Next of Kin (Next #1)

by Hannah Bonam-Young

Connie’s face falls, looking like a scorned child. How can someone so physically worn look so young?

Now, I’m perhaps the only version of who my mother used to be that’s left in this world.

She’s a stranger now, in all ways. A stranger my heart breaks for. A stranger I still need the approval of, love from…but

I didn’t know humans could be so small. I feel worried just looking at her.

When I’m anxious, it’s like I’ve put earmuffs on, and voices all seem to dim.

I let my shoulders fall back—they’re a lot heavier than they were this morning.

Her name hits me instantly, as if her soul speaks to my own. “Willow.”

I allow my eyes to follow him as he passes me. He has the face of a handsome movie villain—devastatingly sharp.

I feel a sense of pride rising in my chest, having gotten a real reaction out of someone who seems very unwilling to give them away.

“I work with War at the shop,” Bryce sputters out. I won’t be engaging with Bryce anymore.

I love her

I retreat out of view slightly—he has a strong, focused stare, and I’m not used to being seen.

I peek over, and he looks up as I look down. Our eyes meet for what I think may be the first time. I don’t immediately pull back.

The side of his lip curls up slightly, but his eyes grow weary. I tire him, I think.

He studies me, and I swallow without meaning to. “When did you start making your feelings smaller for other people’s benefit?” he asks, his narrowed eyes focused intently on me.

Warren isn’t even a little embarrassed, and I’m a little disappointed. Where does all his confidence come from? Can I get some of it?

“You’re nice to look at—especially when you’re clean.” He winks, and somewhere, an angel gets its wings.

If anyone had labeled me as the local grocery-cart abandoner, they didn’t show it. There were no wanted posters, at least.

Genuinely love Chloe

Odette is a great listener—someone I would trust with the deepest parts of me, if I knew how to access them all.

All the milestones I look forward to, but none of my own. Only Willow’s. Perhaps parenthood is always putting yourself on the back burner.

I decided upstairs that the best strategy would be to make enough spaghetti and meatballs for the house—a peace offering of sorts. An olive oil–infused branch.

“Morning, Ram,” Warren says. Another nickname? I kinda want one.

I don’t know what possesses me, but I reach for his hand as we wait for the elevator. I wrap my palm around the back of his knuckles and give a small squeeze. I have got to stop touching him—it does terrible things to my brain.

He rubs his calloused thumb across the side of my finger, in what appears to be an almost unconscious movement. Tingles flood my veins, starting from the side of my knuckle and shooting to the swelling organ in my chest that beats faster with every swipe.

This isn’t empty. This is vast, full, abundant. Warren’s eyes swirl with a pain that matches my own. Here, I could choose to exchange part of my hurt for his. We could hold on to it for each other. Ease some.

There’s room to breathe over here. Room from that look in his eye.

It is immeasurably rewarding to make him react.

My brain melts away. The version of me that suggested we do anything but this is gone. She was a fool.

I pull away from his neck to find his mouth, but he rests his forehead on mine. It feels more intimate than the kissing somehow.

“You’re you.” Warren spits out the word you as if it’s an insult. It lands as one.

I look at his face and feel a haze fall around the room, putting us into a bubble where only we exist.

“I may have referred to you as a whirlpool…as cheesy as that may be.” My lips twitch, fighting to hide my amusement, as Warren’s expression turns more determined. “I could resist, try to swim out, try to avoid it—but it would be easier to float. And, for the first time, I’m not scared to.”

Each one filled up a tiny space in my heart. Little gestures that made me feel seen, and more importantly, made me realize that Willow doesn’t only have me in her corner.

I let the sound and the coldness of the water take all my focus. For a while, this helps. I’m in a liminal space, between panic and reality, where there is fragile numbness.

“Perfect,” I mumble. Like a weighted blanket for my soul.

This is an incredible descriptive line. Hannah does it again

I bared my soul to them. It felt ugly but real. I hated it during, but afterward I felt a million weights lift off me. An authentic exchange.

“I think if we can both agree that no matter what, we stick it out here until Luke graduates, then we’d be okay.” Please stay after that too.

“I want to keep all of you,” Warren says, blue eyes pinning me to where I sit. He rubs both thumbs over my own. “I want to keep all of you too.” I smile softly.

“No way, Chloe. I wouldn’t do that. I’m not going anywhere.” Does he know how long I have wanted to hear someone say that to me? To feel in my bones that they mean it?

HANNAH!!! Did she stare into my soul???

“I want a lot of things, Chloe. But…that’s a conversation for another day.” He moves his hand out from under mine and to the wheel. I want it back.

AHHHHHHBH

“I guess I’m proud of it. But I didn’t want to be the guy that makes his—” He stops himself. His what? “The guy who plays it for other people to show off. I miss it, though.”

HIS WHAT WARREN?!?!! Ugh I love him

as we get inside, he reaches for my hand. I’m not sure if it’s for my comfort or if it just felt right. It does feel right.

“I’m just so glad you’re together,” Connie says. I sit with that, trying to process and untie all the mental knots of tension I’ve had since Rachel’s call about visits.

“I think I might be in love with him.”

AHBHHH

They had put a stuffed panda on my pillow, and when I’d told them it was my favorite animal, they took it as a sign that we were meant to be a family. In reality, I preferred rabbits.

Wait, his cable-knit sweater? Did he dress up? He isn’t in his usual plain long sleeve T-shirt and ripped jeans. These jeans are black and hardly worn…. Are they new?

Hehehe

Warren looks to me briefly before continuing, an apology in his eyes. “So…yes. I hear how she is speaking to you, and frankly, I wouldn’t have been so kind.”

“And no, I don’t speak to my mother like that because…my junkie mother is dead.”

“Chloe, I could go on forever about how wrong I was. How incredible you are….” He clears his throat. “How much I love you.”

If they TAB il throw my kindle across the room

I lean back to look at him. Mine, some primal part of my brain hums.

I’ve got Warren, man of few words, giving speeches and making lists out loud. I feel powerful.