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Description
Remy slid down the staircase railing with a smirk on his face. The sun was peeking into the translucent windows, and the air was tinged with the slight scent of maple. Popping and sizzling came from the kitchen, as his mother hummed, finishing the bacon. Days were always peaceful in the Turner household—with just the two of them. Remy didn’t mind. He liked the way the house felt special; a place where he was adored at every inch.

“Cutting it close there bud,” his mother said. “If you weren’t awake in a few minutes, I was going to eat breakfast all by myself.”

Remy rubbed his eyes. “You woulda waited.”

His mother smiled, with eyes brighter than the flames coming from the gas stove. She held the truth beneath her lips, but Remy had already spoke it, and there were no words left to be said. Just the gentle ticking of the clock overhead felt the need to make the morning go faster.

Once Remy had ate, he reached for the dishes and placed them in the sink, and turned quickly back at his mother, only to see her head down, quietly answering a text. Remy wandered closer, tugging the bottom of her shirt several times before mumbling.

“Remmington, hold on,” she said, pushing him back. “Go watch cartoons.”

“But we were supposed to do that together!” he whined.

Then, there was a knock. There was a knock on the door that pierced through the house, and made Remy’s heart stop. He ran to the door, and opened it.

“Hello, Remy. I’ve heard a lot about you from your mother,” the man said.

This man was not like him. This man was not like his mother. This man had a plastered smile, and moved around on a chair with wheels. He was not meant to give him love, he was going to take all the love away.

“Who are you?” Remy asked, words sharp enough to sever any sign of trust.

“I’m a friend of your mother’s,” he replied.

Remy’s mom came, putting up her hair. “Jason, I’m sorry. Remy’s not good with people right away…Give him time.”

“Oh no, it’s fine. He’s not used to another man being in the house, is all,” the man replied.

“Jason,” Remy said, distain coating his tongue like cough syrup. “Go away.”

Remy’s mother turned to stare at her son, examining his dipped eyebrows and frown. “Remmington. Apologize.”

Remy glared. Tension built up like a coil squeezed close together, but still, he shook his head. “He’s different. I don’t like him.”

Silence surrounded the three of them. Jason looked at the child, and then at his mother. He pressed his fingers into his forehead, shook his head, and with a deep breath, said, “Remy, how am I different? Is it the wheelchair?”

“You don’t belong here.” Remy restated, puffing out his chest.

“I know, but why can’t I?”

“Because you’re taking away Mommy.”

Jason sighed, happy it wasn't about his chair. “No, I’m not. I want to know you too.”

Remy looked at him…untrusting but incredulous. “Promise.”

“I promise. How about you give me a chance?”

Remy nodded quietly. Jason rolled into the home, his mother pushing him inside.
It was a different feeling—less quiet, less alone. In time, Remy realized that his home never felt less special—only more so as two people now loved him, not just one.

Description
Remy slid down the staircase railing with a smirk on his face. The sun was peeking into the translucent windows, and the air was tinged with the slight scent of maple. Popping and sizzling came from the kitchen, as his mother hummed, finishing the bacon. Days were always peaceful in the Turner household—with just the two of them. Remy didn’t mind. He liked the way the house felt special; a place where he was adored at every inch.

“Cutting it close there bud,” his mother said. “If you weren’t awake in a few minutes, I was going to eat breakfast all by myself.”

Remy rubbed his eyes. “You woulda waited.”

His mother smiled, with eyes brighter than the flames coming from the gas stove. She held the truth beneath her lips, but Remy had already spoke it, and there were no words left to be said. Just the gentle ticking of the clock overhead felt the need to make the morning go faster.

Once Remy had ate, he reached for the dishes and placed them in the sink, and turned quickly back at his mother, only to see her head down, quietly answering a text. Remy wandered closer, tugging the bottom of her shirt several times before mumbling.

“Remmington, hold on,” she said, pushing him back. “Go watch cartoons.”

“But we were supposed to do that together!” he whined.

Then, there was a knock. There was a knock on the door that pierced through the house, and made Remy’s heart stop. He ran to the door, and opened it.

“Hello, Remy. I’ve heard a lot about you from your mother,” the man said.

This man was not like him. This man was not like his mother. This man had a plastered smile, and moved around on a chair with wheels. He was not meant to give him love, he was going to take all the love away.

“Who are you?” Remy asked, words sharp enough to sever any sign of trust.

“I’m a friend of your mother’s,” he replied.

Remy’s mom came, putting up her hair. “Jason, I’m sorry. Remy’s not good with people right away…Give him time.”

“Oh no, it’s fine. He’s not used to another man being in the house, is all,” the man replied.

“Jason,” Remy said, distain coating his tongue like cough syrup. “Go away.”

Remy’s mother turned to stare at her son, examining his dipped eyebrows and frown. “Remmington. Apologize.”

Remy glared. Tension built up like a coil squeezed close together, but still, he shook his head. “He’s different. I don’t like him.”

Silence surrounded the three of them. Jason looked at the child, and then at his mother. He pressed his fingers into his forehead, shook his head, and with a deep breath, said, “Remy, how am I different? Is it the wheelchair?”

“You don’t belong here.” Remy restated, puffing out his chest.

“I know, but why can’t I?”

“Because you’re taking away Mommy.”

Jason sighed, happy it wasn't about his chair. “No, I’m not. I want to know you too.”

Remy looked at him…untrusting but incredulous. “Promise.”

“I promise. How about you give me a chance?”

Remy nodded quietly. Jason rolled into the home, his mother pushing him inside.
It was a different feeling—less quiet, less alone. In time, Remy realized that his home never felt less special—only more so as two people now loved him, not just one.