Broken Glass, Broken Hearts part 89

It seemed sort of ironic to me that, despite the fact that I had been living in a different area for months, Angela's house still felt for more like home than my own. Of course, this most likely had to be partially contributed to the fact that my house was new- but still, I did feel extremely comfortable in her home. It was, however, slightly less comfortable for me now that her parents were (finally) home. Her mom was all too welcoming, enough so that I almost felt like telling her that I would keep returning to her house because her daughter lived there, and there was no need to show me so much hospitality or issue so many invitations. And her father was uncomfortably not protective, which was surprising. You'd think his being cool with his daughter's boyfriend practically living at his house would be amazing for the said boyfriend, but it just made me feel like I should show up less often, if only to spite his lack of parental responsibility. I wanted to just grab both of their shoulders and be like, "I know you lost a daughter, guys, but you do realize you still have to two kids left, right? You do realize that they too are mourning, and that now, more than ever, would be an awesome time for you guys to act like parents?" But of course it was not my place to say anything of the sort, and even if I did, and they didn't kick me out for offending them, (after pointedly not kicking me out, no matter how much time I spent there,) I had a feeling they wouldn't listen to my advice. They seemed completely oblivious to their children's pain, but, at the same time, it seemed that, if their eyes were opened to it, they might feel guilty for a moment, but then they would only go on with their distraction-making. They had lost a child. And in the wake of it, they were losing two more.

I could see how Tyler watched my father as he moved through the living room when my head was resting on his lap, or when my face was tucked into his chest. I could see how he bit his lip when my mom offered him an endless amount of refreshments and invited him to stay for dinner, even as I sat on his lap. He didn't seem relieved when my father didn't tell him to get his hands off his daughter. He didn't seem happy when he was invited to stay longer with his girlfriend. And I knew that neither of these things were because of me, I knew he wasn't secretly longing to be kicked out of the house. He just wanted them to say something, to lecture him, to give some sign of irritation at his constant presence. He wanted them to act like parents.

I couldn't honestly say that I didn't want the same thing. Probably more than he did.

© 2010