bird | r.c

the boulangerie

When dad finally showed up, he did the zipping for me and drove us to the airport, where we left almost instantly because the craft departed sooner than anticipated, said mom. Right.

Ever since the incident she hasn't been doing well. Doesn't really eat, or sleep, for that matter, so she lives on coffee. I swear I saw her hand trembling uncontrollably when she wrote a check to pay for our rent last week, so when she finally passed out in the seat next to me, I just let her be.

It was a pain to wake her, though. Grumpy as ever.

"Where do we even go?" She growled, stomping around the airport in search of a map or something. "Renovated the entire place, but can't give out basic directions? I swear to god."

"Hey! Leave him out of it. Might need him someday," I joked, trying to keep the situation light hearted. She was right though. I too was scanning my eyes through the long hallways, hoping to find a sign or anything that would be of help.

Terminal 1, bathrooms, restaurants... and then, somehow, at the very end, a big ass sign that said ROUTLEDGE. 

"Mom, that's us, look." I pointed to the girl that was holding it, strolling my luggage with personal items along. Everything else was sold. Mom needed a new start.

"Yeah, I see it. Is that John B? And he's supposed to be seventeen? You'd think the kid had grown by now, right?"

"Put your glasses on, bighead. It's a girl."

She grumbled and paused to feel around her bag, where she eventually pulled her glasses from.

"Dang it, you're right. My goodness, they're really having teenagers doing grown jobs nowadays? See, baby, this is why we left. Can you imagine working a job like that?"

"Shh," I hushed her, embarrassment rushing through me as we were approaching the girl and were even within hearing distance. "She can very much hear you. Hi," I smiled at the girl, cheeks flushed. "She's not normally like that. Bit of a rough few months for us. I'm Wren." 

I held out my hand for her to shake, and even though I could tell she was hesitant, I was resistent. 

"Hi," she finally speaks, returning the gesture. "Kiara Carrera, I'm a friend of John B's."

A friend?

I scanned her down unnoticeably, worried for my new reputation after mom's comments. If this was a friend of JB's, I would probably see her more often. And I needed people to like me.

"You're really pretty," I blurted, cheeks flushing even deeper when I realised I said it aloud.

She didn't seem to mind though, because a genuine smile finally appeared on her face. "Thank you. You too. I really love your smile."

"Thank you," I mumbled. "Well, uh, this is my mom. Mom, this is Kiara. Kiara, this is.. mom."

Mom approached us again after walking around a little bit. "Jennifer Routledge," she spoke "Wren's mom, John B's aunt. Nice to meet you, Kiara."

A normal reply! At last!

The two shook hands. "Speaking of John B," mom began," where is he? I thought he was coming here."

"Yeah, about that.. he kind of broke his wrist last night. He has a concussion, too. He's in the hospital right now."

"What? Is he okay?" I asked, a frown forming on my face.

"Yeah, fine. Just a concussion. And a broken wrist."

"Goodness. Poor thing probably doesn't even have any insurance. Can you take us there, please?" Mom started reorganising her stuff, something she always did when her nerves caught up with her.