Glass Hearts

Chapter 36: Part 3:Comfort

Kevin Kim 

"As a kid?" I repeat.

An image of the inquisitive lanky boy who followed his mother around comes to mind. With hair too long for his face and hands too big for his body, I was naive in a social circle of people wearing masks.

"Yeah. Birthdays are that special time when you can be a little selfish and get some things from your wishlist." She says wistfully as if she's thinking of a specific moment in her childhood.

That must be nice. To have joyful points of reference to draw on that aren't tainted. I wish to be as optimistic about it as she is but are birthdays anything but vain? I scoff at the idea of having a day that is solely my own to do as I wish. Why put that kind of expectation and waste precious time on an inflated display of grandeur? For a few fleeting hours, you feel tall but it's a carefully crafted illusion. It's not real and the things you thought you wanted don't matter.

"People are selfish enough. I don't think they need another day to indulge themselves."

Samantha's eyes widen. Seemingly bothered by what I said, she stares intently at me with a parted mouth. She has more she wants to say but is figuring out the right words. I haven't decided whether I'm flattered that she cares enough to ask or whether I'm uncomfortable with her odd investment in me.

I knock-back the remainder of my wine, not really tasting or savoring the notes. This particular bottle of wine has been aged to perfection but I can't enjoy it the way I normally would. Instead, I'm reduced to guzzling wine like a drunkard to settle my nerves. It's wasted on me. I realize now that I misspoke when I said my apartment was free of ghosts. Apparently, they've all migrated to my mind and burrowed themselves in my thoughts. How else do I explain the way Samantha's words trigger feelings I thought I took care of?

"Was that how it was for you? Did your mom and dad make it about themselves?" Samantha asks.

A sharp pain shoots through my chest. I wince and have to set down my glass. Her quick assessment of my childhood stings. The blow Samantha has dealt is unexpected and more powerful than it should be. I never expected her to read through my silence and find the meaning in the words I couldn't say.

I lower my head and cover my eyes before Samantha can witness my pitiful expression. I don't want to retreat into myself but a swell of emotion drags me into the memory I've feared revisiting for so long...

Returning a figurine to the shelf in the living room, I fold my arms across my chest.

"Why do we have to dust? Dad said the maids should do all the cleaning." I ask begrudgingly.

Mom places the dust-free teacup in the dining hutch."I enjoy it and I want both of you to know how to clean."

"But I'm tired." Chris whines.

Mom ruffles Chris's hair. "We're almost done."

Some maids pass through with bundles of balloons and flowers. Mother stops one of them, the young girl whose name I think is Lisa. 

"Please make sure to only put these inside and in front of the house."

"What about the backyard? We could tie them around—"

"No!" Mom interrupts Lisa with severity. 

Lisa grips the flowers tighter while Mother appears regretful. 

"Sorry to frighten you. The gardener didn't have a chance to fix the backyard to my liking."

"I understand Ma'am." Lisa's voice wavers.