We had lived in the same city for over half a year but I had never met up with my brother. Not until the threat of a snowstorm had my mother calling me. “For your old mother's sake,” she said, her voice crackling with the static over the phone. “Both of you are there, just - you're abroad and I can't be there, and I'm worried. They're predicting a lot of snow for your place.” Which is why I found myself at his doorstep, awkwardly holding on to my suitcase. “Tanya,” he exhaled, leaning against the open door. The sharp wind blew through us both, making him shiver in his tracks and t-shirt. I stuck my hands deeper into the pockets of my warm jacket. “Ben. Hi.” “Mom called me,” he said. “Come on in.” He shut the door on the foreboding, steel-grey sky, and I shivered, the warmth of the house sinking into my bones. “Leave your shoes in that cabinet and walk right in,” he called, already deeper in the house. “Socks are fine.” I took my time with the laces of my boots. Ben was…different. Before I moved here, he'd already left home for two years. I hadn't seen him in three. I don’t know my brother anymore. “How heavy do you think the snow is going to be?” I asked him, joining him in a well-lit kitchen right off the living room with a single sofa and a TV mounted on the wall. Somehow, it was easier to pretend like nothing had happened, like this wasn't the first time I was seeing him since he left, like there weren't so many unspoken words. This weekend was going to be so uncomfortable, but only if we let it be. If he wanted to pretend like nothing was wrong, I surely wasn't going to be the one to bring it up. He hummed, glancing out of the window over the sink. Something was bubbling on the stove - it smelled like tomatoes. I hate tomatoes. “I've weathered three winters here already,” he said, shrugging. “Surely it can't get that bad.” “Mum was pretty concerned,” I tried, wondering what it would take to get him to show some emotion other than the careful evenness he was projecting. “I couldn't really convince her otherwise. The forecast she sent predicted that it would start by 10.30, but there's nothing yet, and she's worried.” “Mum worries too much.” Was that a hint of anger I could see in the way his fingers tightened on the ladle he was holding? “She needs to calm down sometimes and let us do our own thing. We're not kids anymore.” “Do you regret that you let me come?” I blurted out. “That I did what she wanted me to, without even talking to you?” He paused. “The soup's burning, Tanya. We'll talk after I cook, okay?” He didn't even glance at the grocery bag I had in my hand. I wanted to throw all the potatoes in the trash. I thought he'd be happy I bought them for him. Guess I really didn’t know him after all. *** “It's started snowing,” I said, curling up on his sofa, tucking my feet under the little hand knit blanket I had brought with me. He still hadn't shown me my room, so my bags lay on the living room floor, opened so I could get at my stuff. “It's looking pretty grey out there. Maybe that 1 p.m. forecast was right, and the storm picked up speed later than it was supposed to.” He glanced at the window and hummed, placing the soup bowls on his coffee table and sinking into an easy cross-legged posture. “Always does. Come on.” I gingerly sipped the soup. The taste of tomatoes was completely masked by the spices he put in it. It warmed me from the inside and I wondered if I had been too quick to judge him. “I'll show you to your room after lunch,” he said, glancing up at the clock above the TV. “Not like there's much that needs to be cleaned.” “You don't have any pictures of m- us,” I blurted out. I don't know why I had to say that out loud. Something about the empty house made me want to -  Scream, cry, demand answers? I didn't even know. “I don't have any with you guys,” Ben answered, not looking up from his soup. “It's been years, Tanya.” “Yeah,” I breathed out. “Yeah, it's been years.” We were silent for a bit, just drinking the soup and occasionally reaching out for the toasted bread, until I shifted, sticking my fingers under my thighs to warm them up.  “Are you cold?” he asked, frowning.  I curled my toes under the table and fidgeted awkwardly. “Kinda? I mean, the snow’s getting heavier, isn’t it?” He cursed under his breath. “I forgot you don't have experience with these winters the way I do. Hold on, let me get the heater.” “It's fine!” I said a little too loudly. “I can just head up to my room, I guess.” He frowned. “I'm not going to be that bad a host to you even if we haven't talked in years, Tanya. Sit down and let me bring the heater.” I waited for him to come back, picking at the fuzz on the rug while I arranged the empty bowls together. The house was beyond anything I had expected. In three years, Ben had built a life for himself. I couldn’t deny that I was angry that I hadn't been a part of it. I hadn’t been since the day he left. “Tanya!” he called from down the corridor. “Come check out your room!” I trudged over, lugging my bag with me. It was a simple enough room that he stood in front of, his hip cocked against the doorframe.  “All good?” His forehead furrowed slightly. “I realized the heater’s plugged in here anyways, so you can just pop in if you feel cold.” “Thanks,” I mumbled, pushing past him into the room. “Works for me.” “Ally used to stay here,” he said casually, as if the knowledge that our cousin had known and stayed over in that one year that he had abandoned us all would not hurt. “I think she left a couple of sweaters in the closet, and I think she's your size, isn't she?” “I have enough clothes,” I said tightly. “I don't think I need to touch her stuff.” “She helped me find this place and supported me while I found my feet, so you can drop the attitude,” he snapped. “There's so much more than how hurt you feel, Tanya.” The squeaking of the door swinging shut felt like cruel laughter. *** I sulked in the room for the next couple of hours. That meant that I managed to answer some emails from work, text and catch up with a couple of friends, and then text Mom, all while resolutely ignoring the sounds of Ben moving around the house outside the door. It was only when Mom texted me her 4 p.m. update that I realised how dark it had gotten. Not the dark of the setting sun, per se, but the dark of an obstruction over the windows.  There was silence outside the room, so I guessed Ben had also retreated to his own room. What else could he be doing? I was the person who had barged into his life, based on a single request by our mother. I didn’t exactly have a lot of space to complain about what he chose to do in his free time. I did regret making him feel defensive though. He wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t sit right with me that Ally had known all that time, and still not told us. Even when Mom was fielding comments from our neighbours about a failed marriage and a runaway son. I didn’t have to like her for helping him out, when she never helped us the same way. I tiptoed out of the room and headed to the kitchen, skirting around the door that led to his room. It was closed tightly, not a crack of light visible from underneath it. Maybe I could come up with something that we used to do together, back when we were younger and freer, and - less stilted. My mind conjured up memories of snowy days, warm drinks, and laughter. Moving together around Mom and making her laugh those full belly laughs that had vanished since Dad left us. “Hot chocolate?” I asked an hour and a messy kitchen later, extending an olive branch in the only way I knew I could, in a place where I was the interloper in both history and peace.  Ben barely looked up at me from the laptop he had balanced on his knees in the corridor. “I'll pass,” he said, typing furiously. “You might want to charge your stuff, sounds like the power station is starting to get snowed in. There's no telling when they'll cut the power because of ice on the lines.” “Then you should have the hot chocolate, because there might not be power to make a hot dinner in two hours,” I said snappily, a little offended that my olive branch was being trampled upon so casually.  Ben sighed and finally looked up. “Tanya, for God's sake, do you think I was this well settled the moment I left home? I know how it feels to be hungry in winter, and I know to treasure even a stone-cold dinner.” “I wouldn't know!” My words burst out of me like a dam had broken. “You never called home, and I had to find out you were alive from Ally a year later when she brought you home for Dad's funeral!” The evening light streaming through the open window at the end of the corridor was misty and cloudy, the beam obstructed and broken by the snow that was steadily piling up against the glass. I don't think I'll forget how his face looked in that faint orange-grey light. Ben looked broken. “Tanya, I -” “Don't tell me I don't understand, because I know! All I know is the whispers and gossip that went around the family and broke Mom's heart, so help me understand! What was so bad that you just - just left?” Me. Left me. I knew I had thought that I wouldn't bring it up. I had promised myself that I wouldn't make it awkward. But I didn't think I could be blamed if he brought it up first. And he did, with his heartbreaking confession of hunger and the cold. Ben sighed minutely, his breath fogging in front of him. That was when I began to register the lowering temperature. It felt like it had begun to sink rapidly, making my fingers go numb. “I'll take the hot chocolate,” he said quietly, holding out a hand. “Please.” It took a little effort to uncurl my fingers from the mug handle, but the moment it left my hand, I stuffed it into the pocket of my jacket, feeling the downy softness against my skin. He cupped the mug like he was drinking up the steam that rose from it in white swirls more than actually tasting the hot chocolate. I sank to the ground opposite him, curling my toes in nervousness. I hugged my knees and balanced my chin on them, chewing on my lips. “I'm not mad at you,” Ben said, and I flinched. “I wasn't, not then. Will you believe me?” No. “Maybe.” He nodded, his chin sinking down to his chest. “I needed some space, Tanya. From everyone. That’s all it was.” “You changed, when I last saw you,” I said quietly. “I know that’s not all it was.” How much could I push? How much could I ask? Time and distance had blurred my boundaries, and I knew there was a limit I was coming up on. I knew he wasn’t the same person I had known when I was younger. The Ben I had seen when Ally brought him home had been a darker, grimmer version of the boy I had grown up tussling with. I didn’t know who he was. “I don’t think I can talk about everything you want to know,” Ben said, his voice sounding slightly sharp.  But we used to. The words sounded hollow and plaintive in my mind. “I understand,” I replied, standing up. “I’m going to go make dinner early. Wanna join?” I didn’t know what prompted me to extend the invitation, not when I was still so angry at him. Maybe it was the same thing that prompted him to accept. *** “You’ve gotten so much better at cooking,” Ben said, admiring the potato-pasta salad I had made. “I’m impressed.” “You missed a lot,” I said, and then wished I could take it back the moment it left my mouth. A shadow crossed his face. “Yeah, I did.” “Mom says the 8 p.m. forecast was much higher than previously expected,” I said, trying to smooth over the awkwardness again. But it seemed to be the wrong thing to say. “Can you stop with the updates? Mom this, Mom that - it’s almost like she’s a third person in this house!” His voice rose, and I sucked in a breath, startled. “And why is that a problem?” I asked, trying not to let my hands shake. “She cares, Ben, and you’ve pushed her away for long enough!” His knuckles whitened as he gripped the fork. “Eat your salad, Tanya. I - We’re not going back to this. I want to forget the things I said and did back then, so - just let me do it.” There was so much I wanted to say. So much I wanted to ask. But how could I? He wasn’t willing to answer. We didn’t - couldn’t talk the way we used to. But that didn’t mean we couldn’t talk at all. Inconsequential things. Simple things. It had barely been half a day, but the tension in the air made it feel like it had been ages. “Let me get some candles and the torch,” Ben said, his eyes flicking up to the light when it went off and came back on a couple of times. “We might lose power entirely in a moment.” He barely made it back with a full pack of candles, a lighter, a box of matches, and two torches before the lights went out completely. For a moment, everything was still. My hand hovered over my bowl, fork inches away from the porcelain. The snow outside blanketed everything in a coat of white as it fell steadily, the wind just slightly picking up. The little light that made it in from the emergency lights outside was diffused with the swirling specks of dust and snow. “Are you still scared of the dark?” Ben asked after a moment. “Do you -” “No,” I replied, my heart thudding in my chest. “I outgrew it.” It was a bold-faced lie. Ben knew it too. “Stop acting brave when you don’t need to,” he snapped, and I heard him move. I reached out blindly to grab his hand. “Don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t turn on the torch.” “Tanya -” “I’ve been acting brave in front of you all day.” There. I said it. I had kept it inside, stomped it down and tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t. Not when the storm locked us up together, not when I remembered the little moments of working together, of keeping the peace, of being who we used to be. Not when he still remembered me in the middle of trying to forget. “What?” he asked, incredulous. “What have you been scared of?” “I was scared of you,” I said faintly. It was easier to say it in the dark, when I couldn't see his face clearly. “When you came home before - before you left.” Ben was silent. I didn't blame him at all. How do you react to hearing that your baby sister was scared of you? We were supposed to be in each other’s lives, but we weren’t. And - I had felt scared of the man he had become, all those years ago. Someone unrecognisable, someone new. Where do you go from there? “Now?” He sounded hoarse, but I was too much of a coward to find the torch or light the candles. I felt like if I turned the light on, we would both be caught in a moment of indecision. And we had started this conversation. We had to see it to its end. “I - yes,” I whispered. “I'm sorry, Ben.” I only heard a soft exhale. “Don't be,” he finally said. “It's on me, then. I haven't been the best all these years, have I?” I didn't know what to say. We sat there in the dark, the wind howling outside his windows and rattling them in their frames. The snow must have piled up on the ledges outside, since the house seemed more…muffled. Isolated. “We should go to bed,” Ben finally said, and I heard him shifting in his seat. There was the scratch of a matchstick and then the candle flared to life. “It’s half past ten already, and it doesn’t look like the power’s coming back on. Come on, Tanya.” I gathered my hoodie closer around myself and followed him through the house to the room he had given me. He waited in the doorway until I had curled up in bed, every inch of my body tight with tension and the cold.  “Good night, Tanya.” The door closed behind him. I lay there, cocooned in the blankets and my socks, listening to the wind howling and the snow's soft thumping against the window. I'm an adult. I can deal with this. I'm an adult. I'm an adult. But I don't have to be alone. Ben changed, yes. He had something he wasn’t telling me, yes. But he wasn’t not Ben. He was- My brother who laughed with me in the kitchen when I messed up was still there. He chuckled now, deep-throated huffs of laughter, but he was there. My brother who drank his hot chocolate like a cup of tea with his pinky extended was still there. My brother who remembered that I hated the cold and the dark was still there. I threw the blankets back and scrambled out of bed, my socked feet slipping on the floor. The torch was heavy in my hand, its light a thready beam lighting the corridor.  “Ben.” I pushed open his door - it hadn't been closed properly - and stood there. He was still sitting at his work table, his head in his hands. A pang of guilt ran through me. I did that. I barged into his life, tried to tell him what to do, what I wanted from him, without asking him where he stood. Without being honest. “Ben,” I said more insistently, stepping inside. “I'm okay with trying again.” He looked up at me, his face pale in the light of the torch. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I don't mind it. Trying to fit together again. I remember who we used to be. I - can I get to know you again? Find you again?” He was still staring at me. I mustered up all my courage, all my misplaced anger from the past years, all my resolve. “I miss you.” I felt like it was the voice of seventeen-year-old me that came out of my mouth, looking up at my then twenty-two-year-old brother's face as he looked at me with distant disinterest. But this time, he smiled. With more tired eyes, more wrinkles around his mouth, but he still smiled. “Come on in here, Tanya,” he said, his voice breaking. “It's cold.” He spun around in his chair as I climbed onto the bed, sitting cross-legged and wrapped in both mine and his blankets.  “We can try again.”   Penmancy gets a small share of every purchase you make through these links, and every little helps us continue bringing you the reads you love!