Reconstructing Amelia (unedited)

Chapter 56

December 5th, 2019

"Hey," Cato poked his head inside my hospital room. "Mind if I come in?"

All of the boys were back at school today, even Alan, which meant I'd been by myself all day. It was kind of nice, but I'd been incredibly bored. I wished more than anything I could have a way to communicate with Neo or Janie, but I had nothing, so I had to entertain myself by reading or counting ceiling tiles.

I had, however, gotten the chest tube removed early this morning, which had definitely helped make me feel better.

I nodded for Cato to come in and he stepped inside, holding up a paper bag.

"I brought lunch," he said with a grin. "Hope that's okay,"

"Yes, thank you. Hospital food can only suffice so much," I answered with a small laugh.

He pulled up a chair beside my bed, rolling over the side table. "I brought Ivar's. Alan told me you like seafood,"

I blushed, nodding. "It reminds me of home," I admitted. "My sister used to make it a lot,"

Cato looked at me softly, his green eyes studying mine. "You don't talk about her much,"

"It's painful," I whispered.

"I get it," He looked oddly empathetic. "I felt the same way when our parents died,"

I bit my lip. "Your parents," I mumbled. "Not mine,"

He looked at me in surprise, his expression almost hurt.

"They're your parents too," he said slowly.

"I can't remember them. I've never had anything to connect me to them," I explained, hoping I wasn't upsetting him.

Cato just nodded. "If that's what you prefer," He bent down and reached for his bookbag, pulling out a manila folder and handing it to me. "I know you just said you don't remember them, but I wanted to show you those,"

I stared at him quizzically, glancing down at the file in my hands.

"Go on," he encouraged.

With shaky hands, I opened the folder, a stack of photographs and slightly aged paper inside. I picked up the first picture, staring at the woman who was sitting with two toddlers. She was pregnant, but her arms were around both kids, a bright smile on her face. She looked so much like me.

"That's mom," Cato told me softly. "I think you and Alan were about three then,"

I continued to stare. Alan and I looked so similar, and so much like our mom.

I flipped to the next photo, seeing Alan and me around a table along with two other kids, tiaras on our heads and little teacups in our hands. I had to stifle a laugh, and so did Cato.

"You loved having tea parties," he explained. "You'd beg Xander and me to have them with you, and you'd make us all dress up. God, I hated wearing that tiara," His laugh was soft and genuine, and I could see the slight sadness in his eyes.

"Oh jeez," I said, looking at the next one. It was a drawing this time, clearly made by a small child. "Did I make this?" I couldn't decide if I should be cringing or laughing.

Cato took the paper from me, grinning at it. "You sure did," he said in between laughs. "I always got your drawings. Look," He pointed to my signature, written in super messy lettering. 'To Cato, Love Amelia,' it read.

"I don't remember any of this," I said quietly, glancing up at him.

He shrugged. "I know. But I want you to remember that you've got us. Always had, always will. Okay?"