Sugar Spell it Out

Nine: Dear Christopher...

When I left the house, after my homeschooling session, I couldn't feel my toes.

We were in the southernmost state of America and it was still incredibly cold.

  That painfully numb feeling in my feet ceased a few minutes after I arrived at Peter's and for that I was thankful. Along with the heater on full blast and the unusually large number of people at the shop today, the warmth enveloped me immediately, a blanket.

Particularly large groups of people were seated sporadically throughout the room; I was a bit worried that my favorite spot had been discovered by someone else. My worries went to naught when I walked towards the back corner of the room to find it empty.

The mindless chatter brought on a new feeling. I wasn't sure if I liked it too much. My headache from last night hadn't fully left.

I looked out of the large window. It had only been a day ago that I had spoken to Trish and overheard my parents talking about their impending 'separation'.

Yesterday, I had been completely successful at trying to avoid them. Whenever they came within a yard radius of me, I would high-tail my butt out of dodge. After studying with Mrs. G during my homeschooling hours, I had spent the rest of the day in my room.

A part of me did not wish to be bothered and part of me was afraid of what they would say to me if I did run into them long enough to have a decent conversation.

This morning, though, I tried my hardest to avoid my parents again—but unlike the previous day, my attempt was futile. After the first homeschooling session, I decided to rest for awhile, going into the kitchen only to be cornered by the both of them.

Missus G was long gone, so there was nobody to save me.

"Sienna," I jumped a little at my mother's surprisingly gentle voice. I closed the refrigerator and my thoughts of making a sandwich were completely lost. My stomach was on the floor.

She and my father sat at the large table in the corner of the kitchen. A tight smile stuck to her face and my dad sported circles under his dark eyes. They were tired.

As I sat down cautiously, my Ma put her hand on top of mine and began to ramble on about how couples don't usually get along. The bad feeling in my gut worsened the longer she went on.
"You're father and I have been on the fence with each other lately and I'm sorry you've been subjected to that." The look in her eye was sincere.

The understatement of the year, though, the way she said it made it seem like it was no big deal.
It gave me hope that the probability of separation was zero to none. And so, my mood perked up a tad.

"I called the Academy. They reassured me that this program wouldn't bring your grades down," she said.

"I'm sorry for not supporting you," she said, her eyes looking sad. I love you, is what she meant.

From the content of our one-sided conversation, I came to a conclusion that put my mind at ease until further notice: They didn't hate each other, at least.

Maybe Trish was right. But if it wasn't their own relationship causing the problems between them, then what was?

I looked around the crowded room again.  Spotting the green-eyed waitress from the day before, I remembered my initial reason for coming here.

Reaching in the pocket of my baggy hoodie, I pulled out the slightly crumpled up piece of paper that was given to me.
Unfolding it, I re-read it for what seemed like the hundredth time and frowned, sitting up in my chair more to reach deeper in my pocket.