Evangeline (Unedited)

06

B O X E S
(Sorry for the double update. I forgot to mention that I'd be updating this book and 'What Goes Around' every Monday. Excluding the coming one, because I'll be every busy. Thank you for reading!)

Leo's box was filled with handprint art, which I thought was cute. So many different variations of turkeys that it felt like I was looking through one of those Russian nesting dolls; it just kept going. Alessandro and I shared a laugh over one of them where the Turkey looked like Tommy. There were a couple of pictures from a family beach day, and letters from our grandparents, as well as our parents. There were school certificates and awards; graduating kindergarten, most athletic middle-schooler, tooth fairy's favourite  (which Alessandro had to explain was given to him for brushing his teeth and having no cavities at the dentist), etc. He had a few action figures and tiny knick-knacks.  A soccer ball, hockey puck, flat balloons. There were so many memories that I was touching, and it made everything feel so bittersweet, I guess.

"Leo has always been playful, although now it's turned a bit sour. He can be insulting sometimes, and the older guys and I have been working on it with him. But really, he's just a boy with too much energy and feelings. He's always been a social butterfly too. I've never seen him alone at school, and he always has his friends over. He's competitive, too. Sometimes too much for his good, but that's just part of being an Angelos." I listen intently. He then passes me a photo book, and I look at the pages.

All the photos are of the same boy, and I can assume that it's Leo. He has brown hair, identical colour to mine, that is longer than his ears but shorter than his shoulders. In every photo, he's smiling proudly, and I can practically feel the confidence radiating from him. In a lot of the photos his in skates, or on an ice rink. His eyes are dark brown.

The next box he slides over to me is a big, rugged, worn-out cardboard box. It's a bit dull at the edges, curving slightly. Bright, peeling stickers were covering the exterior, glued on pom-poms adding the finishing touches along with the messy blue and yellow stripes. I could barely read the name, it was messier than the last.

"This is Noah's." Alessandro points at his name, looking at me to see how I'm reacting.

Honestly, I thought I'd be upset. I thought that because Elio and I grew up in, well, not the best place. Our childhood was normal for the most part, but there were some things I never really understood. I saw some things no child should have, and Elio too. It was refreshing seeing other kids get the childhood we should have had, and even more refreshing to be let into their family in such depth. I didn't feel as much jealousy as I thought I would have. It felt nice. It felt familiar. Right.

Noah's was a treasure chest of medals and trophies. Old hockey cards, presumably passed down judging by the wrinkles and faded colour, folded t-shirts, a prize for being the MVP on his little league team. Alessandro told me about how happy he was getting that because it was his first ever award, and how he didn't stop smiling and talking about it for days. Handwritten notes from coaches and teammates, as well as his friends and family. You could see he was a very well-liked boy. Small superhero figures and cars filled up the rest of the space along with a very small pair of ice skates, probably for a young child.

"Noah is hot-tempered. He started playing when he was 10, but he loved sports long before that. His teachers and doctors thought it would be a good outlet for his anger, so we signed him up. They were right. He's a natural. He gets awards too. He's competitive and very resilient. He, although doesn't show it much, is very loyal. I've never known a kid as subtly caring and loyal as him."

The next photos he shows me are of a boy who looks strikingly similar to the last photos. This time he has a buzzcut, and in almost every photo he's wearing a hat. His pose and smiles radiate confidence, especially when he's posing with his friends or teammates. He has a softer face than his brother, but his arms are a lot more toned. Less lanky.

"This is Andreas' box. He has always been the most artistic out of the family, always sketching or painting whenever he could. His room was a complete mess. He's kind, very quiet, and he doesn't do that well in school but he's the furthest thing from unintelligent." His box was full of paintings, and drawings. They were all from when he was a kid to a teenager, and every one was shockingly amazing. He did have a talent for art, that's for sure. Pencil crayons, markers, paintbrushes, notes and praises from past art teachers, and books. He also had a collection of small painted rocks and seashells, along with toys.

Alessandro showed me Lukas' next. His was sad. Emptier than the others. Alessandro didn't go into much detail as he did with the others, but he explained that Lukas' has always been troubled. 'He's a good kid at heart, but...' blah blah blah. I tried not to listen too much. Sometimes people just need to be understood. Sometimes people just need someone to listen. Andreas had a few books and CDs. He had a stuffed pig and brochures for colleges. Most photos he and were of his family. And there was one of a girl, too. I didn't know much about his because I could see it was a sore topic.

There were no pictures of him, other than shreds of some. I thought it was cruel for someone to do that, especially when they're childhood pictures. It wasn't until I noticed the black nail polish scraped on the backs, something I highly doubt Alessandro would wear.

The next box was simple. A boring old cardboard box with stacks of old childhood books, toys, letters, essays, report cards, everything a smart boy would want to keep. Theo was apparently very intelligent. Always a straight-A student, full rides to whatever universities, even though he would been able to go to any he wanted because of how loaded they were. I am too now, I guess. His box had taped pictures of various things like guitars, drums, tech, and art. Inside he had an entire photo book filled with photos of his family and friends. I noticed how much the photos decreased over time.

Theo had messy brown hair, and glasses, which I thought was very stereotypical nerd of him. He had identical eyes to Leo, and in almost every photo, he was covering his face in some way. His eyes crinkled when he smiled at them.

"They'll love you, but I agree, it's not fair that you don't know them as well as they know you." He tells me, shoving the boxes under the table again.

"What about yours?"

"Hm?"

"Your box?"

"My box?"

"Your box."

"Oh, it's, uh." He blushes and rubs his neck. "Never mind that." He gently pushes me back to the stairs. I laugh and repeat my question. "It's a long story. A very long story that we don't have time to tell because I have to start on dinner."

"You can't cook and talk?" I raise an eyebrow. He shrugs and chuckles, shaking his head.

"Our nonna taught me that the best food is made when your entire being is poured into it. Nonna taught me a lot." I sit down on a barstool in the kitchen as he starts grabbing things from the cupboards.

"Why do you call her 'nonna' if you and the others speak French?" I ask, not meaning to ignore what he said, but rudely doing so anyway. I inwardly curse myself.

"Our father was Italian, my mother was French." He chuckled. I nod and bite my lip, looking away from him.

"Your mother?"

He pauses, and my gaze hesitantly looks to him again, but he hasn't looked away. He nods once more.

"Yes, my mother, and the boys' mother."

"But... not me or Elio?" I clarify, eyebrows furrowed. He opens his mouth but closes it, and he has to clear his throat.

"You and..." He takes a shaky breath. "We have the same dad, different mothers. The woman who raised you was your birth mother, Evie."

I don't respond to him. Suddenly I felt very claustrophobic. Stuck. I stood up quickly and he watched me, examining how I moved and what my next steps would be. He always seemed so calculated.

"Is everything okay?" He questions me, wiping his shirt.

"Yes." Unconvincing. "Yes. I just, have to go to the bathroom."

"Of course. You know the way, I assume?"

"Mhm!" I grin at him and walk backwards a couple of steps before turning on my heels and practically bolting through the nearest door and finding my way up the stairs. I made sure to kick my muddy shoes off—which I forgot to do before and now feel incredibly bad for—so I didn't trek mud through the house, although I'm sure it was used to it.