Page 81 of Mad Girl

“But you were in there forever.”

“We chatted about school. My plans going forward. Things like that,” you said, lugging your stuff upstairs.

“For two hours?” I asked, following you up.

On the third floor, you dropped the luggage inside your bedroom. “Look, I’m still on London time. It’s well past bedtime for me. I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”

You didn’t seem tired—more like you’d chugged a few coffees, actually—but we said goodnight. In bed, I tossed and turned forever, thinking how strange it all was: my dad’s sudden change in behavior and yours.

In the morning, however, you definitely looked tired. Like you hadn’t slept at all. You burned my eggs, then tossed them down the drain. I told you not to bother making more and grabbed a yogurt from the fridge, but you claimed yogurt didn’t make an acceptable breakfast, so you rinsed the pan out and went back to the stove. A minute later, when your kettle whistled, you just stared at it, making no move to remove it from the burner.

Nic strolled in, carrying his briefcase. “Are you going to get that?” he asked, wincing at the high-pitched noise. You remained frozen. Staring into space. Completely oblivious. He gripped your shoulder. “Casey. The teakettle.”

You broke free of your trance. “Oh, shit,” you said, snatching the kettle and moving it to another eye on the stove. “Sorry.”

Nic gave your shoulder a squeeze. “Are you okay?”

“Just fine,” you said, going to work on our coffee.

Nic seemed reluctant to leave, but he kissed my forehead and told us bye. After he left, I propped my hip against the counter next to the stove and folded my arms. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You keep spacing out.”

You grabbed three eggs from the carton.

“Will you please tell me what’s going on? First my dad—and now you. What did he say last night? You wouldn’t be acting like this if he only talked to you about school.”

You turned a glare on me. “Must you always think you have a right to know everything? I’m fine. I am totally and completely fine. I’m just a bit stressed, and I’m tired, and I’d very much appreciate it if you’d stop asking questions, Elliot. Go focus your attention elsewhere. Go read a fucking book or something. Just leave me alone. Please.”

As you stomped away, leaving the eggs and coffee abandoned on the counter, scalding tears leapt to my eyes. I squeezed my hands into fists, enraged.

To calm down, I parked in front of the TV and did my breathing exercises.

An idea popped into my head.

Determined, I rushed to my dad’s office, hoping to find something that might give me some clue as to why you were acting so weird. At Nic’s desk, I yanked open every drawer, rifling through his files.

Nothing out of the ordinary there.

Next, I tapped his computer mouse, bringing his computer screen back to life, but I couldn’t get in without a password. My dad knew better than to choose something I could figure out.

With a sigh, I glanced down at his desk calendar, but he hadn’t penciled in anything that seemed suspicious. Just the usual stuff, like my dentist appointment and the first day of school.

But something caught my eye—the corner of a manila envelope peeking out from beneath his desk calendar. I pulled it loose and opened the top flap.

Inside, I found a sheet of paper. The header read DNA TEST REPORT, and underneath that were two columns. One headed CHILD, with your name printed underneath it, and one headed ALLEGED FATHER that had been left blank. All these numbers—these allele sizes—were circled underneath each column, and all the numbers matched up. They were exactly the same. And there, at the very bottom of the page, it said the probability of paternity was 99.9996%.

“What the fuck?” I whispered, something cold and sharp—so much worse than fear—slamming through me, snatching the very air from my lungs. “No. No, no, no, no. No.”

Still clutching the DNA report, I shoved my dad’s chair back and ran from the room. I tore up the stairs, shouting your name. “Casey!”

“What?” you called, bursting from your room. Your head appeared over the banister, eyes wide with alarm. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

I paused on the third floor landing, gripping the banister, the paper trembling in my hand. “Are you my brother?!”

All the color drained from your face.