But Now We're Stressed Out

T for is trauma

Trigger warning : derogatory terms, verbal abuse

Remy POV
I knocked on the door to Emile's house, a little bit of happiness filling me at the prospect of getting to see Emile.  Mom took another deep breath from her cigarette.

"Mom stop smoking,"  I hissed to her. 

"Don't tell me what to do boy,"  She growled back, but dropped it, snuffing the cigarette out.

The door unlocked and opened.  Emile's parents stood on the other side.  I noticed how their reactions to to my mom weren't not that present.

Their smiles faltered a bit and they looked her up and down.  Mom shifted on her heeled feet and glared at them. 

"Hello,"  Emile's Mom said, reaching her hand out to shake Mom's.  "You must be Remy's mom."

"Unfortunately,"  She grumbled.  "You must be Emile's mom." 

"Yes I am,"  Emile's Mom said happily.  "My name is Anne Picani and this is my husband Phil Picani." 

"Ashley Dormir,"  Mom said, shaking Emile's Mom's hand. 

"Why don't you too come in,"  Emile's Dad said, motioning us in.  "It's getting chilly out and it's best not to catch cold."

"Been a while since I've been in an house with heat,"  Mom joked with a laugh.  Too bad it was the truth.  We couldn't afford heat or air conditioning.

Emile's parents shared a look before heading down the hallway to the kitchen.  I followed quickly, trailed slowly by Mom.

"Emile's been making homage chicken noodle soup,"  Emile's Mom said with a proud smile.  "He's quite a chef sometimes if I do say so myself."

"Mom stop embarrassing me,"  Emile laughed as we entered the kitchen.  He gave me a warm smile, making me feel better.

But the warmth in his eyes disappeared when he looked at my mom.  It's rare for Emile to dislike someone so easily.  But he did know what Mom has done to me.

"How much longer till it's done?"  Emile's Dad asked, attempting to steal a spoonful of the soup.  Emile's Mom swatted his hand away lovingly. 

"Now,"  Emile answered.  He grabbed a bunch of bowls out of the cupboard and sat them next to the stove. 

We all lined up and grabbed a bowl of soup.  Then we sat down at the table.  I sat next to Emile, Mom on my other side.  Emile's Dad sat next to him so his mom could sit next to mine.

"Where do you two work to have a nice house like this?"  Mom asked, looking disdainfully at the soup.  Meanwhile I scarfed mine down because this is the first warm meal I've had in a while. 

"Well I'm an anesthesiologist and my amazing wife here is an first grade teachers over at the middle school,"  Emile's Dad said with a proud smile. 

"What do you do?"  Emile's Mom asked Mom. 

"Well,"  Mom said, leaning back in her chair.  "Little jobs here and there.  Though my longest gig going so far is down at the strip club in the city.  They love me there."

I rolled my eyes, angry at her for being so blunt about it.  I know she's a prostitute, but Emile and his parents don't need to know that. 

Emile's parents shared another look.  Emile slipped his hand into mine underneath the table.  I held his hand tightly. 

"Do you have a job Remy?"  Emile's Dad asked me. 

"I've worked a bit at Starbucks,"  I answered.  "Mostly just to get money for school stuff or gas money."