Ice

4-'i don't know if the pizza's big enough'

Gabriel got home just before his mother - in fact, as soon as he had locked the front door, he could hear the garage being opened. He threw his bag down and began fiddling in the pantry, hoping to find something to make as dinner for the two of them. Sometimes he liked to give his mom a break - especially on Fridays, when he had not to worry about homework.

There wasn't much to choose from, so he settled for a frozen pizza and placed it on the oven rack. "Gabe, you home?" his mother's voice called from down the hall. He alerted that he was, indeed, in the kitchen.

She entered the room smiling brightly, and asked, "Already got dinner going? How long have you been home?" She set her limited work supplies on the counter and wrapped an arm around her son. Gabe knew immediately that something was up. He hadn't seen such a toothy grin from his mom for over a month.

"Uh, just a couple minutes," he answered. "I got in just before you... um, Mom, is there something you want to tell me? You seem... I don't know."

"Happy?" She said what he couldn't without fearing that he would offend her. After all, he had been quite offended when she told him that she thought he was depressed. He nodded reluctantly, still unsure whether she would be upset.

Much to his surprise, the woman only smiled wider and hugged him tightly. Confused, Gabe didn't have time to return the embrace before she pulled away. He stared at her, eyes wide with confusion and shock. She was acting... ecstatic.

Finally, she yelped, "Oh, okay! Come in!" Gabe, still utterly confused, raised an eyebrow at her. His facial muscles went slack, however, a moment later - when he heard shuffling near the door and turned around. And gasped. And made absolutely no movement, but stood there before the oven dumbfounded. Even when his father approached and clapped a hand on Gabe's shoulder, even when the older man attempted to embrace his son.

"You're a week late," he informed, numb to his dad's affections. "I don't know if the pizza's big enough for all of us."

Gabe looked at him with cold eyes, and felt no guilt for it. This wasn't a new form of greeting for the pair, it had been happening for a few years. No matter how sad his father looked, no matter how dejected his features grew, Gabe never felt any guilt. To him, dejected was not receiving the cold shoulder from a seventeen-year-old. Dejection was never knowing when your father would be home, half the time not even knowing where he had gone in the first place.

Gabriel Adams (not Jr.) sighed, "I'll, uh, I'll just make something else. I missed you, Gabe. I... brought you something - from Anaheim." At this, the aforementioned boy scoffed. Gifts had long since been an acceptable form of apology.

Gabe left his parents alone to sulk and discuss the disrespect their son provided. That's what they did whenever Dad came home. Yet, he still managed to believe that at some point, they would realize he wasn't the root of the problem. His namesake was.

He again accidentally allowed his eyes to travel to a mirror as he passed, and he again caught himself frowning. Too bad, he thought, I have plenty reason to tonight. And then he scoffed at just how horrible it was that he used his father's return as an excuse to frown. Why couldn't he just be happy? Why did he always have to care?

Sometimes he didn't care, though. He didn't aggressively care about being alone; he didn't care that his teachers thought he would be living on the streets after high school; he didn't care that his basketball team had yet to win a game.

But he so grossly, disgustingly cared.

He cared that his mom had not yet left her husband and his eccentric lifestyle. He cared that he would very likely never see his dearest friends again. He cared that his brother was so much better than him.