Spark Into a Flame

Joey

I'd been with my mother for about a week and a half now and I was constantly being reminded of why I'd chosen to live in New York with Dad up until now.  Just by her merely walking into the room, I became irritated.  She always had some comment; some reminder.  As she shuffled around the kitchen before work, I tried to focus on my laptop screen, attempting to decipher my pre-calculus work.  Khan Academy was not helping.

"There's dishes in your room," she commented as she shoved a St Croix into her lunch box.

"I know," I grumbled, trying to keep my attitude under control, something she constantly reminded me of.

"Don't forget the maid is coming at ten," she said as she zipped up the box.

"Mmmhmm," I replied, my brain getting more and more overwhelmed.  Could she just leave already?

"Excuse me?" she prompted me.  I sighed loudly.  Mom was a stickler about answering adults with words, not sounds or ignoring.

"Okay, Mom," I tried to muster respectfully.  I glanced her way momentarily, trying to be chill.  But, like my dad, I have no chill whatsoever.  She let a warning stare linger as she slung her purse over her shoulder and grabbed her work bag.

"I'll be home around seven," she said.  "Don't burn the apartment building down."

Despite our iciness, she still kissed me on the temple on the way out.  I breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed.  After living in a house of five, sometimes six people, having a whole apartment to myself was bliss.  I could blast my music without any complaining and not have to worry about a small child storming in on my peaceful time.

I tried to get back to work, listening to an instructor drone on about polynomials, but after about five minutes I gave up.  I closed my laptop and went for the fridge.  I wasn't much of a breakfast eater, but I found a bottle of orange juice and poured a glass.  I chugged some back and then spit it into the sink.  Pulp.  Disgusting!  I'd told Mom to buy the no pulp kind but, as usual, she didn't listen.

I let out a loud growl as I poured out the rest and filled it with water.  I rinsed out my mouth, now even more irritated.  No matter what choices I seemed to make in my life, I ended up disappointing someone and hating everything.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table, where I'd placed it so I wouldn't have any distractions.  That seemed to have fallen off the wayside, however.  I crossed the room and picked up my iPhone, finding a message from Elliott.  I unlocked it and found a picture of Alex, proudly holding up two trees.  As I looked closely and realized it must be her family tree project.  She had a goofy grin on her face; classic Alex.  She was so proud of herself.

Awww it looks great!  Tell her awesome job!

Have time for FT?  She wants to show you.

I opened FaceTime on my phone and dialed Elliott.  A few moments later, Alex's forehead and eyes appeared on my screen.  I instantly teared up, not realizing how much I missed the kid.

"Hi, Joey!" she greeted me happily, the screen bouncing as she carried me around.

"Hey, munchkin!" I grinned like a fool, pushing my tears back down.  

"Wanna see my family trees?" she asked excitedly as she carried me to the kitchen table.

"Of course," I told her, getting comfy on the couch.  I just listened as she first told me all about her biological family tree, telling me about her parents and grandparents.  She then went onto her adopted tree.  There was Dad, Pippa, Elliott, me, Alex and Jack.  Our patch-worked, imperfect little family.  The family that annoyed me but that I loved wholeheartedly.