Chapter 5 - Growing Unease
After chatting with Emmy, the rest of my night passes in a blur. The next day, I return to my usual routine. The day goes by without incident, filled with classes and hockey practice. These moments allow me to escape my thoughts, to focus on something tangible, something physical. But when I get home, the reality of my family life catches up with me.
As I walk into the kitchen, I find my mom preparing dinner. The familiar smell of the meal simmering on the stove is comforting, but I immediately notice her thoughtful expression, as if something is weighing on her mind. She asks me to help her, a usual gesture that I know often signals a more serious conversation.
- Mom: “Brice, could you help me peel these carrots?”
I move closer, taking a peeler, and start peeling in silence, sensing she has something to say. She sighs softly before speaking, a sign that she’s carefully choosing her words.
- Mom: “You know, Brice… I’ve noticed that you and Emma aren’t as close as you used to be. You two were inseparable when you were little…”
I keep peeling, but I feel a slight tightness in my chest. It’s true, Emma and I have gone down different paths as we’ve grown up, but hearing it from my mom makes the reality a bit harder to swallow.
- Me: “Yeah, we grew up. That’s normal, isn’t it?”
She nods, but her gaze remains thoughtful, almost melancholic.
- Mom: “I remember one summer, you must have been 10 and Emma 7. You spent all your time together. There was that treehouse you two built in the yard. Do you remember?”
I smile slightly, recalling it. That treehouse was our little kingdom, a place where the outside world didn’t exist.
- Me: “Yeah, I remember. We’d spend hours there; it was our hideaway.”
She smiles, but her expression grows more serious.
- Mom: “You two were so close… But lately, I don’t know… I feel a distance between you. Emma seems so stressed, and I worry about her. Have you noticed anything?”
I stay silent for a moment, thinking about her words. Emma is definitely stressed, but I can’t help but recall what she confided in me recently. She’s falling behind in her classes, and I still don’t know what she spends her days doing. This thought troubles me more than I want to admit.
- Me: “I know she’s a bit stressed, yeah… She told me she’s having a hard time keeping up lately.”
My mom nods, a sigh of worry escaping her lips.
- Mom: “I just hope she’s alright. You two have always been there for each other… but lately, it feels like you’re both strangers. I know you’re busy, Brice, but maybe you could try a little harder for her”
I feel a pang of guilt hearing her words. Maybe I haven’t been there enough for Emma lately, too caught up in my own concerns. But the truth is, I’m starting to wonder more and more what she’s actually doing when she’s not at school. Her vague answers, her unexplained absences… It all worries me more than I let on.
- Me: “I’ll try, Mom. I’ll talk to her.”
She smiles softly, placing a hand on my shoulder before returning to dinner prep.
- Mom: “Thank you, Brice. It reassures me to know that you’re there for each other. You both mean so much to one another, even if you don’t always show it.”
I nod, but my mind is already elsewhere. My mother’s words echo inside me, and I realize I really need to find out what’s going on with Emma. Not just to put Mom at ease, but because I’m genuinely worried about her. Something isn’t right, and I can’t ignore it any longer.
I remember the last time I went into Emma’s room. It’s been over a year now. Back then, we still shared our thoughts easily, and we were really close. But since she started her studies, she’s turned her room into an inviolable sanctuary. No one, not even our parents, is allowed in. She always finds an excuse, saying she needs her privacy or that she’s too busy. This sudden change, the distance she’s put between us—it haunts me.
Mom’s words stick with me, gnawing at the back of my mind. But I know I can’t just go into her room to talk to her directly. So, I take my phone and send her a message, hoping it will start a conversation.
- Me (message): “Hey, Emma. It’s been a while since we really talked… Mom’s worried about you. She thinks you should open up more…”
I press ‘send’ and sit on my bed, my leg bouncing with impatience. Why does she feel so far away these days? I hate this waiting game. The silence in my room becomes more and more oppressive as the minutes pass. I think back to our past closeness, and it makes this waiting even harder. She used to respond instantly. Now, it feels like she’s built an unbreakable wall between us.
After what feels like an eternity, my phone finally vibrates.
- Emma (message): “I’m fine, no need to worry.”
I frown at her response. It’s too vague, too evasive. This isn’t the Emma I know. That simple message doesn’t do anything to reassure me. So, I decide to press on, hoping she’ll eventually open up a bit more.
- Me (message): “You know, studying is important. You have to work hard to earn money. You should focus on your classes.”
The silence that follows is even longer, even heavier. My impatience turns into frustration. Why doesn’t Emma want to talk anymore? Why this distance? I wonder what she’s actually doing with her days if she’s not attending classes like she hinted.
Finally, another vibration. She replied.
- Emma (message): “I’ve got this, trust me.”
I read the message over and over. “I know what I’m doing.” What does that even mean? I find no comfort in her response. If anything, it only deepens the unease I’ve been feeling. She’s hiding something, that’s clear, but what? And why won’t she confide in me, even a little?
The exchange ends there. I sit on my bed, still holding my phone, staring at the screen as if I might find answers in the few words Emma sent. Doubts and worries gnaw at me, and I feel powerless. The more I think about it, the more I realize I’m becoming increasingly disconnected from my sister’s life, unable to understand what’s really going on behind those closed doors.