Chapter 5: Growing Unease

A few days later...

It’s been a long day, and I find myself lying on my bed, phone in hand, ready to chat with Emmy. As always, the conversation starts lightly. We talk about random things—our daily routines, the ups and downs of student life. It’s become a ritual, a sort of escape that I look forward to eagerly.

Emmy (message): “So, how was your day? Nothing too boring, I hope?” I smile at her message. Not much exciting ever happens in my day.

Me (message): “Nothing special. Just some classes, a hockey practice. The usual.”

Emmy (message): “Hockey? That sounds cool! And what’s your team called?”

Me (message): “I’d rather keep that to myself for now 😉.”

Emmy (message): “No worries! So, do you live alone or with your folks?”

I’m a bit surprised by her questions. It’s the first time she’s shown such direct interest in my personal life. I answer without much thought, trying to keep it vague.

Me (message): “I live with my parents and my sister. Nothing too exciting there 😅.” There’s a brief pause before her next message arrives, and I wonder if she’s simply curious or if there’s a specific reason she wants to know more.

Emmy (message): “Oh, a sister? Is she younger or older than you? What does she do?” I raise an eyebrow, surprised by her sudden interest in Emma. It’s a topic I don’t usually bring up, especially here. But I decide to respond, keeping a bit on the defensive.

Me (message): “She’s younger, still studying. What’s with all the questions? 😅” Her next message arrives quickly, almost as if she anticipated my question.

Emmy (message): “Just curious 😊. I like to know what people’s lives are like. It helps me understand them better.” I feel a slight unease. For some reason, I can’t quite explain, I don’t feel like getting into details about Emma. Maybe because it would make this all feel too real, too close to my everyday life. I decide to change the subject, but gently, so it doesn’t come off as too abrupt.

Me (message): “Let’s talk about something else, if that’s okay? You mentioned you had a project to finish today—how did that go?” There’s a long enough pause that I start to wonder if she noticed my diversion. But when she replies, it’s with the same lighthearted tone as before, as if she accepted my change in direction without question.

Emmy (message): “Oh, it went well, actually! It was more work than I expected, but I’m happy with the result.” I let out a small sigh of relief, glad that the conversation has returned to more familiar ground.

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.