Remnants before dusk || kairosteele

II

Joules Kastrati

Stepping into the obtuse house I can now consider home is still an exotic phenomenon me. After being juggled between families (and being extremely rejection prone), it feels surreal to have finally found a place where I'm truly wanted—somewhere I can call home. As I step through the front door, the overwhelming scent of lemon drizzle cakes invades my senses and my sour mood from the green-eyed boy in the diner is instantly dampened.

"Angel!" I bellow out to the woman who welcomed me into her home just two years ago while I was fourteen. "I'm back!"

I wait for a response, but, despite the echo of my voice travelling throughout the house, there is no immediate response. Undeterred, I make my way through the space and follow the sweet and sour scent to the kitchen. Immediately, I figure out why I was unintentionally ignored. I'm met with the the back of a woman's head, her dirty blonde hair tied in a low bun. She's swaying side to side in a jerky manner to Destiny's Child's Jumpin' Jumpin', mumbling the lyrics under her breath. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, I can't help upward the tug of my lips.

She always had a passion for singing and dancing and once told me that you don't have to be skilled at something in order to love it. Her mere existence is the literal embodiment of that statement, so I'm not surprised to have heard it coming from her lips. By my third night here, I barely offered her more than basic greetings and expressions of gratitude. So, in her mind, karaoke was the perfect way of coaxing me out of my apparent 'shell'.

It's a moment engraved into my memory, me being wrapped up in a cozy blanket she'd just bought me while watching her belt out lyrics from songs spanning different decades and genres I didn't even know existed. I judged her silently yet relentlessly, and she knew that. Still, it didn't deter her; if anything, it encouraged her to continue. She's always been the type of person who loves to be judged, I truly think it' a form of encouragement to her. It proves that she's brave enough to do something other people wouldn't dare to. Judgment didn't stop her from adopting me, and I'm glad about for it.

She sang and she danced and even shed a few tears during some depressing Lewis Capaldi songs. Despite my refusal to join, which partly stemmed from my ignorance towards any of the songs and artists, she carried on like there was no one in the room. It's genuinely surprising that she isn't belting the house down at this very moment. If her future boyfriend doesn't match her energy, or if he makes her cry like Bruises by Lewis Capaldi, he's getting an early grave. Mark my words.

People who aren't intimately acquainted with Angelica Kastrati are usually taken aback when they find out she's my mother. For one, she's less than half my age. Though, considering the adoption, it's a factor that makes sense to me. Secondly, her potty mouth is far worse than mine. Others tend to scrutinise her for the 'poor' and 'not lady like' behaviour, especially in the area we live in. They consider her swearing in general, and in my presence, to be 'improper' by their societal standards. However, their solo concerns are only their concerns. I'm old enough to be exposed to more so-called mature contend and I've probably seen more in my sixteen years of living than they have in their seventy. The bond between Angel and I develops into more of a friendship than a typical mother-daughter relationship with each passing day, and I couldn't be more grateful for it. Nevertheless, she's still my mother.

Angelica near drops her favourite baby pink silicone spatula when she adds a dramatic spin into her improvised choreography and she catches sight of me in the doorway. Breathless and with a hand pressed to her kind heart, she yanks an earphone out and exclaims, "What the fuck, Joules? You scared me."

"Sorry." I shrug, mustering the most unapologetic tone I can. "I tried calling out, but it looks like you were preoccupied."

Her expression of terror quickly transforms to one of sheer joy and excitement as she hops onto a mostly clean section of the counter, one I'm surprised she managed to find so quickly. "Oh, I was. I was." She leans forward. "Guess what I'm making."