CELIA

Knocking, I call through Junior’s door, “Tonk? It’s me. You sleeping?”

He whisks it open, fully dressed in khaki slacks and a white button-up shirt, looking more GQ than MC, as usual. “Why would I be asleep at two in the afternoon? Is it Sunday?”

“No.” We stare at each other until I finally motion, “Can I come in?”

“Uh, sure.” Holding the door open he watches me as though I’m an alien come to investigate how humans live. Clicking it shut he stays puts while I scan his tidy room. The bed is made, curtains open to let the light dance on his desk, computer and closed paper notepad, a coffee cup of pens neatly off to one side. Only one ballpoint is out and ready to use. The walls showcase posters of a solar system, a map of the human brain, plus the famous drawing by Leonardo Da Vinci of a man standing spread-eagle with scribbles I’m too distracted to read.

My brother and I are as different as two people could possibly be.

I haven’t been in this room in five years, maybe even longer. Because he never fit in with the wild children that we were, he always had his own bedroom. It just made life easier for everyone. But when I look at him now from the corner of my eyes, he slides his hands into his pockets like he has nothing to make excuses for.

“Look, I’m not judging you,” I begin.

“Yes, you are. But you can’t help that. Human beings seek to find commonality in others. It makes them feel safe to feel a part of rather than separate from. Don’t feel badly about it, Ceels. Your reaction to my sanctuary is natural.”

Sucking on my lips I mutter, “Okay, good. Can I sit on your bed, or will that bum you out?”

“Because I made it?”

“Because it doesn’t have any creases.”

He smiles and motions to the bed. “Sit.”

“You sure?”

“Very sure.” As I slowly lower myself onto it, he explains, “Let me enlighten you. I make it perfectly because if you’re going to do something, you should give it your best. To me all the moments are special, not just a birthday or something most people would celebrate. Every moment matters. My life is special. Every day of it. It makes me feel good to have a nicely made bed. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want my sister to be comfortable when she visits me. And you want me to blow your mind?”

“There’s more?” I tease, kicking off my boots so I can sit cross-legged and not dirty his duvet cover.

Sitting in the brown leather office chair, he swivels it to face me. “I won’t remake the bed when you leave. It’s not about perfection. It’s about life. And the wrinkles you leave behind will remind me for the rest of the day that you came to visit. And that is rare.”

We stare at each other for a good three seconds. Finally I mutter, “Okay, great, so what I wanted to talk to you about is Mom.”

He picks up the ballpoint and twirls it. “What about her?”

“Why does she dislike Sean so much?”

Meeting my patient gaze he frowns. “I think Mom has secrets. I’ve no clue what they are, but I have seen her behaving strangely ever since you shot that pedophile and changed everyone’s minds about your ability to defend yourself on more dangerous missions.”

Leaning forward I whisper, “That’s when she changed, you’re right!”

“There’s something about you and these missions, Ceels. She hates it.” Chewing the pen, he concentrates on the problem, and my brother vanishes for a while.

He’s going to come up with something, I just know it. I could sit here all day waiting for a solution because Lord knows I have none.

Seven slow spins of his swivel chair later and Tonk Jr. locks eyes with me. “Sean is the manifestation of that fear. You and Atlas trained him on your own, and that you could do that, and so well, hit Mom’s fear for the inevitable danger you’d be in later. After Luke and Soph came back, she’s a little calmer, but now that I’m forced to ponder this, I have noticed when you do the gun training, she can’t sit still.”

“Inside the house?”

“She’s walked out to watch a few times. You didn’t know?”

“No, I was too focused.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, chewing the pen some more. “What I don’t understand is that there must be a reason she’s so upset. Perhaps she lost her parents to guns? She never speaks of our grandparents.”

“No, she never does,” I frown. “I guess because there are so many people here all the time, I never felt the loss of them.”

“I’ve wondered who they are before, but Mom never talks about life before the Ciphers.”

We stare at each other and I agree with him again, “No, she doesn’t. I’d never thought about it because I was…”

When I don’t finish the sentence, he helps me out. “Children don’t know much about their parents. We are too busy learning how to walk, talk, fit in.” He pauses, staring off. “And when we hit our teens, we’re the most selfish anyone can be. Then as adults, it’s time for us to stand on our own, distance ourselves from their authority, learn how to be our true selves, go after what we want, find our purpose. Our whole lives most of us are too busy thinking about us to find out what their lives were like before we came along, before they were ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad,’ sometimes never asking them personal questions until it’s too late.”

Picking at the duvet cover I mumble, “I don’t want to find out they’re sick or something, only then to ask them questions like that.”

“Me neither.”

Standing up I stretch my legs and bend for my boots. I feel more comfortable with these heavy fuckers on than off. “Thank you for helping me.”

“I’m always here for you.”

I lock eyes with him. “I haven’t been there for you, Tonk.”

“It’s fine.”

A pang twists inside me. “No, it isn’t. Tell me what you want.”

He frowns, golden forehead crinkling. “I’m content with my life.”

My voice is gentle as I prod him, “Bullshit, come on. If you could be anywhere, where would you go?”

Black eyelashes drop toward the floor. “Let me think about that and get back to you.”

Touching his shoulder I give it a squeeze. “I’ll be waiting to make whatever it is, possible.”

He stares after me as I leave.