Short Story Sundays: Vol 2. Part 2.

It's been a long time! I shouldn't've left you! 

If it feels like two weeks since Short Story Sundays, that's because it has been! If you need to, re-read Part 1 here. Symone's story continues...

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"It's so nice to finally meet you."

Jessica Chambers was her name. She was brown skinned, slim at the waist but thicker in the hips. She had a small round nose and a trendy short pixie haircut. She was dressed in all black: flat black boots that stopped just above her knees, black leggings and a long-sleeved scooped neck shirt in black. There was a hint of color on her ears; over-sized, round red studs adorned them. The story goes that Ms. Chamber's husband had died some years ago. She also had a child, one girl, 15 years old. The girl, Ashley, was seated on a bar stool in the kitchen that overlooked the family room. Her back had been turned towards Symone but upon hearing her mother's voice, she turned and pleasantly waived and smiled Symone's way.

"Your dad talks a lot about you," she continued. 

Symone didn't have a response to the two above statements. It wasn't nice to meet her. Symone's father didn't talk a lot about her. So she didn't say anything. She just smiled, albeit artificial, let out an awkward, uncomfortable laugh and took a seat on the chocolate brown love seat to her immediate right.

Once Symone had arrived home from her visit to the cemetery, all of her brothers had joined them. Brandon, Alex and Josiah were scattered among the kitchen and living room--all starring her way. This annoyed Symone all the more. Her brothers were constant and consistent throughout her entire life up until this moment. Where were her protectors when her father was plotting to keep a secret from her? Now, the secret had spilled over. And everyone was front and center at its aftermath? She had not seen her brothers in months. Generally joy was the feeling in her heart when she laid eyes on them. Bitterness replaced that joy. She was sure the irritation was present on her face.

Symone continued to sit on the love seat as silence spread through the home like an infectious contagious virus. Whenever she made eye contact with one of her family members, they stopped talking immediately. Some unknown entity got a hold of their tongue at that moment and Symone's presence was hindering the conversation. Symone was certain she had never felt uncomfortable in her own home. Her father looked at her. There was an urging in his eyes. An urging for her to say something more. He wanted her to say something more to Jessica, for Symone to assure her she was supportive. But the urgency in his eyes met the coldness in hers. And so empty silence continued to wither around in the room peeling its way from one person to another.

"So how was the drive up?" Jessica's voice again. The silence halted.

"Long," Symone answered. "Really bad weather."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," she said. 

Wandering eyes followed by more silence and wandering eyes. 

Symone leaned so that her back and the back of the couch met. She crossed her arms. She let out a heavy sigh.

"You are so disrespectful, Symone." That was her father's voice. Symone perched back up at this accusation. "The least you could do is attempt to hold a civil conversation with a stranger who is becoming your family," he continued. 

This time, Symone's chuckle was loud and obvious, two things she did with intent. She felt soft but stinging tears start to form. She blinked uncontrollably to keep them away. 

"How could you say that?" Symone started. She stopped for a moment. Her voice was cracking and she wanted to be clear. She swallowed. Twice.  

"You are the one who intentionally kept something from me. Twice I've been home in the last year. The last time for six weeks. No one bothered to make introductions or announcements then. A week ago I got this news and today I meet your future wife after my mother has been gone all my life. And now, you tell me because I'm not being as cordial as you'd like, I'm being disrespectful? I think you're being unreasonable."

"You were going through so much at Ohio State, Sy," her oldest brother Brandon started as was the custom after her father spoke. Hearing her nickname caused her to twinge. She had missed hearing it among her counterparts at college. But now, the timing seemed out of place. She was sure it was intentional and it annoyed her. So much so that she blocked out most of what Josiah said. She caught the tail end of his last statement. 

"I mean, aren't you happy Dad's getting re-married?" he had said.

Symone had considered this question since she had gotten that phone call last week. 

"I don't know," she said. She heard moans. Symone went on. She recalled the days when she was a girl up until she was about 15 that she would ask her father repeatedly if he would consider re-marrying again. As a young girl she was met with adolescent responses, ones that dismissed her naive and and child-like perception of how quickly one could "acquire" a mother. As a pre-teen, her questions became more realistic. Her father stated he had not found the right person. Symone would rebuttal and say that he had not tried to find anyone. Symone could not recall one date or even the appearance of a date her father had went on. Arguments with her father and brother always ended up with her slamming the door and belting out statements like, "My mother would never say anything like that to me."  Sure, some conversations between her and her father were items that were uncomfortable for him but needed for her; or vice versa. Still, she wanted that freedom to process through things in a safe place.  As a teenager, her requests and questions were repressed. Symone figured if it hadn't happened by now, it never would. Those awkward questions about life, love, friendship and dreams she kept to herself--afraid to be cast out by her father or brothers as too feminist, not aggressive enough or "ask grandma."

"I just wonder? Why now? Why not then?" she asked to no one in particular.

"You always play the victim, Sy! You--" that was Alex's voice. Analytical and calculated, he never spoke from emotion.

"I think what your family means is that they kept me and your father's relationship from you so that you wouldn't be distracted," Jessica interrupted. Her tone was even and light. Symone's rebuttal could wait. She looked Jessica in her eyes for the first time. There she saw the softness she had been longing for since forever ago. 

"Over the last year I've known these men, they try to do things with all the best intentions," she continued, placing her hand gently on top of Symone's.  "I sympathize with your questioning of the timing of all of this. If it helps, look at it this way."

Symone's eyebrows raised, still looking in Jessica's eyes, anxious for what she would say next.

"I'm not here to be your mother. I'm here to be your father's wife."

Symone's eyes widened. The stinging in here eyes resurfaced. Uncontrollable blinking ensued. She was sure now that the softness in Jessica's eyes was some type of Jedi mind trick her emotions had played on her. Symone's eyes were sealed to the floor as there was no one present in this room who could or would empathize with her. There was no peace here, no comfort, no sanctuary, no solace. She was sure the uncontrollable blinking could not keep away the inevitable monsoon that was swelling in her eyes. She was also sure she didn't want anyone there to see it erupt. So Symone got up from her seat and went into the bathroom adjacent from the kitchen. She let out her cry--silently. Her chest When she had gained composure she looked in the mirror. She was disgusted at her stained red eyes. What she saw before as a neat, natural puff was now a messy bush on top of her head. And her nose was also red. 

She didn't leave the bathroom immediately. She wasn't sure where she wanted to go. Symone sat down on the toilet seat, trapped in her emotions of yesterday and of the present. Funny thing, those emotions were the same even though they were years a part. Symone didn't answer when her father knocked gently on the door, softly repeating her name.