Every year felt the same. Waddling through the fog of holidays and special days were meant to be deep. Likely missing the driving force of his day to day, Nova’s Sunday was if not different from the rest. He slept in. Caught enough hours of sleep and refused to remove himself from the mattress on the floor that rested on a box spring. He said he would put money down on getting a real bed soon but with the recent move and acclimating with living under a roof not of his former caretakers, the purchase was put off further. Not for the bills that were piling up and coming in quicker than a payment could be put forth. Or expenses clouding all of his energy. It was the amount of time crunching in between a loaded semester nearing its end and throwing weight behind crafting gear for his friends.

To attend functions for meetups instead of studying for finals. He put off much of the responsibilities for things loved. What was enjoyed when the crucial time of the year did the opposite. He shared with his cousins who understood the shift in hanging out as usual. They rode for him making decisions that were not the best but it didn’t hurt him in the long run when learning to buckle down under the wire. WHen he did roll out of bed, it was to finally meet the shower. Wave a brush over his troublesome coif and at least trim up the mustache that struggled to be fully realized.

He had a trip to meet his aunt and uncle. Visit for dinner and be out to do what he loved the most. The only thing that stopped him from actually showing much of the excitement was all the incessant talk among a core family. When he did feel included it came at a price of negating other parts of himself to the backend. The darkness of leeching leftovers unshared and tussled with fitting in one place over the other was a constant impairment of identity. He loved his father’s family and he loved his mom’s family as well. They had different aspects from another and when around them, he had to make conscious decisions on engagement, especially at the dinner table.

When he was seated, getting proper greetings out of the rest of them, he remained silent. Gained a plate out of the mix which he could’ve prepared himself one but his aunt was adamant on getting everyone a plate with all the fixings. Something hearty and a proper reminder that anyone invited to the table was wanted. It may be understood by him but feeling it was a different story. None of their gatherings on Sundays were out of place even if he felt weirdly distant that day. He was off and maybe it read that way to his aunt. It surely read that way to his uncle, who all said but a few words before switching to another subject.

Surprisingly Nova expected the man to be elsewhere. Busy and away on work engagements, which made things even weirder to digest. As his plate was placed upon him, he gave a shy thanks towards his aunt. Who started to lead the entire table in grace. He closed his eyes, spacing out. Dedicating his energy into the quietness that followed when his aunt was talking. It went on for a long time until his uncle tapped the woman on the hand to wrap it up. Eager to eat. And when they were given the space to do so, he started poking around at his plate. Idle conversation going on that spread around the table of five, plus the pit that sat under the table waiting for scraps to fall.

Nova wasn't feeling it as his appetite fell away as they spoke on. Mentioning his father at some part and then his mother came up long enough to gain his attention. He looked up, eyes ping ponging across the table to his uncle mentioning his parents and his aunt doing the same. Speaking highly of them but also in a way that was nonchalant. It struck a chord with him and the chord was a knot in his throat. Wanting to add in his own words but they weren’t drumming up as much as sudden burning in his chest was.

He didn’t understand if it was anger and a bridge to resentment when neither of the two who took him in as a teen, had anything to do with his parents’ demise, especially his mom. He was having a hard time that day issuing the openness to speak lovingly about the woman because when he tried, it was like feeling robbed all over again. His fork tapped harder against the plate until it gained attention. The dining room went quiet. The eyes plastered on him in a sideshow sort of way as he felt it deepened without a word being spoken until he asked if he was okay.

He wasn’t and with a slammed fist there were strained eyes on the man who favored bits of his dad in the eyes, sharing a trait that was similar to his grandmother. And couldn’t address any of them without the sting in his throat swelling up. He stood up, pointing with conviction. Pointing out their easy peasy way of reminiscing of the people he missed more than he often spoke up. With a few years of build up ready to boil over because a common conversation was just that. Trying to normalize bringing up the people who went away tragically and in doing so wasn’t what he could abide by.

The level of silence from them all drowned out his own voice as he cracked. Shifting his feet and extending his displeasement on them all in a way that he would regret. He wouldn’t in the moment though, so much it startled the pittie who looked up and headed from under the table to waltzed out the dining room not wanting to be part of it all. Widened eyes glazed over and never had he ever raised his tone let alone speak to his elders in such a way because it wasn’t proper. Nothing was going to be properly handled and he realized the mistake made once his vomited rant ended abruptly.

He left the table, excusing himself completely to get out of the room while the color began draining from his face. All that he worked towards in building a resistance to the sensitivities of Mother’s day, seemed to fail and fall out of his comfort place. He placed much of his trust in his aunt and uncle for a lot of reasons and when he hit the air. Stammering on to the stoop of the house, he settled there to feel it erupt like he had never done so before.