truth about who Edwin is.”

Agnes’s hands flew to her mouth. “Goodness, William, what did they say?”

“Nothing,” William said with a tiny scoff. “Really, they barely even reacted, and then my father blurted out something about them having to talk in private.”

“Oh, Edwin,” Andrew wrapped Edwin up in an embrace. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s . . . fine,” Edwin said, his throat tightening. “I’m fine.”

Andrew pushed a hand through Edwin’s hair, and Edwin tried to swallow the swell of upset that was threatening to burst forth. One bout of crying was plenty for the day.

After a couple of long, heartfelt minutes of hugging, Andrew released him, and then Edwin took an uneasy step backward. Everyone stood in silence for a while, none of them certain what was next. Should William try to talk to his parents alone? Possibly. Probably. And Edwin—he ought to leave, shouldn’t he? It was fairly clear that he wasn’t wanted here at the estate.

Before Edwin could suggest that he go, William’s parents returned. Mr. Whitney had his hands hooked behind his back, his expression now unreadable. William’s mother looked . . . rattled, maybe, but not overly so. Everyone else in the room stilled the moment they entered. Edwin’s heart leapt up into his throat.

“Edwin?” Mr. Whitney said. Edwin reeled back. He could scarcely believe that the man had used his name. “Come over here, please.”

But Edwin couldn’t seem to make himself move. He stood there, unblinking, his muscles tense, instead. Almost immediately, William stepped between Edwin and his parents, and there was honest-to-God fire in the man’s eyes. After a moment, Andrew stepped forward, too, like the two men were forming a little shield in front of him, protecting him. In literally any other circumstance, Edwin would have been incredibly offended, but in this particular one, he couldn’t be anything but thankful.

Mr. Whitney let out a small sigh and revealed what he’d been holding behind his back.

“Do you remember this?” he asked.

Edwin’s heart practically stopped. And then, as though lured forward by magic, he began walking over, pushing past William and Andrew, both of whom stayed fixed to their spots. When Edwin reached William’s father, he took the object from him—a wooden doll, made from maple, its face honey-colored; its hair blond, like Edwin’s own—and he began to turn it over in his hands.