Chasing Ellie

13. Genetics

Darren Hannigan

"This was nice." My mom says. "The three of us having breakfast like old times."

We've been a family of three person meals for forever. Back when there was four of us, it was still only three. My mom's job had left us missing a person more often than not.

Peter and I both mumble a "yeah". Me because that's all I mumble and him because he hasn't gone to sleep yet. I woke up in the middle of the night to pee, hearing him playing video games through the walls at the wee hours of the morning.

"Your dad always loved when the family ate together." She says fondly.

He did. He was huge on sitting down at the table for any meals that were had in the house. He'd ask how our day was, how our friends were, what was new in our lives. Most of the time, he asked us so frequently we didn't have anything to really tell him. But he'd poke and he'd prod until we came up with something.

Peter stabs his sausage, the prongs of the fork clanking loudly against the plate.  The muscles in his jaw tighten, eyes cast down, resembling something far different then the brother I grew up with. The one that was happy and bright and too energetic.

"He loved spending time with you two." She continues to reminisce getting that far off look in her eye she always has when she starts in on dad. "He just loved being a dad."

I don't think Peter and I doubt that. He was always there, always screaming at the top of his lungs at our games, or listening to my relentless spewing of facts that I learned, or Peter's latest social event.

That's probably one of the things I miss most about him. The fact that he not only listened to all the random things I took interest in and then researched like crazy but he'd then go and do the same so we could really talk about it. We'd lose ourselves to an alternate reality, time slipping from our grasp as we dived deep into a topic.

One of the last topics we talked about was IQs. More specifically what determines a person's IQ and whether or not IQs are genetic. The topic started as a question, one that had formed in my mind and I took it to my dad, seeking answers.

Is intelligence inherited? And if so is it a blend from both parents or just one?

Scientists believe it's from the mother. That 40-60% of cognitive traits come from the mother and the remainder is environmental. Dad's apparently aren't influential when it comes to IQ which personally I feel is a load of crap but science doesn't lie.

Maybe.

My dad was wildly influential on me. And Peter.

Peter's chair scrapes across the floor of the kitchen, drawing both of our attention as he stands from the table. His jaw is tense, eyes rimmed in black, his skin paler than it used to be.

"He's dead. Move on." He barks, leaving his half eaten breakfast on the table.

"Peter!" My mom calls after him as he storms out of the kitchen.

I watch him until he disappears, wondering exactly what has happened to Peter. How did he become who he is today? At what point did Peter start to fall apart?

Was it before dad? Or after?

My mom lets out a heavy sigh and as I shift my attention to her, her ginger hair pulled back into a meticulous bun, her white shirt pressed neatly, the four stripes to her epaulet proudly displayed across her shoulders, there's tears brimmed in her eyes.

I press my lips together in the smallest of sympathetic smiles because I get it. We all lost my dad, but we're also losing Peter.

We didn't know we'd lose dad until he was already gone and it was too late to change the outcome if it could be changed at all. And we almost didn't know we'd lose Peter until it was too late also. Maybe it still is.

Then again, I've never asked him.

I've done loads of research on it though. I could tell him facts and statistics until his ears bled. Which is part of the reason why I haven't bridged the conversation. Also because Peter and I aren't that close and I'm not sure how to bring us closer.

I don't think that particular question is the way to attempt it either.

But with mom it's a little easier. Where my dad was similar to Peter, a people person, my mom has always been more introverted. Shying away from social events and crowds and conversations with strangers. My mom and I are kindred souls. Preferring the quiet. The silent gestures.

My parents were so very opposite of each other, just like Peter and I. And I've heard it my whole life. Just below everyone pegging Peter and I as twins was everyone stunned in disbelief at how different we were from one another. I looked like my dad but acted like my mother and Peter looked like our mom but acted like our father. As if this sort of mash up was an anomaly and not the randomization of genetics.

Genetics are a very interesting thing. A blend of science but also just luck or unluck, depends on your point of view. Why am I Darren? Why is Peter, Peter? What if I had been born first? Would I still be Darren or would genetics have made me Peter?

It's a question of a lifetime and one I'm not sure will ever have an answer. An epic mystery of sorts.

Either way, I am Darren and Peter is Peter.

So I comfort my mom in the only way Darren knows how. Reaching my arm across the short distance between us, I tuck my hand in hers. Her fingers wrap around mine, squeezing and as she does we silently tell each other all of the reassurances that we can't seem to ever say aloud.

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Broken record time: I love Darren.

I always end up loving the boys.