“It’s okay, we’re taking it slow, remember? Besides, it’s not every day you find out you have a little brother.”

He dives a hand through his hair and sighs. “He’s the one who has been vandalizing the restaurants.”

I startle at that comment. I need to hear more of this story.

“That’s why my mother tried calling me last week, to see if I’d heard from him. I feel like a dick for blocking her number now.”

“You didn’t know.” I’m standing in my living room, but I want to sit down for this conversation. I walk to the couch and set my phone on the arm of it, propping it up with the PopSocket. “Did he know about you?”

Atlas nods. “Yeah, and he thought I knew about him, which is why he was taking out his anger on my restaurants. Other than the thousands of dollars he cost me, he seems like a good kid. Or he at least seems like he has the potential to be a good kid. I don’t know, he’s gone through a lot of the shit I went through with my mother, so there’s no telling what that’s done to him.”

“Is your mother there, too?”

Atlas shakes his head. “I haven’t told her I found him yet. I spoke to a friend of mine who’s a lawyer, and he said the sooner I tell her the better, so she can’t use it against me.”

Use it against him? “Are you wanting to get custody of him?”

Atlas nods without hesitation. “I don’t know if that’s what Josh wants, but there isn’t another option I could live with. I know what kind of mother she is. He mentioned wanting to find his father, but Tim is even worse than my mother.”

“What kind of rights do you have as his brother? Any?”

Atlas shakes his head. “Not unless my mother agrees to let him live with me. Not looking forward to that conversation. She’ll say no just to spite me, but…” Atlas releases a heavy sigh. “If he stays with her, he won’t have a chance in hell. He’s already harder than I was at that age. Angrier. I’m afraid of what that anger might turn into if he doesn’t gain some stability in his life. But who’s to say I’m capable of something like this? What if I fuck him up more than my mother has?”

“You won’t, Atlas. You know you won’t.”

He accepts my reassurance with a quick flash of a smile. “That’s easy for you to say; you’re a natural at this whole raising-kids thing.”

“I just fake it well,” I say. “I have no idea what I’m doing. No parent does. We’re all full of imposter syndrome, winging it every minute of the day.”

“Why is that both comforting and terrifying?” he asks.

“You just summed up parenthood with those two words.”

He exhales. “I should probably get back in there and make sure he isn’t robbing me. I’ll call you later today, okay?”