UNDER PERFECT SKIES

1: Almost Invisible

October 5th, 2026

Last night, I prayed for today to be clear. Blue should be the final color the sky gives Axel. But God hasn’t heard me in a while, and outside, storm clouds paint the world gray. Wind shoves me across the driveway, and I slide into the backseat of Dad’s Escalade. It always smells like leather in here, but today the cologne he's wearing is thick enough to taste, and in the passenger seat Mom dabs at her leaking eyes.

I settle next to Aiden. The zipper of this stupid dress stabs into my back, which is what I get for trying it on at six this morning for the first time. It was too late to do anything besides put it on and deal with it. I inch my foot toward Aiden’s and nudge his shoe: our I need you signal. We’ve used it for years. He doesn’t nudge back. Fine. But he’s not getting through Axel’s funeral without doing it. I stare at his black curls, watching him refuse to look anywhere but out the window. I wonder what Axel would say about Aiden’s great retreat from me.

He would tell me our big brother is just in one of his testosterone-induced moods. I sift every fold of my brain for Axel’s voice so I can hear him say it, but end up popping in an earbud, scrolling to an old video of him lining up tiny soldiers, narrating some battle plan, instead. His voice is almost perfect in it; the pitch is right, but the aliveness isn’t. This can’t be what I hear when I remember him. I stare out my window, trying to summon his real voice again, the one with no pause button or end. But Dad catches my eye, tilting the rearview mirror, and Axel’s snatched away before I can hear him.

“Christ, Anais, fix your face. Did you sleep?” Dad barks, pulling out of our driveway. I force it to soften. Aiden doesn't even glance to see whatever's wrong with my face, and then my phone buzzes in my lap.

Kye: Don’t go quiet on us today, ok? If it gets too much, text me.

I almost like his text. Kye is trying to be there for me, but my mouth curves down and I shove the screen against my thigh. I need this from Aiden, not his best friend, because Aiden used to be the one. A couple months ago, when Axel was still alive and craving pizza from a place hours out, Aiden brought me with him since our brother couldn’t make the drive. Inside, a man kept catching my eye, and no matter how fast I looked in another direction, he’d already be looking at me. I nudged my foot to Aiden’s. He followed my gaze, then moved so his shoulders blocked the man out, staying there until our pie came. Maybe our nudge died with our little brother.

Dad pulls into the chapel’s parking lot, set between fields of dull, wrung-out grass. My mouth goes tacky then dry. This is too real now: my brother, just another body in a row of bodies. He deserves better than half-dead grass and untrimmed shrubbery. I press back into the seat. My eyelids snap together, tighter than I mean to, silver and white strobing across the dark behind them. I breathe through my nose so I don’t lose it right here.

Lush, rich green-and-gold hills roll out around me, and I'm actually there—soft grass tickling my ankles, swaying in the wind. I almost hear Axel run up behind me, but the footsteps are too heavy. My eyes snap open before my brain tells them to, and something clamps down on my chest. It doesn’t let up; then I adjust to the pressure and breathe in the seat's leather. Cologne. The SUV boxes me in again. Knuckles bang on the glass and I jump hard against the seatbelt. Mom is at the window.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention, mami. We thought you were behind us.” She pulls my door open and presses a tissue into my hand. I unbuckle, and when I step out she grabs my shoulders and steers me toward the chapel. My legs forget the order, my ankle turning in, and I lean into Mom's hands. “You’re okay, Anais. Look where you’re walking. I get it, though. I do. We can’t have you out here forever.”

Maybe my family can’t, but I could stay out here forever. Especially when my lips taste like saltwater. The tissue is shredded in my hand, now useless, so I wipe my eyes and black gunk smears across my knuckles. Axel used to tell me that I never needed makeup, anyway.

We join Aiden and Dad by my brother’s casket, near the podium. It’s a small mahogany one that’s Axel-sized. He was only eleven. I’m seventeen. Aiden is twenty-one. We were supposed to get older together, and now the smallest one is gone. Maybe everyone is being pranked. Maybe Mom and Dad just sent him on a trip, one only for him. He’s going to jump out of the coffin any minute now for his big reveal, and I’ll be mad at him, but I’ll be more thankful than anything.

Usually, it’s just me and Axel. That’s how it is. Was. Not right now, though. Actually, not ever again. People crowd in, too many people, and Axel would want out the same way I do. Aiden slips away when Kye arrives, and they blend into the sea of relatives, supposed friends, and people from our community.

Axel looks at peace, like he’s sleeping. His hair had been thinning from chemo, but he refused to shave off the last patches of brown. Now he’s bald. He’d want his patches. His skin is pale, almost waxy. His hands are folded over his chest, and he finally looks free from everything his body put him through. From everything we’ve been put through. Part of me is jealous. The other part feels guilty that I am.

“Why’d they shave his head?” I ask Mom.

“They just did, honey.” She looks away.

The liquor on Dad’s breath crawls up my nostrils while he talks with his brother a shoulder away. Dad’s parents trade stiff formalities with me, then his brothers and their families, one at a time. Like we’re strangers instead of blood. Mom’s side couldn’t make it, not if Dad and his side came. Not even for Axel. I walk over and stand by the seats arranged for my brother’s service, away from this awful crowd. Everyone merges together, but Aiden and Kye pull loose from the smear, coming to me.

“Hey,” I say to my brother, leaning in to hug him, but he only gives me a half-hug, then takes a seat going straight to his phone.

“Hey, Ness,” Kye says, shooting me a dull smile. He and my brothers have called me that for years, since I was eight—Ness, or Nessy. Kye does a double take across my face before meeting my eyes, probably noticing how badly I smudged my mascara. I side-hug him, and it almost feels normal, but his hand settles at the small of my back. Aiden wouldn’t hug me like this. I don’t know what to do, so I wait for him to drop it.

When he doesn’t, I let go first and make space, looking to see if my brother caught that, but of course he didn’t; he’s staring at his shoes now. I don’t think he’s seen me in weeks. Axel would have noticed, though. He noticed too much about me. I think he was the only person who saw me clearly. Kye shoots me a sad look, and we each sit on either side of Aiden. He’s at our house five or six times a week, so much that Axel used to call him Kye Johnson, like he was one of us. Since our brother passed, Aiden goes to Kye’s instead.

“Ever gonna come back home?” I ask my brother, who only nods. I thought he would let me in like he used to when things got bad. He hasn’t.

“Are you taking care of him?” I bug Kye now, pulling the corners of my mouth up before dropping them down, because Aiden’s doing that face. The face right before he tells me to stop annoying him.

Aiden looks at me finally, but like I said something genuinely wrong. “Can you let it be, Nessy? I’m fine, just stop. I’m too tired to talk, really.” Then his face relaxes, and he looks down again. Maybe he’s being honest. Maybe he can’t stand being home. I know every time I pass Axel’s room I rip in half. But I’m tired, too.

“Don’t worry,” Kye starts, skipping past Aiden’s eyes and landing on mine, “I am. Promise. Did we wake you up when I dropped him off last night?”

“No.” But I hadn’t slept at all. And it was hardly last night. I heard Aiden get home earlier this morning, around four-thirty-ish. I also heard Kye help him up the stairs. My brother was obviously drunk and probably hungover now; maybe that’s why he’s being so short with me.

“Good.” Kye gives me a real smile. “Who’s taking care of you?” His eyes latch onto mine, too long, like he’s waiting for me to say no one. I look to Aiden, who huffs a breath and excuses himself. The second he’s gone, Kye slides into his seat, dropping his arm across the edge of my chair; his fingers brush behind my shoulder.

I lean a bit sideways, leaving an obvious stretch of space between us. “I’m hanging in there, you know how it is. Mom’s there for me when she can be. Just sort of… well… I’m just sort of here. What’s his problem?” I ask.

He leans closer to my ear, close enough for his cologne to choke a cough out of me. “I don’t know, he’ll come around. We’ll start kicking it back at your place soon. I’ll bring him.”

“Oh,” is all I manage. Something about how close he is swallows every word I want to say. My pointer finger scratches the webbing of my thumb and I press my other hand over it to stop.

“Hey, did you see my text?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. I’m busy. Got a lot going on today y’know?” I say, leaning back to make more space again.

“I know. I’m here if you need anything, okay? Seriously.”

My smile muscles pinch, catch, then quit when something tickles my shoulder. I lean back on instinct, smushing Kye’s finger between me and the chair. I nod. It’s just Kye being Kye, but his eyes keep dragging across my face in a way they usually don’t. He draws in a long breath and moves his hand. “I better go.” He gets up and walks to my brother, handing him tissues from a table he passes.

The space he leaves feels like air finally reinflating my lungs. I lean back and watch my family act like we’re perfect, like the past few months didn’t happen. Like I haven’t watched Axel hooked up to machines, his hair on the pillow, his arms thinning to nothing. He was getting better. He even made it back home for a little. Then it was over.

His service passes and everyone fades into my periphery while the priest delivers his eulogy. After, Mom stands up front, sharing memories and struggling to keep her composure. Next comes Dad. “Son, I hope you’ve found peace, and, and—” his voice breaks, but he’s not crying. “We’ll miss you dearly. I’ll keep this family strong for you, my boy in heaven.”

Liar.

“Watch over us…”

He pauses and turns to Aiden, who steps forward:

“Hey, it’s nice to see you all. I just wish it could be under better circumstances. Damn, we just celebrated my twenty-first.” He pauses. His voice breaks, and for a second I think he’s about to cry, but it doesn’t come. “What can I say? I taught him everything: how to throw a punch and play basketball. He picked it all up faster than I ever did. I wish he could have grown up.” He looks at me briefly. “Ax, I miss you. I hope you’re not hurting, and keep looking over us, alright?” He clears his throat at the end, and gestures for me to join, smiling like he wasn’t just a jerk.

I walk to the podium beside him, but I don’t know how to talk about my baby brother like he’s past tense. Instead, I’m back at Sloan Kettering. Dad’s parents made sure Axel had the best doctors money could buy. It didn’t matter, though—his doctor said it was advanced leukemia. Chemo immediately. I thought my little brother would live simply because he’d have to. For me.

The day my brother collapsed, I folded my hands and begged God like I had never begged before: I’ll be a better sister, just let our family be lucky, don’t take him from me—take Dad instead, please God, take Dad and save Axel. Amen.

God didn’t hear me then either. I couldn’t fix my brother by covering his ears in the bathroom while the sink ran loud enough to block our parents fighting downstairs. I would have done it forever if it could have kept him here.

“Do you need a tissue, Anais?” The voice pulls me back. Dad’s brother.

I’ve wandered too far inside my mind, and when I look up, there are too many eyes pressing into me, watching me struggle to find my voice. “Oh.” I blink. “No. It’s okay.”

I thought I could imagine today away, but time caught up to me, and this isn’t a prank. Axel never left for a trip. He left me forever. “Thank you all for being here. I know Axel wouldn’t have liked how sad this is. He was always so happy. I-I wish I had his optimism. I miss you. It shouldn’t have been you. You were too good for this place…” I pause, meeting eyes with Dad. His words echo in my head before I stop them:

“STOP BEING SO GODDAMN STUPID. YOU’RE JUST WEAK. GET OUT—GO!”

Axel endured so much before the diagnosis.

“I miss him more than anything.” My voice threatens to fail me, but I steady it. “I wish we could’ve seen you grow up, too.”

I look up at the ceiling, because my brother isn’t in that casket. “I love you, Axie.” I lean into Aiden, sliding my foot to nudge his shoe. He nudges back, wrapping his left arm across my shoulders, pulling me into him. Ahead of me, the chapel narrows into those many eyes—Kye’s in particular, burning into me.

“You’re finally free.”

I wish I were, too.

I’m not.

2: On and On

October 15th, 2026

Days melt into one another and I want to skip school. Everyone would understand, and it’s dumb that I have to go back on a Thursday. But Mom says it’s time, so I go.

“That’s not like you,” Kye says, leaning in my doorway. I texted him for a ride earlier since Aiden is passed out in the basement, hungover from having some girl over last night. Dad is asleep too, and he won’t let Mom drive the car without him. As long as Kye isn’t busy with work, he can swing it. “You usually don’t wear sweats?” he says.

I shrug, “So?”

“Well, at least do your hair.” He gets close, his palm fitting against my cheek, pushing loose strands of hair out of my face. I lock my flinch down before it shows.

Stop is on the tip of my tongue, but I need a quiet ride. I step back and spit out something smaller instead: “Can you not?”

He laughs like I'm the dramatic one, then we head out. Ten minutes later, he’s pulling into my school’s drop-off lane; his truck is so tall that I see over the sea of cars choking the curb. He rolls to a stop, and some sophomore at the entrance does a double-take.