Yours Truly, Ramona

chapter fifteen | too late.

"You always adopt random kids?"

I stick my hands in my back pockets as I approach the kitchen island.

Owen's eyes meet mine for a second as he walks back over to the table to grab the leftover food.

"No." He sighs, picking up the food. "Just Mason."

Because you couldn't fucking pick any other kid? It just had to be my brother, right?

He enters the kitchen, setting the food on the island.

"Why Mason?"

I make sure my voice is flooded with irritation, although I'm really not irritated at all. I just want to know why he adopted my brother, and if anything, the constant attitude is a tiring burden.

"Well, I'm sure you remember. At the hospital last year."

He's ignoring my attitude, keeping his tone calm. Deep down, the fact that my attitude doesn't bother him bothers me. I'm trying to piss him off and it's not working.

"When I met Mason, I felt a connection."

I internally roll my eyes at the sappy bullshit.

"I had actually been looking to adopt at the time, and then Mason came along."

"How the hell did you know we didn't have parents?"

I feel like I'm interrogating him with my snappy voice attacking everything he's saying, no matter how calm and collected he remains.

"Well, when your foster mom... I forgot her name..."

"Rosaline," I cut in quickly, which makes Owen glance up at me. "Her name was Rosaline."

He nods in understanding as he scoops the leftover food into containers.

"Yeah, her. When she got sick, the doctors had to call social services. Remember? I watched you two leave with Jean."

I do remember, now. I could never forget.

Rosaline was an unforgettable woman, and she never deserved the things that happened to her. From her husband's death to her heart condition, she got dealt a shitty hand at life, and it really wasn't fair.

"Right. That makes sense."

Owen has finished putting dinner away, so we're both standing in the kitchen with nothing more to say.

He seems pretty comfortable, but I feel awkward and out of place. Like I don't belong here.

"Y'know."

He rests his elbows on the kitchen island, folding his strong hands together and resting his chin atop them.

"Mason did really well in therapy yesterday."

I can feel my eyebrow raise slightly.

"He already went to therapy?"

Owen nods, his eyes never straying from me as if observing me while speaking.

His gaze has a way of crawling under people's skin and making them feel important.

His voice, although soft, demands all the attention in the room.

"It went quite well. Not to mention, he doesn't seem to be having a problem with being weaned off of his meds. I was worried about withdrawal symptoms, but he seems relatively healthy."

I let my attitude slip away, vowing to put my attention on Mason's wellbeing and not on my pride.

"Really? I was worried he'd have problems with his panic attacks or night terrors."