Picture Perfect

“Hey, dinner is in the oven when you want it. Your father and I will be back around 10. Is everything okay at the house? Do you need anything?” Mother’s voice rings out through the phone. 

“Yes, I’m okay. Don’t worry. Is Grey coming home tonight?”

“No, he’s having a sleepover at the Harrington’s house over in Pine Meadows. I’m going to have to let you go. We are picking up Mitch and Kaitlyn right now. Call me if you need anything.”

Dixon scratches at the door. I slide it open, and he steps out into the night. 

“Okay, sounds good. I will. Have fun. Love you.”

“Love you too,” My mother says before ending the call. 

It’s pitch black outside. I pull the blinds down over the large windows of the living room. Settling down on the couch. A large family portrait on the wall smiles down on me. My sister and I are seated on a small sofa in front of my mother. Her hands placed neatly on our shoulders. My father stands behind my brother who is seated in a sophisticated arm chair. I was seven when the painting was done. My brother was five, and my sister was four. My smile in the photo unsettles me. It doesn’t quite reach my eyes. Although, I guess most seven year olds don’t have the most gleeful countenance when posing for hours while the artist perfectly captures each of their features, spilling them across the canvas. My brother was four, and my sister was three. Two perfect daughters in perfect dresses and perfect bows. The perfect son in the perfect tie and perfect hair. The perfect family.

I click through the channels. CNN. National Geographic. Comedy Central. NBA. Nothing intrigues me. I get up off the couch, heading to the kitchen. I take a seat at my parents desk, opening the family laptop. Home videos were my favorite thing as a kid. Looking back on memories that I didn’t remember creating. Speaking words for the first time that I had forgotten I ever had to learn. I used to love scrolling through all of the old photos. Birthday cake smeared across my brother’s face. My sister dressed as Little Bo Peep for Halloween. Twice. My Spiderman birthday party. My parents’ photos from when they were dating. Taking a peak into the lives they lived before I existed. It had been a while since I’d travelled back in time through these snapshots saved onto the Macbook. I begin to scroll through the photos. Trying to find one in particular that always made me laugh when the three of us meeting Santa went horribly wrong. Santa’s helper did not sign up for a knee to the groin from a five year old, but then again- I was five. Meaning the photo would’ve been from 2010. I scroll. Searching for the year. 

Sandcastles. First birthdays. Finger paintings. Playdates in the park. Pumpkin carvings. Second birthdays. Christmas presents. Princess parties. Moving. Third birthdays. Shopping. Skiing. Thanksgiving. Fifth birthdays. Seventh birthdays. Eighth birthdays. Ninth birthdays. Tenth birthdays. 

I continue scrolling. Getting lost in the images. Nostalgia of times I could hardly remember swarming my brain. I scroll over 2008. Scanning the photos briefly. Preschool. Soccer. Summer camp. They were all photos of me. At that moment, I was an only child until Grey came along in August. 

2000. My parent’s wedding. Honeymoon. Europe. Their big move to South Dakota. An ice skating date. The first day my dad came home from the hospital after breaking his leg in a snowboarding accident. Cooking classes. Trips to the lake. Then, I pause for a moment. I see it. A photo I had never seen before. Taken March 16th, 2000. A baby. I click on the image. From a distance, he looks just like my cousin Charlie. I squint my eyes, slowly moving them to the arms of the woman holding him. I knew those arms. I click to the next image. There’s a woman staring back at me. Dark brown eyes. Dirty blonde hair. Dimples. I know this woman. She’s my mother. One could assume she was just holding Charlie at the hospital after he was born. It could’ve been possible. I didn’t remember what year Charlie was born, only that he was several years older than me. It could’ve been possible. Except the hospital gown and sweat sticking strands of hair to the woman’s forehead told a different story. This baby was her own. 

My heart begins to beat out of my chest. I click to the next photo. 

A baby boy. Wrapped in a blanket. Grey embroidered along the side. Grey. The name of my brother who was three years younger than me. The Grey who was born in 2008. Not 2000. After the photos from that day in the hospital, months passed with no documentation of anything. The most recent photo after that date was October 2, 2000. My parents smiling, lounging by the pool. Palm Springs, California. No baby to be seen. After that day, this collection of photos showed no evidence of the child’s existence. 

I think back to the day Grey was born- the day he was allegedly born. August 19, 2008. I was too young to remember any of it. I had seen the pictures though. They had to be on this computer. 

Scrolling back to 2008. August. Clicking on the first image taken in a hospital. There’s Grey again. Grey. This Grey was not an eight year old- he had just been born. My mom smiled up at the camera, but there was something unsettling about her face. A look in her eyes that sent shivers up my spine. 

The photos of Grey carried on after that day, carefully following the growth of the young boy. All was normal. Except now, I knew that none of it was really normal. I open a new browsing tab. Typing carefully. My fingers shaking. Grey Abbot. Nothing. Grey Abbot Albany NY. Nothing. Grey Abbot Laker Elementary School Albany New York. Nothing. He didn’t exist. I try a million other searches. My parents. Their business. My name. My school. My grandparents’ names. None presented any intriguing photos. All were images I had seen before. 

Where are you, Grey? 

What happened to you?

Where did you go?

Why are you missing?

I need to ask her. I have to say something. Ambush her unexpectedly. Why didn’t you tell me I had a long lost brother? Where is he? What the hell is going on? I have to say something. I reach for my phone. My mother’s contact. Call. It rings for what feels like eternity before going to voicemail. Shit. 

I pace around the house. Contemplating what to do. Do I call the police? Do I call Grey? Grandmother? I push the ideas away. I need to talk to my mother before anyone else. Dixon barks at the door, and I reach down to pet him as he walks back into the house. The night feeling darker than usual. Deeper. 

My phone rings. I reach for it shakily. Pressing it to my ear. 

“Hey Annie. Is everything alright? Annie?”

“Oh- yes. Yes, everything is alright. I just wanted to see what time you’ll be home.”

“Annie darling, you scared me. Goodness. I told you before. We will be home sometime after ten.”

“Sorry, I forgot. Just wanted to doublecheck.”

“Okay, well I love you.”

“Love you too.”

8:37 PM. The clock above the coffeemaker reads. 

I grab the laptop and my keys. Opening the door. The sharp winter breeze races across my cheek. I turn back to look at the house once I reach the driveway. Perfect house. I step into my car. Turn on the ignition. Perfect parents. Reverse. Pulling out into the street. Switching on the brights. Radio blaring. Quiet road. Perfect family.