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than a childhood fear of arguing parents, but Wes found himself still internalizing all of it.
                  “Sylvia and Beau are here,” Abel mumbled in a lilt as he walked by him. “Time to earn some therapy sessions, baby bro.” Abel always called him that, even though they were barely born three minutes apart.
                  “Yeah, no shit,” Wes said with a humorless laugh, but being around his parents brought him far more anxiety than he usually displayed. He grabbed three glasses from the cupboard as Abel greeted their parents and cousin at the door. He chuckled when his mother made a comment about how long Abel’s hair was getting.
                  “You look like one of the hobos on the Venice boardwalk making bracelets.”
    “I don’t really have a legit career, so be careful what you wish for, Ma.”
    She’d be on the tattoos next. Their parents had traded their conservative New Hampshire lifestyle for Oahu long before the two of them were born, but they still held on to a lot of beliefs from their upbringing, especially the part about marriage being forever. Wes had never understood it. His parents clearly didn’t like each other, so much so that he didn’t have a single memory, not even a hint of a feeling, of them ever being happy together. Abel had always tried convincing him that none of that mattered because they had been good parents by staying together for them. Wes thought the opposite. Good parents would’ve split up for their sake; their parents had stayed together because they were selfish.
    “Wes!” Charlotte poked him on either side from behind before hopping up to sit on the countertop. They really could’ve been siblings. Her eyes bore the exact same shade of blue as his and Abel’s, and their identical blond hair was laced in a long braid down her back.
    “Goddammit, Char!” Wes caught one of the glasses before it tumbled over.
                  “Wesley, please watch your mouth .” His mother pressed her lips against his cheek. “How are you, baby?” After they hugged, she gripped his tattoo-covered arm. “Have you ever thought about what this will look like when you’re forty? Or eighty ?”
                  “Yup. That’s why I keep getting them.” He hugged her again and offered her a glass of water once they pulled away.
                  “Hey, Dad.” His mother ducked under his arm as soon as his father was within glaring distance. And she had glared. No, seriously, you two should stop showing us just how in love you are, he cruelly joked to himself, but Wes’ heart nosedived into the pit of his stomach as he watched her move to the living room. It was a weary stride, with her shoulders slumped forward and her head down. She was miserable and it was heartbreaking; she always looked like she was on the verge of a scream when his father was around. Or murderous rage. Probably that.
    “How’s my favorite boy?” his dad asked, and Wes struggled to prop a smile on his face.
                  “He said that to me, like, ten minutes ago. Don’t buy it! He meant it for me though, since I’m the one who brought the luggage in!” Abel yelled out before he joined them in the kitchen. Wes hugged his dad, and Beau Elliott attempted to pick him up. He always did that, and they were all waiting for the day, rather gruesomely, for his back to give out.
                  “How long are you here for, kiddo?” Abel asked Charlotte.
                  She frowned after picking up one of the glasses. “Kiddo? I’m only four years younger than you guys. Anyway, I’m here until you kick me out before school starts…” Her lashes fanned furiously as she pressed out an exaggeratedly innocent smile. “…Which Uncle Beau and Aunt Sylvie say you won’t do.” She sashayed past them and headed into the living room where her aunt was. As he watched her go, Wes frowned in