Howell no longer cared if it was a school day or not. He was going to stay home and enjoy as much time as he could with his parents. He had quickly slid down the ladder and the inviting smell of breakfast welcomed him into the apartment.
“Good morning,” he said brightly.
It was amazing how the mood could make it seem like a different apartment entirely. Instead of the cold, sterile, apathetic feel that usual permeated the tiny place, there was a warmth that brought a smile to his face. All of the pain of having to live with his medicated parents was instantly quelled as he got to spend time with his parents’ true natures.
“Oh, Ash sweetie,” his mother called out from the kitchen. “How are you?”
“Great,” he answered. “Just woke up.”
“Well, go wash up,” Samantha told her son. “You’re father went to the store to get some eggs. I can’t believe we ran out of them.”
She never had to ask twice when she was in a mood like this. Howell found the only pair of mostly clean, patchwork clothes that he had left and he finished with the bathroom in about ten minutes. He took a little bit of extra time to try to treat his hand and was grateful that it was not very obvious. The last thing he wanted was for his mother to think that she had caused the injury. Slipping out of the bathroom, Howell started setting the table before his mother asked him to.
“I come bearing eggs and milk,” James called out to his wife and son as he kicked the lock-less apartment door open. “And a flower.”
“We didn’t need flour,” Sam said as she turned.
Then she saw the one little flower that her husband held. In and of itself, it really was not much of a flower: half of the little purple petals looked wilted and it drooped. Still, flowers were expensive. To find even a shred of one was difficult. To bring that sad little object to life was love. Howell cherished watching his parents when they were like this.
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