writing_shadows

1995

It's the day after, or the week after, or the month, or hell, maybe the year after I lost it. It, I mean. Wasn't a big deal, turned out. My mistake. (That was my mistake, but I wouldn't find that out for nearly 15 years.)

I sleepwalked a lot of the time. Not actually, figuratively. Life was on auto-pilot, pretty much. This is during that.

Bas is about 14, and I think Nell is 12. They take care of themselves during this time, for the most part.

Dad's out a lot. Pack stuff.

This, however, is not one of those times. Now he sits me down and looks me over.

"You need a mate," he says. Yeah, all right. Rub it in, thanks.

"Like who?" I ask, as deferentially as I can.

"Raph?" he replies with a smirk. Thanks, Dad. The one time you ever make a noise of approval, even sarcastically... He continues. "There must be someone who will want you. You can keep decent house. Looks aren't important to everyone. There must be some Person out there who can tolerate your cooking."

I shrug and look down. It's nothing new. It's nothing I don't know. "You should take a page from Rio's book," he adds, maybe trying to be helpful. I look up. Rio's baby is gorgeous. Maybe I should.

"Who?" I ask, and wince at my plaintive tone. I didn't mean to sound like that; he's just going to go for the throat now.

He does. "I can't think of a single person." He sounds almost exultant.

Yeah. Me neither.