36. Rhea
“It’s my favorite art teacher!” Sunday bursts in, sliding into the quiet classroom. The few kids who usually spend lunch in here are gone today. School’s almost over—no one wants to be inside, and I don’t blame them.
“I’m the only art teacher you know, Sunny.” I take my bag from her and pull it open. She always stops at my favorite sushi place and brings tempura veg with Boone’s dipping sauce—sealed in the tiny container she never forgets. “I’m starving,” I say, inhaling fryer oil straight into my soul.
“We haven’t done this in a while. I was excited when you texted.” Sunday sets up her spot and pulls a chair over from a student desk in her pink overalls and beige baby T. “You said you wanted to talk?”
Yeah. Your brother. And how you’re going to kill me.
“We had lunch like four days ago,” I laugh, and she shrugs.
“That’s a while,” she argues gently. “What’s going on? You’re being weird.”
“I’m not being weird,” I lie immediately, biting into a soft piece of sweet potato. “I—”
She lowers her chopsticks and stares at me curiously. I’m not typically one for losing my nerve. It’ll come out eventually, most likely in a blur of words and a string of swears.
“Did you know that Brighton sleepwalks?” I ask her, careful not to approach any of my other feelings surrounding him.
“He has for a while,” Sunday says quietly. “How do you know?” Her eyes narrow.
“It’s happened a few times since I moved in,” I explain. “Last night it happened while Daisy was there.”
“Is she okay?” she asks, and I nod. I drove Daisy to school this morning and asked her how she was doing.
I received a couple of grumbled responses, but for the most part, she wasn’t affected by her Dad’s episode.
I thought that’s good because I can’t shake the sticky feeling of my own trauma off my skin.
“Yeah. Nothing happened.” I hesitate. “Has he ever gone to therapy?”
Sunday shrugs, “We’ve tried. Our dad was kind of the man who believed therapy was useless for men. Talking about their emotions would make them soft. Brighton was exposed to a lot of the rants growing up, and I think it just stuck.”
“That’s stupid,” I say. “Therapy is for everyone.”
“Try telling Bri that.” She stuffs another piece in her mouth and follows it with a sip of Coke.
“He goes to group, though.” I stare at her, confused, and she sets down her chopsticks.
“Like group therapy—ex-military guys sitting around, swapping horror stories over bad coffee until they feel better?”
‘It’s not for anyone to hear.’
“Does he actually share?” I ask her.
“No clue. He won’t let me go. Bobo went a couple of times in the beginning, but eventually Bri just started leaving him at home and going alone.
He never mentioned anything about him being forthcoming with his trauma.
” Sunday explains, and everything is starting to make more sense, why Brighton is the way he is.
“I do know it’s bad,” she says after a beat.
“It’s been bad for years, and he manages, but whatever he saw…
messed him up. He’s jumpy, his temper is shorter than ever, and he doesn’t talk to anyone about it. ”
“He told me about the locks,” I say, and Sunday looks up from her food with a sad expression. “I’m sorry—”
“He talked to you?” she says. For a second, I brace for her to be angry, but she’s not; she’s intrigued.
“Yeah. The first time it happened… he was trying to get into Daisy’s room, but it was locked, and he was just standing there rattling the knob.” The image is burned into my brain now.
“That’s not new,” she confesses. “I should have warned you…”
“You didn’t owe me that. It’s private.” I tap the table with my finger to get her to look at me, and she offers a soft, Sunday-specific smile. “He told me what happened with you.” I swallow. “The bathtub.”
“Oh, man.” Sunday sighs, her expression dropping. “Suddenly he’s a motor mouth.”
“I don’t think I really gave him a choice. I kind of demanded an explanation,” I admit.
“Reaper, you’ve never demanded a thing in your entire life, if he told you it’s because he wanted to…
” she says, “Brighton likes control. It’s why he joined the military.
He likes to say it was to support Riona and Daisy, but it’s because he couldn’t control our parents leaving, he couldn’t control my seizures…
He needed control, and the military offered that.
” Sunday explains between sips of her drink and bites of her lunch.
“And frankly,” she stops, setting down her pop.
For a second, I’m sure she’s about to call me out—or get mad I’ve gotten this close to him.
I brace for the lecture, ready for it, and preparing a speech to assure her that I’d never cross those lines.
If she told me not to… my mouth goes dry.
“I’m just glad he’s talking to someone.”
I stare at her, confused by her lack of anger.
“Why do you look like you were expecting something else?” she asks.
“I feel like I’m going insane,” I confess, trying to process everything she’s said while still managing what’s going on in my own mind.
It’s like bracing for a hurricane you’re smack dab in the middle of, and you can’t breathe or run.
You just have to stand there and experience it, praying that you don’t die. “Cabin fever. I’ve got cabin fever.”
“What?” Sunday laughs. “Is this because you have a crush on him?”
I choke on the mushroom in my mouth, and my eyes water from the expected shock to my system. I’m definitely dying.
“I don’t have a crush on him.” I cough a little before taking a drink of water.
“We’ve been friends for almost ten years,” Sunday points out. “I know when you like a guy.”
“It’s your brother. That’s disgusting.” I try to argue, but she just laughs.
“It’s disgusting to me,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“You all act like I have nothing going on between my ears, but I’m not blind,” she grumbles, “I know my brothers are attractive, they’re also fucking idiots.
” She laughs. “And if there’s any reason I’d keep you away from them, it’s because I don’t want them breaking your heart. ”
“But what about Kaia and Boone?” I ask her, my brows pinching. The story is as old as time, resurfacing any time I feel the need to deflect.
“You say that every single time. It’s a terrible argument. I had no control over it.” She shrugs. “She’s the earth, and he’s her moon. I’m just a girl, I can’t compete against gravity.”
I smile thinking about them, hoping one day they’ll figure it out. That eventually Kaia will stop being so scared of the change and just let it happen. That or we kill Christian, Goodbye Earl style, and don’t tell Kaia we did it…
“We aren’t killing Christian.” Sunday laughs, reading my mind. “It’s too messy. And don’t change the subject, we were talking about Brighton.”
“We were?” I feign confusion, and she scoffs. “We’re just friends, Sunny. That’s all.”
“Alright…” She doesn’t believe me, but she’s not winning the argument today, and she knows it.
“He wants to take Daisy and me camping this weekend,” I say to her, closing the lid on my empty container as I finish.
“Wow,” she mumbles. “He usually does that trip alone.”
“What trip?” I ask, stomach dipping.
“Every year, he goes up into the park and camps by himself. Says it helps him reset,” she mocks, “I think something happened overseas, I know it did. Boone knows, but neither of them will tell me. Something about this month marks an anniversary for something he won’t share.”
“Do you think it’s a bad idea to go?” I chew on my bottom lip.
She stares at me for a second and ponders my question. “If Bri asked you, it means he needs you.”
“Oh.”
“It’s a big ask, Rhea—especially since you definitely don’t have romantic feelings for my brother,” she smirks. “But if he’s reaching out for help, please don’t leave him hanging. Take his hand—because it doesn’t happen very often that he offers it, and he could use all the friends he can get.”
She sounds sad that he isn’t reaching out to her, and I don’t know how I feel about it, but I nod, trying to understand where she’s coming from without letting the guilt eat at me.