It's Definitely Weird

Nine: Grace (Part Two)

Same day (Visiting Hour).

"Where I come from, no one is seen wearing these types of clothes."

Grace's Point of View (as a boy):

              Visiting Hour, also known as: The weirdest day of my life.

        As soon as I had woken up, — a still mad, yes, she was still mad that I had rejected her, for liking boys— Nurse Emma had told me that it was Visiting Hour, and my relatives were going to visit. The only problem was: I had no idea who was coming to visit me: my real family or this guy's— which, technically, is me.

        "Ah, yes. Lucas Evans is in room 218," I heard a nurse say right outside of my hospital room. 

         As soon as the door opened, I heard a lady speak, "Oh, Lucas! How I have missed you, Dear!" I mentally groaned: so I'm Lucas, once more. 

        "Uh, who are you?" I asked her, quietly and awkwardly, while glancing at the man that also came into the hospital room with her. 

        She stepped back as if completely offended, and gasped—a bit dramatically, if you ask me, "I am your mother, Lucas!" 

        My eyes widened, not expecting her to yell at me. I guess it's now time to meet this kid's — technically, now, my— parents, at least until I can figure out what happened to me. 

Mental Note: Avoid Lucas' —technically, now, my— 'Mother'      

         "It is alright, Rosalie," the man beside her spoke, "He just needs to gain his memory back, and then he will be fine. 

        I looked at the man obediently standing right next to her, "Are you supposed to be my Pop?" I said 'Pop' out of custom; I didn't know what word this 'Lucas' guy said. 

        He nodded, seeming to understand what I meant, and opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted, "'Pop?'" My 'mother' shrieked, "We do not use that word, Mister!" 

         Confusedly, I questioned, "Why not?" To be honest, I was quite curious. Back home, I would always use the word 'Pop' to speak to my 'Father.' I never thought that this family had a problem with the word.

        By this time, the lady had turned completely red, out of anger. She was about to speak but— thankfully— the man spoke just in time: "It's not in our custom, Lucas." He gave me a polite smile. 

        She was about to explode, but surprisingly, she calmed down, "Come talk to me when you learn not to say that word." She glared at me. 

        When she said that, I noticed what they were both wearing. The lady was wearing a white blouse, a black pencil skirt, and around her neck was a pearl necklace. I also noticed that her hair was up in a tight bun, and her marriage ring must've cost a fortune. The man was dressed more casual, but still had that I-have-a-really-great-job-and-I'm-extremely-wealthy look.

        She turned around and left the hospital room, while the man stood there, apologetically, and gave me a tight smile. 

Where I come from, no one is seen wearing these types of clothes.