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Claire woke up suddenly, gasping for air as if she genuinely hadn’t been able to breathe for the past few seconds. She sat up in bed and, for a moment, had no idea where she was. A dark room, drawn curtains, the quiet hum of the street outside the window. Everything was familiar, and yet her heart was still pounding as if her body hadn’t gotten the message that the danger was over.
She rubbed her face with both hands. Her hair was stuck to her forehead. She tried to take a deeper breath, but something tightened in her throat on the first attempt.
A nightmare.
Just a nightmare. Nothing more. She repeated it to herself as she stared into the darkness. She was an adult. She was safe. She was home. And yet, for one brief, frustrating moment, she didn’t feel like a grown woman who could handle practically anything. She felt like a little girl who had woken up in the middle of the night and didn’t want to admit she was scared.
Claire clenched her jaw.
Great. she thought. Just what I needed.
She reached for the phone lying on her nightstand. The screen lit up the room with a cold glow. 3:17 a.m.
For a moment, she simply stared at the time. Then she opened her contacts. Her thumb stopped over one name.
Chris.
Claire hesitated. It was ridiculous. Chris lived far enough away that she couldn’t simply walk into his apartment and wake him up, but close enough that she knew if she really needed him, he would come. Besides, that wasn’t the point. She didn’t want him to come over. She didn’t even want to tell him what had happened.
She just…
Wanted to hear his voice. It was stupid. She was in her thirties, independent, with a life and problems of her own. She didn’t need her older brother to calm her down after a nightmare. But her finger was already pressing the call button. One ring. Two.
Claire almost immediately started regretting her decision. Three. He won’t answer. Four. Five.
Click.
“Claire?”
His voice was low and rough with sleep.
Claire closed her eyes.
“Hey.”
There was a brief silence on the other end.
Chris didn’t ask why she was calling. He didn’t say that it was the middle of the night. He didn’t ask if everything was okay.
He simply answered:
“Hey.”
Claire swallowed.
“Did I wake you?”
“Yeah.”
There was something almost amused in her voice.
“At least you’re honest.”
“Always.”
“Sure.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Claire leaned back against the headboard. The room was completely silent. Chris didn’t rush her. That was the worst thing about him. And the best. He knew her well enough to know when to push and when to simply sit quietly.
“What are you doing?” she asked eventually.
“Sitting.”
Claire let out a quiet laugh.
“Very detailed.”
“I just woke up.”
“I figured.”
“And you?”
Claire stared ahead.
“Sitting too.”
“Then this is a very exciting conversation.”
This time, she actually smiled. It was small, but it was enough.
Chris heard the quiet laugh.
“Yeah.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Chris.”
“Mhm?”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting.”
Claire shook her head, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. For the next few minutes, they talked about nothing. About how Chris had to get up early in the morning. About how Claire had once again left a mug on the windowsill. About how Chris thought nobody should drink coffee at eleven at night, while Claire believed people should have the right to make bad decisions in the privacy of their own homes. The conversation was ordinary. Deliberately ordinary.
Claire could slowly feel the tension leaving her shoulders. She didn’t tell him about the nightmare. Chris didn’t ask. After several minutes, Claire lay back down, still holding the phone to her ear.
“You’re still awake?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I know.”
She sighed.
“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“From me?”
“Mostly.”
“Good.”
Silence settled between them again. This time, it was calmer.
Claire stared at the ceiling. Her eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness. The image from the dream began to blur. It didn’t disappear completely, but it was losing its sharpness. It stopped feeling like something that could happen right now. It was becoming nothing more than a memory of something her mind had created while she slept.
Chris was still on the line. Claire closed her eyes.
“Chris?”
“I’m here.”
“Nothing.”
“Mhm.”
Another minute passed.
“Do you remember when I was afraid of thunderstorms?”
Chris was quiet for a moment.
“When you were six?”
“Something like that.”
“I remember.”
Claire smiled to herself.
“Of course you do.”
“Hard to forget.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“Claire, you woke me up about seven times.”
“I was six.”
“I know.”
“And there was a thunderstorm.”
“I know that too.”
“So you shouldn’t complain.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“You sound like you’re complaining.”
“I’m just stating facts.”
Claire rolled her eyes.
“You were a terrible older brother.”
“I was a great older brother.”
“You were twelve.”
“So?”
“And what does a twelve-year-old know about calming down a scared kid?”
Chris thought about it.
“Apparently enough.”
Claire laughed softly. She remembered that night. She remembered the flashes of lightning outside the window, the thunder, and how scared she’d been. She remembered walking into Chris’s room, and how annoyed he’d been because she’d woken him up again. She remembered him grumbling something under his breath, moving over on the bed, and letting her sit beside him. He hadn’t said anything special. He’d simply been there. Exactly like he was now.
Claire opened her eyes.
“Chris?”
“Mhm?”
“Thanks.”
There was another silence on the other end. This one lasted a little longer.
“For what?”
Claire thought about it.
“For nothing.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It doesn’t have to.”
Chris exhaled softly through his nose, but didn’t answer. Claire knew he understood. He always understood more than he said. The phone was now resting on the pillow beside her head. The speaker was turned down low. She didn’t need to hold it anymore.
“Tell me something,” she said.
“What?”
“Anything.”
“At this hour?”
“Yeah.”
Chris thought for a moment.
“I tried to fix the faucet today.”
Claire opened one eye.
“You tried?”
“I fixed it.”
“Then why did you say you tried?”
“Because it didn’t work for the first twenty minutes.”
“Ah.”
“Then it worked.”
“That’s a very inspiring story.”
“I told you, I don’t have anything interesting to talk about.”
“You don’t have to.”
Chris fell silent. After a moment, he started telling her about how he’d spilled water all over the floor while fixing the faucet, how he’d spent five minutes looking for the towel he’d placed right beside himself only moments earlier, and how he’d eventually found it exactly where he’d left it.
Claire listened. Not because the story was interesting. It was actually ridiculously boring. And that was exactly what she needed.
Chris’s voice flowed calmly through the phone. There was no tension in it. No urgency. No questions she didn’t want to hear. He was simply her older brother. The same one who had once sat beside her bed during a thunderstorm. The same one who had always said everything would be okay, even when he had no idea whether it actually would be.
Claire stretched beneath the blankets.
“Chris?”
“Yeah?”
“Keep talking.”
“About the faucet?”
“About anything.”
“Okay.”
And he did.
He talked about his morning coffee, which had been terrible. About the neighbor who had once again left trash outside his door. About how he needed to go grocery shopping because all he had left in the fridge was mustard and something he didn’t want to identify.
Claire listened, her eyelids growing heavier.
“Chris?”
“Mhm?”
“Mustard isn’t food.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
“Claire?”
She didn’t answer.
Chris looked at the phone. The call was still connected. He heard her quiet, steady breathing. He smiled faintly. He didn’t hang up. For several minutes, he simply sat there in silence.
Eventually, Claire shifted in her sleep.
“Chris…”
He immediately looked up.
“I’m here.”
Her breathing settled again.
Chris leaned back more comfortably against the headboard. He had no idea what she’d dreamed about. He didn’t know what had woken her. He didn’t need to know.
Claire didn’t want to talk about it. So he wouldn’t ask. Tomorrow, she’d probably pretend nothing had happened. She’d make coffee, start complaining about something completely insignificant, and act as if calling him at 3:17 in the morning was perfectly normal.
Chris would let her. She didn’t need an interrogation. She needed someone on the other end of the line. And he could be that person. For as long as she needed.
Another fifteen minutes passed.
Claire was already sleeping deeply. Chris still held the phone to his ear. Finally, very quietly, he said:
“Goodnight, Claire.”
He didn’t hear an answer. He hadn’t expected one. He rested his head against the pillow and closed his eyes, but he didn’t hang up.
When they were kids, Claire had been afraid of thunderstorms, so Chris would sit beside her until she fell asleep. Now they were both adults.
Life had turned them into completely different people.
Claire was no longer a little girl, and Chris was no longer a teenager pretending he wasn’t tired when his little sister came to him in the middle of the night. But some things hadn’t changed.
Sometimes, all it took was for one of them to say the other’s name.
And the other would answer.
“I’m here.”