My Brother Is My Secret Uncle

The blood test for my brothers school enrollment came back, showing an impossible blood type. My father threatened divorce.

The DNA test results: my brother was actually my mother's maternal half-brother.

The boy Id called my little brother for seven years was, in reality, my uncle.

It turned out, when the only son became a family joke, the unwanted daughter could finally become a winning lottery ticket.

The year my mother, Denise, was pregnant with my brother, the desperation to have a boy was palpable. They'd even bought a special statue, a sort of desperate, last-ditch attempt at invoking fate.

When the ultrasound confirmed it was a boy, my father, Robert Heather, paraded up and down the hallway, handing out cigars and announcing to every neighbor, "A son for the Heather line!"

My room was emptied out and painted a sickly baby blue. The corner of the living room, partitioned by a worn, floral sheet, became my new bedroom.

Get rid of this junk, Mom said, pointing at my faded stuffed animals and my third-grade spelling bee trophy. Its taking up space. This is for my son.

My brother, Brock, was born and instantly nicknamed Champ.

I, on the other hand, was most often referred to as "the girl," or simply, nothing at all.

At the dinner table, Mom would scrape the brussels sprouts Brock didn't like into my bowl.

"Eat this. It's the same nutrition," shed snap.

If Brock threw a tantrum and knocked over a glass of iced tea, I was the one yelled at for not having cleared the table fast enough.

When Brock was in kindergarten, they bought him the latest $250 PlayStation. They didn't even blink.

When I was in middle school and needed a $30 SAT prep book, I had to endure two weeks of Mom's complaints.

"Throwing money away! Why bother with all those books? Youre a girl, youll be fine after a couple years of high school. Mrs. Miller at the diner is hiring; you can learn a trade and start bringing home a paycheck."

Dad, Robert, rarely looked up from the television.

"Your mother's right, Vera. Three years of high school tuition is better spent getting a job. Find a nice, steady man in a few years, and our job will be done."

I stared at the only full family photo in the houseBrocks first birthday portrait. I was standing on the very edge, my smile looking more like a grimace. In the future they had drawn up for me, I was a line sloping straight down: dropout, low-wage job, marriage, my brief value used solely to prop up the world built around my brother.

The uneasy peace lasted until the summer I finished eighth grade. Brock was getting ready to start elementary school.

His entry medical report came out that Thursday morning.

At lunchtime, Dad slammed the piece of paper onto the glass tabletop.

Brock, startled, stopped demanding his grilled cheese sandwich. His spoon clattered into his bowl, splashing milk.

Our son is AB positive, Dad said, his eyes drilling into Mom. Im A positive. Youre O positive. Tell me, Denise, how did we make an AB-type child?

Stop yelling! Youre scaring our Champ! Mom was already defensive. Having Brock was the only thing that had given her any power in the house, and she used it without reservation.

Was it the maintenance guy? The one who fixed the sink last month? Youve been wearing makeup just to take out the trash since he moved in.

Thats trash! The clinic must have made a mistake! Mom snatched the paper, but her fingers were white, gripping the edge of the tablecloth.

I took him myself this morning, Dad yanked Brock away, who was already starting to cry. He passed the kitchen where I was washing dishes. You come too.

After the blood draw, Mom took Brock and soothed him into his room. As she shut the door, I heard his quiet, terrified sobs. Spoiled since birth, he had never seen our parents behave like this.

I went to the laundry room to hang up the clothes.

In the living room, Mom was cracking sunflower seeds, spitting the shells onto the rug.

When that stupid report comes back, Im suing that clinic for emotional damages, fifty thousand dollars minimum, she ranted. And you, Robert Heather, dont think this is going to be easy on you, either!

Dad didnt reply. He chain-smoked, the ashtray quickly piling up with butts.

The follow-up DNA Paternity Test results werent due until Monday afternoon.

The entire weekend was suffocating. Dad smoked constantly, filling the air with acrid smoke, and Mom had lost her patience with Brocks constant whining.

Saturday afternoon, my best friend from school texted, asking if I wanted to meet up at the library to look for used AP study guides. It was the only thing I had looked forward to all summer.

I was about to leave when Brock, a little wrecking ball, charged over and hugged my legs.

Sissy, play with me! I want you to be the villain!

I have to go out for a little while, Brock. How about I play with you all night when I get back?

No! Now! His mouth instantly crumpled, ready for a full-volume wail.

Mom poked her head out of the kitchen, her expression sour.

Where are you running off to now? Your brother needs you. Stay home and watch him. Dont you have any sense of responsibility as an older sister?

Mom, you said I could go to the library with Emily, just for a little bit

I said nothing of the sort! Dont you see whats happening in this house? Stay here and look after him. She wiped her hands on a towel. You are to stay here and watch your brother.

The last flicker of hope I had for the afternoon extinguished.

As Mom turned back to the kitchen, I sighed and knelt, trying to reason with the boy.

He picked up a throw pillow and tossed it in my face. Mess-maker!

Brock Heather, stop that right now! Im serious.

You wouldnt dare! he shrieked back. He ran to the living room corner that was my bedroom, the floral sheet curtain flapping behind him.

My heart seized. I chased after him. What are you doing?

Too late.

He darted behind the curtain and instantly spotted the thick Manila envelope tucked under my pillow.

It was my acceptance letter to Northwood Higha scholarship offer, the proof of my countless late nights studying amidst the living room chaos and his crying fits.

Whats this? He picked it up curiously.

Put that down! Dont touch it! My voice cracked.

Seeing my panic, he was instantly energized. He held the envelope high, a nasty, triumphant grin on his face. Daddy, Mommy, Sissy is hiding something!

Give it back! I lunged for it.

No! No! Youre a losers trash!

I watched in horror as he grabbed the envelope with both small hands and ripped it in half.

RIIIP

The sound tore through my chest. The paper with my name and my future was split down the middle.

He wasn't done. He ripped it a few more times, the pieces fluttering down like cold confetti around his feet.

I stared at the fragments on the rug, my mind ringing. Months of quiet endurance, injustice, and the faint, precious hope for a different future were shredded to dust in that moment.

Ah! I made a sound I didnt recognize, a low, guttural snarl. I flew at him, pushing him to the floor, pinning him down, my fists raining down.

I hate you! I hate you!

Brock was stunned silent for a second, then he erupted into an ear-splitting scream.

WAAH Mommy! Sissy hit me! Mommy, help!

Mom rushed in and saw me on top of him. Her eyes went instantly red.

She grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me off him. The force sent me staggering back, my head hitting the corner of my small footlocker. The back of my skull throbbed.

How dare you lay a hand on your brother! Its just a stupid paper! So what if its ripped? Did you actually think you were going to some fancy high school? Never! You toxic little girl, how could you be so mean? Hes your brother!

Brock hid behind her, weeping theatrically, yet giving me a smug little smirk.

Mom hugged him, checking him for bruises, cooing, There, there, Champ. Mommys here, Mommy will get her! This bad luck charm, daring to hurt my son!

My arms hurt. My scalp felt raw. But none of it mattered compared to the hollow ache in my chest.

Dad came in from the porch, took one look, and just barked impatiently, "What's all this noise? Haven't we had enough drama?"

His gaze skimmed the shredded paper on the floor, didn't pause, and he turned around to go back to staring out the window, lighting another cigarette. The smoke, curling around his back, blurred my last shred of hope for this family.

I ignored Moms curses and Brocks triumphant glare. I knelt, picking up the fragments, one by one, carefully taping my future back together with clear scotch tape.

Dad went to retrieve the DNA test results alone on Monday.

After I finished tidying the house until it was spotless, I approached Mom.

Mom, school starts soon. Can you advance me the tuition and boarding fees for the first semester of high school?

I told you, if you insist on going to that money pit of a high school, youll have to earn the money yourself.

I was about to offer to pay her back double next semester when the front door opened.

Dad walked in, clutching a manila envelope.

Let me see that. Mom swaggered toward him, brimming with anticipation.

Dad avoided her, tossing the envelope onto the coffee table. He walked over to me and clapped me on the shoulder. Good girl, Vera. Go wait in your brothers room.

...Okay.

A breath of relief escaped me. I was their daughter.

But a strange sense of loss settled over me, too.

I slowly closed the door, leaving a crack, a sliver of an opening. I had a bad feeling.

Dad ignored Mom, walking straight up to Brock and squatting down.

You wont call me Dad anymore.

WAAAH! Brock dissolved into tears.

Mom picked up the report, her eyes scanning the text, then freezing on a specific line.

This is impossible Her lips trembled.

Its in black and white, Dad stood up. Hes your mothers son. Your maternal half-brother.

Brocks crying intensified. For the first time, Mom screamed at him.

Stop it! Are you putting on a show for a funeral!

The room fell into a terrifying silence.

Mom stared blankly at Dad, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to digest the seven words.

Then, as if struck, she fixed her gaze on Brock, who was huddled on the sofa.

Her eyes held no trace of the usual doting affection. She walked towards him, slowly.

She knelt in front of him, her fingers roughly kneading his cheek, as if checking a strange, unfamiliar object.

Maternal half-brother? she repeated. Then where is my son? The one I carried for nine months?!

Mommy, youre hurting me. Brock was terrified and tried to pull away, but she gripped his shoulder tightly. Her nails dug into his soft skin, drawing a bead of blood.

Where is my son?! Her voice rose to a shriek, sharp and piercing. I gave birth to a boy! Where did he go?!

Shut up! Dad threw the ashtray across the room. Go over to your sisters house and ask your brothers real mother!

It was Aunt Marilyns turn to host Grandma Patty for the month.

When she opened the door, Aunt Marilyn, or 'Mel,' was confused by the sight of us.

Before she could speak, Mom strode past her, yanking Grandma Patty away from the vegetables she was prepping in the kitchen.

Grandma Patty stumbled, sending lettuce leaves scattering across the floor. Ouch, whats going on? Are you trying to kill your old mother?

Mom dragged Brock to the ground in front of Grandma.

Brock, his throat raw from crying, hugged Mom's pant leg. "Mommy, don't leave me..."

There, there, dont cry, come to your Aunt Mel. Aunt Mel had had several painful miscarriages and was always extra protective of Brock. If your mom doesnt want you, your Aunt Mel does.

Aunt Mel had always quietly hoped that if she couldn't have a child, Brock would grow up to take care of her.

Sister, whether you want him or not, youre stuck with him. Mom sneered, clutching the crumpled report as she walked toward Grandma Patty.

Whats that supposed to mean? Aunt Mel looked baffled.

Hes Moms son.

Aunt Mel almost laughed, holding Brock close and wiping his tears. Champ, look at your mother. Shes just angry at Grandma. Were not listening to her. Ill take you out for pizza.

Mom gritted her teeth, trying to suppress her fury. Mom, why arent you saying anything?

The color slowly drained from Grandma Pattys face.

Mom, say something! Aunt Mels eyes darted between Grandma and Mom, finally realizing the gravity of the situation.

When I gave birth to him in the country, you were the only one there, Moms voice started to tremble. You said the baby had fluid in his lungs and needed to be rushed to a special clinic you said he made it, but he was weak, and you told me to focus on resting, that youd take care of him

Grandma Patty avoided her gaze, her lips opening and closing, unable to offer an explanation.

Aunt Mel held the struggling Brock close, taking out her phone. Vera, quickly, call your Uncle Curtis. Dont let them start fighting.

No, no, no! It was you who insisted on staying at your sisters farm for a few months! Dad was dead thenwho did you sleep with to make this bastard?! Mom grabbed Grandma Pattys shoulders and shook her hard. Where did you put my son?!

I, I Grandma Patty squeezed her eyes shut, tears running down her wrinkled cheeks.

You what?! Dads voice was a sharp roar. If anything happened to my son, I swear Ill kill you!

Grandma Pattys knees buckled. She crumpled to the floor, curling into herself.

I I left him at the farm.

Left him at the farm? Mom repeated softly. You gave my son away? You switched him with your your bad seed?

Grandma Patty stayed kneeling, covering her face, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

Mom lunged at her. Where is my son?! Tell me!

Aunt Mel, seeing the situation escalating, forced a strained smile, trying to calm things down.

Sister, calm down. Mom, this must be a mistake. Mom is an old woman; this is absurd.

Aunt Mels voice was losing conviction fast. Then, she saw her husband, Curtis, finally arrive, her last hope.