Stories of Stardust (pt2)

232. Family Conversations (1)

Sunlight poured in through my window, warming up the pages as images formed beneath my fingertips. The drawing helped ebb the dread and the odd sense I was forgetting something that had plagued me since I woke up this morning, and I found myself relaxing more with each stroke of the pencil. With a final flourish, I finished off the dark feathers of the rook and cast my pencil to the side. I lifted the sheet, holding it up next to the computer screen, where I'd pulled up a picture of a rook from the game to use as a reference. My sketch wasn't perfect, but I was beginning to realize it didn't have to be. I slid it into my desk drawer atop the growing pile of familiar faces and places, satisfied. The drawer shut softly, weighed down by the many pages it contained. The wheels of my chair slid against the floor as I rolled back, leisurely laying my head along the back of the chair, looking up at the ceiling. Today, I planned to read.

A familiar patterned knock sounded on my front door, echoing through my apartment and shattering my peaceful morning.

Frankly, I was surprised she'd even bothered to knock. I pulled my robe tighter over my sweats, preemptively blocking out the rush of cool air as I drifted to the door. Ember stood bundled up on the other side, her arms crossed.

"Sorry, Hay. Not letting you forget this one," she said, emphasizing 'forget' with finger quotes as though she suspected I'd lie.

I blinked and tried to remember.

Ember's face went slack with disbelief. "I told you about it months ago! So much for your 'fantastic' memory. I even reminded you at Ava's earlier this week!"

It was my turn to doubt. Ember sighed, shoving past me to enter my warm apartment and slamming the door shut behind her. "Dinner with mom and dad?"

Oh. While I really had forgotten–months for her had been much longer for me–I hated going to that dreary and dull home. Dinner with our parents was much more enjoyable and went much smoother without the pressing weight of memories hanging over our heads.

"I know you'd rather cook–and I'd rather eat your cooking, to be honest," she mumbled, "but they're really looking forward to seeing us."

With a weary sigh, I said farewell to my plans for the day and threw on my usual khakis, topping them with a neutral gray sweater that matched my stormy mood. Less than a half hour later, we were pulling into our parent's driveway and parking my rarely used car. Up in the top left corner, I saw my old bedroom window where I'd sit for hours reading, absorbed in the worlds of the books and blind to reality. Such an escape wouldn't happen today.

Ember knocked firmly but politely on the heavy red door. Our mother, dressed in an airy floral shirt and wearing the matching pearl earrings and necklace combo Ember and I had gotten her one Christmas, opened the door with a bright smile that reached her green eyes. Her thin and graying blonde hair whipped behind her head as the cold air gushed in. She ushered us inside and we stood, shivering, in the doorway as it smacked hard against the doorframe behind us. The vent at our feet rushed to our rescue, quickly restoring our lost warmth. It blew the usual odd mixture of perfume and dust into my airways. I wrinkled my nose, noting the thick layer of dust that hung over every disposed surface with a frown.

Cheering from the TV drifted in through the hallway, and the floor squeaked and groaned as my father lifted his hefty weight from the couch and greeted us at our mother's insistence.

"Ember, Hayden." His breath, when he spoke, was free of the scent of alcohol, and his face was pale and unflushed. It had been years since I'd noted either from him, but the habit was hard to break inside this house. A tiny bit of tension broke. Dinner would be as awkward and annoying to deal with as always, but it would stay comparatively civil.