Heidi gapes at Sarelia. “You’re magic,” she says. “Magic.”
“Or,” Rosie interjects dryly, “maybe I’m just happy that all of my children are happy now, hm?”
Barely recovered from memories of Clementine, I’m unprepared for the direct hit or how devastating the wound it leaves feels.
It is rather quite difficult to speak when a chasm has just opened in your chest, and even more difficult to breathe when that chasm is being rapidly stitched up by the one who made it.
Of course,Iknow that we’re family. I think of everyone here as my sister, my brother, my uncle, my mother.
However.
I did not quite know that any of them felt even remotely the same way. As I told Sarelia, people like us love differently than everyone else. Our love comes with a passion that, once ignited, spreads beyond the usual thresholds of a relationship, and that zealousness does not confine itself to romantic relationships alone.
If I have a sister, she is mysister. The limit of things I would do for her does not exist, and the list of things I would not do for her has never written itself. The same for my brother, my uncle, my mother.
I love with a love that is big, intense, and—often—overbearing.
In an effort not to betoooverbearing, I try to keep my feelings for my family here locked tight within me. It is enough thatIknow how much I love them. For them to know and be unable to reciprocate in the way that I would desire if I let myself…
Well, it’s better not to disappoint myself, I’d say.
Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you look at it—not opening up communication about our love for one another has created a situation where I now am confronted quite unexpectedly with the news that my family thinks of me as their family, too.
I’m not so sure my heart can take it.
“Don’t be stupid,” Heidi snaps, poking me in the side as I sniffle. “You don’t do the found family trope and then actsurprised when that family acts like family. You’re smarter than this.”
“Intelligence has nothing to do with emotion, you brat,” I huff. “Let me enjoy being Rosie’s son in peace.”
“You can enjoy it in peace any time you want to,” she retorts. “You’ve had six years of being her son, and you’ll have many more to come. All I’m asking is that you don’t be a total moron in your enjoyment. It’s insulting to Rosie, as your mother, and Sal, as your uncle, and the rest of us, as your siblings. I know you distance yourself from the group in many ways, but you’re notactuallyset apart from us, Archie—no matter how many hours you spend in that basement tinkering with your tech and your projects. We love you.”
Hmph. “I know you all love me, idiot. It’s still nice to hear how much. And I don’t ‘separate’ myself from anyone. I visit you every week.” A mild lie, but I’m sure that’s fine. Brothers can’t be expected to be honestallthe time.
She scowls. “We tell you we love you constantly. And if you think seeing your family who you liveliterally across the street fromonce a week is an adequate amount, you’ve lost it.”
“He never had it,” Millie mutters around a massive bite of chocolate cake. “Clearly.”
Oh, Millie. Even amidst familial revelations, the girl holds tight to her priorities—food.
Stryker slices a monster-size piece of the mother cake and passes it to Sarelia, who squeezes my hand and flashes me a sweet smile as she thanks Stryker.
I squeeze back, grateful for the silent support.
Heidi opens her mouth to throw more loving sass at me, but Basil covers it with his hand. He gives me a sharp flick of his chin, indicating I should drop my emotions and focus on my food. Big, bad assassin doesn’t want me realizing everyone wants me around more often, lest I show up at his house uninvited.
I snort.
Figures.
And yet…
“Mooooom,” I whine, “Basil doesn’t want me to come play with them more often!”
“See?” Millie says, pointing at me with her fork. “Never had it.”
“This cake is incredible,” Sarelia exclaims, star-studded eyes adopting Millie’s hero worship for Rosie’s cake. An hour together and they alreadylooklike sisters.
“Mmmhm,” Millie agrees. “Ish guuuu!”
