Twenty-Eight

"Brother." I repeat.

There's a long pause. I hear the door swing open again and someone comes rushing in, slowing to a stop in the hallway behind Nick.

"Who is that?" A man asks in a whisper.

"Dunno." Laura replies under her breath. I listen as she turns and leaves, taking the shrieking child with her.

"Mike," Nick murmurs. "Can you tell me again, about the brother Ben never met?"

"Is this—"

"Yes. Please."

Mike. Michael. Benjamin. Jones? No way.

"I think I should leave." Before they put it together like I have. Before they realize. Before they get to tell me all the things they've been waiting to tell me all these years.

I turn and hurry back into my bedroom. Did I bring much? I can't remember, now. There are a lot of things I'm willing to lose in this house.

I grab my bag from the dresser, still mostly packed. I grab a few of my clothes out of the basket beside the door and shove them back into the bag. I reach into the top of the closet to retrieve my soul box, and set it gingerly on top of the clothes.

I hear someone approaching the room, and I quicken my pace, darting back and forth between my bag and my nightstand, making sure to gather all of my books. Those, especially, are expensive.

"Aedin?" I hear someone call.

My skin spikes hot and I yank the zipper shut halfway and toss it over my shoulder. In my rush out the bedroom door, I slam right into a man nearly as tall as me and twice as wide.

"Woah, slow down. What's the rush? Leaving again so soon?"

I grit my teeth. No, no, no. This isn't right. For them to meet me again like this after so many years. I'm not ready. They might not be ready. Most importantly, I think I'm the last person anyone would want to meet for a second time.

Especially these people, who I abandoned when they were so small, and kept them waiting when they needed me most.

And then, there it is. Lingering in the air. My mother's distinctively overpowering floral perfume.

Limited edition, if I remember correctly. Antique.

What the fuck?

"Cathy?"

The silence presses in on me, no longer out of necessity and now simply out of confusion and awkwardness.

In my head, I see my siblings, still children as I'd last saw them, looking back and forth between themselves awkwardly, like they know something I don't.

But I do know. Don't I? Catherine Jones is dead. Who's wearing her perfume?

Even so, I just gave myself away. Even if they haven't fully put it together, all of them, now they know that at least I knew their mother. My mother. Maybe they don't know that.

"Aedin?" A woman asks. Not Laura.

Older, but not as old as Catherine. Not like her voice at all. This voice is firm but warm like a well-used mattress. Loud but not overwhelming. A bite to it, reminiscent of petty sarcasm more than hateful insults.

It can't be Alyssa. It can't be Hannah.

"Rachel?"

A hand connects hard with my cheek out of nowhere and I feel the earth come up quick. Half of what brings me down is fear and shock, but the other half is the sheer force of it.

And then there's someone holding my cheek, their hand layered underneath mine, pressing and holding the newly forming welt.

"Oh my god. Oh, no, I'm so sorry. I didn't think you'd fall, I didn't mean to do it so hard. I'm so sorry."

"Fuck, Ray, it's not like he's fucking blind and doesn't know who we actually are or anything," comes a voice from behind me.

My legs move like seafoam when I try to put my weight on them, but as I fall, the man from behind me swoops underneath my left arm.

"Shut up, Mike."

"Fuck." It is them. It's them. Rachel, Mike, Nick, Hannah, Alyssa, Ben. "I'm sorry."

"What?" Rachel breathes. She's the one wearing Cathy's perfume. It's completely overpowering, but it might just be the memories that the smell invokes. "God, how hard did I hit you? My hand hurts. Do you need to sit down?"

I nod. I have to ask. "Are all of you here?"

"All of who?" Questions the voice from before, Nick, from the living room, as we slowly move closer to the sofa.

"Us. His siblings, Nick," Rachel explains. "No. We haven't seen Ben since Mom died. Alyssa--"

"Wait a fucking second, Ray." Another voice interjects. This one younger, slightly feminine but I can't tell if it's actually a girl or just a young person. "Are you serious right now? You know this guy? He's related to us?"

"Well, it would make sense, wouldn't it? He's here, living in Mom's cabin. He said it was his mother's, too. There's also the fact that I remember him. The rest of you probably don't, except maybe Mike."

Once again, silence presses in on me like shrinking walls. I can feel them staring at me.

"Yeah." I shrug, throwing out my hands. "Yeah. You're wearing her perfume, aren't you, Rachel?"

Silence.

"I don't know if you nod, you've gotta say something."

"Oh. Yeah. When she died, I took it. To have something."

I frown. I wonder what kind of relationship they all had after I left. Was she a good mother, while she was with them? Did she love them? Did they know it? Did she give them everything they needed?

"Ma said you were in a sorry state," Mike mutters distastefully.

She talked about me? To them?

"Mike." Rachel hisses. "Don't."

"'Don't' what, Ray? Look at him," Mike replies, at full volume this time. "He looks like something tried to eat him and spit him out."

Tell me how you really feel, Mikey.

"Quit, Mike," Rachel snaps. She's so much like Cathy that I wince and move away slightly.

"This isn't my fault. This is his fault. He knows that. I know that. You know it, Jordan knows it, Nick knows it. Fuck, Ben and Alyssa know it for sure, Ray. He wanted to leave so badly a minute ago, and I say, good riddance."

With that, Mike stomps across the living room and throws open the door, leaving. The door slams shut hard behind him.

I pick myself up off the couch and collect myself and my bag. "I should go."

"I'd say it was nice to see you, but I don't know you," says the young person. "So bye."

Rachel sighs. "Where's your phone? I wanna give you my number. Keep in touch."

I think about it for a few seconds, and then nod, handing the phone over. "Put it in as 'Rachel'."

"Yeah." After a minute, she hands it back, setting it safely into my palm. "Here."

"Thanks."

"I missed you. And, just so you know, even though the rest of these idiots don't want to admit it, they missed you, too."