Chapter Two

 HAILEY'S POV

"What are you going to do?" Was the stupidest thing that ever came out of my

mouth.

"He'll come to stay with us." She sighs and turns her head to look out the window. The curtains were drawn and we could see the neighbors yard clearly.

"I don't exactly know what I'm going to do. Haven't worked out a solid plan yet.

Not even your dad knows about this. I've been avoiding opening that letter from yesterday the moment I saw her name on it." Mom said while staring blankly out the window.

"Do you know how old he is?" I whispered, not quite knowing what to do or say at this point. Hearing that someone you've never seen or known about was coming to live with you was the biggest bomb that has ever been dropped.

Mom sighed, pulling her eyes away from the window to rub her forehead. “I don’t know, Hailey. I’ve never even seen the boy. For all I know, he could be nine years old.” She looked tired, worn out, and stressed.

“You know Georgia was always messed up, but this… this was something else. She gave me her son—her son to look after—even though we hadn’t spoken in years!”

The anger in her voice shook me. She was furious.

But I wasn’t sure who or what she was angry at. Was it Genevieve? The whole situation? Or maybe the fact that she was forced to take in a boy she didn’t even know?

She could’ve said no. She was smart enough to find a way out. But she didn’t. Instead, she was ready to open her home to a complete stranger—even with how badly things had fallen apart between her and Genevieve.

My mom was someone I really admired—and I still do. The house phone rang, and she closed her red, tired eyes for a quick moment before opening them again.

“That must be her lawyer,” she said with a tired grumble. “He said he’d call soon to finalize some things.” She stood up, and the chair scraped loudly against the floor as she walked to answer the phone in the other room. I watched her, unsure how to help or ease her worries.

This was really happening. A little kid—or maybe a teenager—was going to live with us. It wouldn’t just be Jayson, Mom, Dad, and me anymore. Soon, there’d be someone new in the family.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

I sighed and looked back down at the letter, finding myself reading it again.

“So… Carmelo sounds like a cool name,” I said quietly, picking at the broccoli on my plate. I wasn’t really hungry, and judging by the silence around the table, no one else was either.

We’d been sitting there in complete silence for minutes. I hated it. It felt suffocating.

Dad lifted his head from his plate, his brown eyes—just like mine—landing on Mom. She looked vulnerable, lost in her thoughts.

“I guess,” Dad said softly. “What do you think, baby? Does Carmelo sound like a cool name?”

Mom hadn’t spoken much for hours. She was trying her best to hide it, but the news of Genevieve’s death hit her hard. I don’t think she expected it—or the surprise Genevieve left her in the will.

Honestly, I don’t think any of us did.

“Yeah, it’s cool,” Mom replied, her voice distant and unsure.

Dad gave her a worried look, then glanced at me helplessly. Not even he could cheer her up—and that was surprising, since Mom rarely showed sadness when he was around. But today, we were all seeing a side of her we wished we didn’t have to.

Suddenly, Jayson yelled excitedly, “Am I finally getting a brother?!” For a seven-year-old, he sure had a powerful set of lungs.

Mom cringed, and Dad gave her an awkward look. I, on the other hand, shot Jayson a glare. Apparently, he didn’t want an older sister—he wanted an older brother.

I made a mental note not to share the candy I’d snuck into my room with him.

“Not exactly…” Mom cleared her throat.

“Did Mr. Bryant send a photo of him yet?” I asked quietly, feeling guilty even for being curious about this ‘Carmelo.’

Mr. Bryant was Genevieve’s lawyer—the man who sent the letter and the will to Mom. He said Genevieve wanted to tell Mom herself, but since that wasn’t possible, she did it through the letter.

He also mentioned that, despite having some living relatives, Genevieve only wanted Mom to have full custody of her son. She trusted no one else to care for him.

I thought it was kind of touching that Genevieve trusted Mom with her ‘life.’ But the look on Mom’s face told me everything—I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t ready for this huge change.

Mom shook her head. “He said Carmelo doesn’t like having his photo taken, so it’s been hard to find any recent ones. The last picture was from his eighth birthday—that was years ago.”

“Oh, then that means he should be a teenager now, right?” I stopped picking at the broccoli and set my fork down.

Mom nodded, finally looking up at us. Her eyes were still red and swollen from all the crying earlier. “I guess so. I didn’t really ask how old he is—never really crossed my mind.”

I shrugged. “Maybe he’s just shy. That would explain why he hates having his photo taken.”

Mom hummed softly while Dad’s eyes stayed fixed on her. His face was tight with worry, showing exactly how uneasy he felt.

“Bryant said Genevieve kept a photo of Carmelo from when he was eight at her house. He’s actually heading there now—to let Carmelo know.”

I furrowed my brows in confusion. “Let him know what?”

Mom sighed, glancing at Jayson and me before turning her eyes to Dad, who gave her a reassuring smile.

“To let him know we’ll be coming to the funeral,” she said, then looked back at me, “and to bring him here afterward.”

My throat tightened. “Oh. When’s the funeral?”

I glanced at Jayson, who didn’t seem to care at all as he happily dug into the creamy chicken Mom had made earlier.

“Two days from now.” Her voice grew heavy again.

Wow, that’s really soon. I thought we’d at least have a week to prepare for a new addition to the family.

I bit my lip, feeling my stomach tighten with anxiety. “Are we all going?” I hated funerals, and going to one for someone I didn’t even know? That just sounded awkward and full of tension.

Dad answered softly, “No. It’ll just be your mom and me. We’ll be back before your senior year starts. It should only take a day or two… depending.”

I nodded but couldn’t help asking, “Depends on what?” Curiosity slipped into my voice as I looked at them both.

Dad murmured quietly, “Depends on if the situation escalates.” His eyes flicked to Mom, and they shared a look I couldn’t read.