The Ineffable Ruth Rhodes

07 ineffably odd

vincent

The definition of a Thursday evening for Vincent Alderage went as written:

Return from school.

Pick Mel up from daycare.

Remind mother that he doesn't need therapy as she makes dinner.

Eat dinner.

Finish dinner and watch a movie with Mel as promised.

Remind mother he doesn't need therapy as she asks him what spaces on his schedule he has open so she can book it.

Practice piano (which he indeed, never got to).

Finish homework.

Ask mother to wash your hair for you as she tries to subtly suggest therapy.

Sleep.

He was currently on 3, arguably the most time consuming and vexing one he had to go through. It took more effort than convincing Clementine and Quinn not to play tag in the kitchen because of the less than kid-safe cutleries. And that took a long time (the current record being three hours and fifty seven minutes).

"Vincent we're no longer talking about this."

Vincent took another spoonful of soup into his mouth, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at his mother. "I'm not going to therapy, momma."

"Vince."

"No," he said, scraping his plate clean and moving towards the sink, "I'm okay. We're all okay. If I was beat up over this, you'd know."

"Vince, I just think," she sighed, "this could be good for us. You never open up with anyone."

"That's because I don't need to."

His mom gave him a stare, and he kissed her cheek before washing his plate. "I don't need therapy," he repeated.

"What's therapy?"

Vincent's eyes dropped to Melanie, his little sister, who was looking up at him with bright brown eyes and a questioning gaze.

"It's nothing, Mel." He bent down to match her height. "But you know... I was thinking, how about today we re-watch Ella Enchanted?" He tried not to think of the piles of homework he was drowning in as he met his mother's eyes. She mouthed, we'll talk about it later, and he nodded once even though he knew the conversation would have the same structure as it did every time: his mother insisting he needed to open up to someone, and him insisting he was okay. Because he was okay. At least that's what he told himself.

Melanie's brown eyes lit up. "Really?"

He nodded and ruffled her hair. "I think Clem and Quinn are waiting for hide and seek now, though." He pointed behind her, where surely enough, the twins were smiling and gesturing for her to come over. She ran without a thought towards them.

"Hey, Vincent?"

"Hmm?"

His mother stopped stirring her batter for a second and peered over at him, her brows furrowed. "When are you bringing your girlfriend over to meet us?"

Vincent leaned against the archway. "I don't want to scare her away just yet."

"Funny." She set the bowl down. "I'd like to meet her. Liora, was it?"

"Yup."

"What's she like?"

Vincent drummed a finger on his arm. He'd watched her (just today alone) pull up her baggy jeans thirty-two times (yes, he counted) throughout the course of school. It drove him mad. He wanted to pull his hair out of its roots and offer to sew it tighter for her, or even offer to buy her new jeans because he was losing it and he was losing it over Jeans.

Jeans.

What really got him was that she knew it was over-sized and still wore it. Not for fashion purposes— just because she wanted to. It was odd. It was insane.

And when she got thirsty during class and took out her whole damn water bottle and gulped down the water like she was deprived, it made him want to stalk up to her, pick her up, and drop her in the ocean so she'd never know thirst again. He was going mad.

She was ineffably odd.

Ruth Rhodes was ineffably odd.

But is that a good thing?

"She's quiet... and kind," he replied briskly.

She hummed, not an objection to his obvious lack of knowledge about someone who was meant to be his girlfriend. "Is she pretty?"

Vincent considered it for a moment.

"Yes," he said. Liora was far from unattractive, in fact she was quite pleasing to look at, he thought.

His mother hummed again. "As long as you love her."

Vincent didn't reply.

He nodded at his mother once, giving her a small smile and keeping it on his face until he entered and shut the door to his room. He took a deep breath, sitting on the edge of his bed and hanging his head.

Oh yeah, Vincent thought. I had someone I loved once.

He put his head in his hands.

And he cried.