Heartfelt Transitions [First Draft]

Thirteenth

"Dad," I dropped the nth voicemail. "In the name of all your money, your brother's youngling is here. Ergo, be a good uncle and chop chop."

"Brother's youngling is quite the crafty phrase, eh?"

I groaned and stashed my phone aside, turning to see the youngling who had just overheard me.

Emilia cocked her head. "You don't know where they are, do you?"

"I don't," I admitted lamely.

"When did you last see them?"

Silence.

"I asked you when did you last see them, Adaira."

"A week back," I sighed.

"What the actual fuck?"

"Uh... language, old lady!"

"Your problematic conclusion on my age group aside, what the actual fudge? What do you mean last week? Are they just... non contact since?"

I nodded mutely.

"Why the actual fucking hell?" Emilia cursed. "And why didn't you fucking tell me?"

I shrugged. It was kind of always intriguing. To see the cool, mature and sincere Emilia lose her decorum in the span of seconds. You never knew what could lead to it.

Or maybe you could, if you knew her. Some of the things being

1) Telling her that her favourite jackets weren't very nice.

2) Asking her why she didn't take her husband's name.

3) And of course, the situations similar to the present.

"What do you mean–" she copied my shrug in a clearly defaming way, "this? How can they do this? Be so damn irresponsible?"

"They storm out after, um, having 'discussions'. And I guess mom expects dad would be at home with me and dad expects mom would be at home with me–"

"Hold on a minute..." Emilia muttered. "You sound like..."

"Oh crap," I muttered back.

"Don't tell me this happens often," she muttered.

"Okay," I nodded. "Good. I agree. So I am not telling you this happens often."

"Oh god, this happens often."

Before I could answer that with a shrug, she pulled out her phone and began to dial frantically.

I snatched the phone and stashed it in the back of my trousers.

"Please don't call them," I said.

"Adaira–"

"Think about it," I went on. "I have already tried so many times. So firstly, you calling adds nothing to this–"

She scowled.

"I- I just mean it, um– look, it just won't be a good use of your time would it? And secondly, I have to live here. With them. You can't just.. I.."

I trailed off. I knew the reason for my actions.

She couldn't just let her anger guide this decision. I had to live with my parents. I had to deal with them daily. And parents generally didn't take very kindly to an "outsider" questioning their parenting because their child had supposedly "ratted out" (or as Emilia called it– 'reasonably vented') about them.

But how could I say that out loud? Begin to explain I didn't want to challenge their actions anymore?

Emilia slowly nodded. "I get your point."