We talked.
Derrick and I, we talked. A lot. I think it might have been the most we ever talked since I first moved in. I also cried. Not a lot but enough. Just finally feeling like some of this weight was being lifted off me. I could breathe.
"So, your dad knows," Riley had just come home from school and it felt like we haven't talked in a while. We shared the same room but Riley didn't feel like him anymore. Lately he just felt away. Away from me.
"Knows what?"
"I'm pregnant," He turned around so quick from his desk he nearly knocks over his laptop.
"You told him?"
I shake my head, "I think he's known for a while. He just finally decided to stop waiting for me to say something."
"That's good."
There was an awkward lull, "You know I'm sorry for putting all that on you. It was dumb of me and I should have listened to both you and Carter when you guys told me tell him."
"It's okay."
Silence. I didn't like it. He was being so–not him. "Are you okay?" That silence came again and Riley doesn't speak for a while until he tentatively shuts his laptop and rests his elbows on his knees staring at the rug on the floor.
"Its our moms birthday," he says it so quietly. He doesn't even look at me when he says it.
"Oh. I'm sorry."
he shrugs, "Shes been gone for a while so it's doesn't hurt as much."
"It's still your mom, Ry. I know you were young–younger when she died so it's not the same as your brothers and dad who got more time with her."
"I need to finish my homework."
"Riley."
He puts his headphones on.
It's always so full of life around the house. Even when I was alone it still felt like the house was full but today was different. The boys woke up for school not even arguing with each other about the bathroom, ate in silence, and just left. Derrick said he was taking a personal day so he wouldn't be going to work and if I needed anything just come to his room.
I didn't feel like he really meant it. Not today.
He got me a car service to go to therapy and when I came back it didn't even feel like he moved an inch. Nothing was touched or ruffled in the kitchen or living room. I didn't even think he ate today. It was sad. Very sad. The most I heard was the flushing of the toilet and footsteps in his room.
Losing Destiny hurt. Bad. Yet, I don't think it hurt as much losing the love of your life and mother to your kids.
I didn't like cooking. I hated it really, but every part of my being was telling me I needed to do something–anything for Derrick as he does for me when i'm having rough days, so I was cooking. The only time I ever had to cook was when I was in a few foster homes and sometimes then I didn't even eat all but I still knew how to make breakfast foods and lunches. I don't think I could ever prepare an actual dinner with raw meat and things like that but I could make eggs.
So that's what I was making Derrick. Eggs, pancakes and reheated leftover sausages the boy's had from this morning. It was almost one o'clock in the afternoon but somewhere someone was eating breakfast. I was hesitant to knock on his door, everything just felt so off so lightly I beat my fist against the wood, part of me wishing he wouldn't hear it. Of course he does though.
"Yeah?" He doesn't actually open the door. But talks from behind it. I didn't really know what to say. I was hoping he would just open the door and I could just shove him the plate and walk away quickly. It was never that easy.
