It's Definitely Not All Mary Poppins

Goodbye. Look After Yourself (2)

"Okay," Eli offered tensely. "Uncle Jun keeps telling me stories about Mom and Dad."

He nodded. "And that's...okay?" Eli hummed, the answer hazy, leaving Matthew on edge. He shifted from foot to foot before sighing. "Ready to go? We only really came for a visit."

"Do you miss your mom and dad?" Eli asked. He sat down on the steps into the sunken living room, his pants marked with plaster dust and wood flecks.

"That's a loaded question."

"So you' don't?" he asked, turning just enough to side-eye Matt, but the look wasn't malicious. It was tired, sad, worn, and Matthew felt there was no way out.

He sat down beside the boy and wrapped his arms around his knees. "What do you know?"

Eli shrugged. "You don't talk to them. You don't talk about them. It's like they exist, but they also don't."

Matthew nodded slowly. He studied Eli for a long moment before he whispered, "'Contentious' is the word you're looking for."

"Contentious," he said, less as a question and more trying it on for size.

"A word that means tense. Leads to arguments and disagreements."

Eli turned back to Matt. "So you're mad at them?"

He nodded again. "Quietly, yeah."

"Why?"

It was Matthew's turn to hum. "It's a long, complicated story, but..." He turned to the boy fully, hands resting on his knees. "When I was little, I learned a little differently. I was slower than everyone else. It made school hard for me, and it made the teachers not like me that much, either. I didn't get the help I needed until I had learned it myself."

Eli stared. "Where were your mom and dad?"

"Busy...but also not." He remembered long nights of them working themselves to death in the home office as CityVault Technologies struggled to stay off the ground. Matthew didn't resent them for working, but the innumerable quiet evenings listening to constant phone calls made his childhood feel like an open chasm, dark and empty and echoing. They were around, too – they came to Parent/Teacher conferences, special events, they were there for Hanukkah. Matthew had enough good memories of them to balance out the bad ones.

"So they didn't know you learned differently?"

Matthew shook his head. "No, they were the ones that got me the help I needed, but...again, it was too late. I knew how to cope. It was like putting a pillar up when there was enough roof support already. But that...that made me want to be a teacher." He rolled his head back, closing his eyes. "I wanted to be a teacher so I could see the kids who were struggling and help them before they felt left behind." Matthew settled into the hum of the construction.

"Your parents didn't like that," Eli whispered. "Because they're contentious."

He huffed, smirking. "Right meaning, wrong usage. They..." He groaned through his teeth. "When I said I wanted to be a teacher, they didn't understand. They knew I didn't like school, and they wanted me to come onboard at where they worked, but I didn't want to."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. Guilt? They wanted things to be easier for me? Maybe they thought it was a waste of time for me. I don't know."

"You never would've met us if you took that job."

"No, and I wouldn't change anything about it."

"You wouldn't?" Eli asked, the question strained.

Matthew drew in a breath. "Some things I would. Others...not so much."

Eli glanced away. "Hm." The sound was short, soft. Aching with sadness. He looked at Matt again. "Why haven't they ever come to see you?"

He didn't want to answer that. Anything but that, but Matthew still opened his mouth and said, "Because after years and years of not talking to them, you learn that some people, just, don't want to see you."

The boy's eyes widened.

"They made mistakes, yeah, but so did I. I never said I didn't want to see them, but I was hurt the last time I talked to them. I thought that they didn't understand me, and now it's been so long that I'm scared they won't like me." That was a partial lie. Matthew was scared of what could happen if he called them, what doors that would open. What wounds would reopen from it.

"Well, screw 'em," Eli huffed, crossing his arms. "We're probably ten jillion times better than them, anyway. Like, how many spellbooks do they have? Like, two? Three? I bet they don't even have two."

Matthew laughed. "They don't even have one."

"The heathens."

Wiping his brow, Matthew stood and offered his hand to the boy, a smile matching the warmth of the summer sun. "Come on, sweet child. Let's go get some ice cream for everyone."