【 CRICKETS 】
2.
Around seven-thirty in the morning, Aspen's parents decided to call him.
It was one of their very sparse once-every-six-month spur of the moment calls they did, in their words, just to check up on him. To see if he was doing okay. If he needed any help or another stack of supplies. If anything was happening at school. A rather polite way of saying surveillance, he thought.
And while a small, small part of him somewhat appreciated their concern Aspen rather preferred if they never called him at all.
It wasn't that he disliked them or hated them even. He always just felt like there was always this certain imbalance. One where he had nothing much to speak of but they had so much to say which lead to the classic Carter way of overcompensation tug-of-war. Saying things that didn't need to be said and staying too quiet for what should've been voiced.
Though he just supposed that he had grown out of them. Just a little too far out of their reach; slipping past the embrace of their arms. And that a part of them had grown out of him too. That this was their last ditch effort to get close, to be family, whatever that meant; trying to make up all the miles they spent apart with poorly-timed phone calls and pained smiles he could feel through the connecting static.
Not that it really mattered. The fact never stopped them from calling and it certainly never stopped him from answering even when he wanted to.
It had taken five convulsing missed calls for his hand to stop hovering above his phone, another missed call for him to take a deep breath, and more than full minute for him to finally grab the phone.
They called again.
Aspen answered.
"Hi."
"Hey kid." His father spoke softly in a low, hushed tone. He could hear his mother's snores in the background reverberating underneath his voice.
His father sniffled.
"How's everything going? Everything fine?"
Aspen nodded before realizing his father couldn't see him and promptly replied: "Things are good, dad. I'm doing good."
"That's good. That's good. And I assume Hadrian is doing fine as well then? Is he up?"
Usually, Aspen liked when his dad asked this question. It meant Hadrian—born the natural chatterbox he was—came to his rescue and gladly took the phone from him where he'd watch the two merrily converse about some sports game or inquiring about his mother's latest baking venture, thus wrapping up the conversation in a satisfactory fashion. But Hadrian had unfortunately holed himself up in the bathroom to brush his teeth and hack out the wet piece of phlegm stuck in his throat.
"Yeah, but he's in bathroom right now. We're really rushing to get to breakfast." Aspen said, still sitting in the edge of his bed in his pajamas.
Another strong sniffle.
"I see."
