Pomelo 7: Love Letters
Title: Love Letters
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Pomelo 7 (The best memory is not so firm as faded ink), My Treat (Caramel: letters from a parent/grandparent found after their death.), hot fudge (Farid), pocky chain, malt (Dear diary challenge, since these letters were never sent), rainbow sprinkles.
Word Count: 1300
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: The Amala children find their father's love letters.
Notes: I don't think this is actually caramel, but it fits the spirit of the challenge. Meant to be read in conjunction with Aftershocks.
Nadia found the letters.
They were cleaning out their father's house after he died, all six of them, just the six of them-- their husbands and wives and children had gone home and left them to it. It was easier with just them. Even Jasper was there, though sullen and uncommunicative.
They'd boxed up the lower flower and were working on the upper when Nadia found the letters, folded and tied neatly in red ribbon, in stacks in the bottom drawer of their father's desk.
She pulled one out, read Dear Arelie, and knew she had to get the others.
--
Dear Arelie; (read the first)
I miss you so much. It's so sad, here. Dark and oppressive. Fatimah won't talk to me... well, I can't blame her for that, but I miss you, I miss talking to you. I miss being able to tell you what's happening.
My children are frightened. Fatimah locks herself up with Jasper and my girls just look at me with such frightened eyes. I wish I could take them all and go to where you are. I know you'd know how to help them.
I miss you. I love you. I hope you're happy
Farid
--
They sat around the kitchen table, the six of them, the letters stacked neatly in the center between them all. Nadia set the first one down, and cleared her throat, fighting a strong and sudden urge to cry.
"He must have written that just after," she said. "When everything was going straight to hell."
"Yes," Deborah said, hugging herself. "Do you suppose he meant that?"
Jasper snorted. "Well, that part about Mema locking herself up with me, that sure happened."
Joanna patted his shoulder, and to Deborah, said, "Yes. I think he meant it."
They all fell silent, after that.
--
Dear Arelie;
My son was born this morning. Alan Amir Amala... very alliterative, I'm sure he's going to hate it. He's so small, so beautiful. You would hav loved him.
I sometimes think that I should have packed them all up and taken you and gone somewhere else, where we all could have been happy. You would have loved them, I know, and they would have loved you. We could have been happy.
You know, I think in some strange way I'm grateful to you. I couldn't have left them, not really, and you knew that.
It still hurts to lose you.
Farid
--
Alan set the letter down and looked at his lap. "It feels oddly narcissistic, reading that."
"He was right," Nadia said. "You do hate Amir."
"Yeah." He ran a hand through his hair, feeling it ruffle upright.
Ruth was staring at the letter, her eyes huge. "He wanted to make us a home. That's so stupid. How could we have had a home without Mema?"
"We didn't exactly have one with her," Deborah said, quietly.
Ruth clamped her jaw shut. "At least she tried," she said, through her teeth.
"So did he," Joanna said.
Ruth didn't reply.
--
Dear Arelie;
I miss you.
It's like... not a gaping wound, that's what everyone compares it to, more like a gap that shouldn't be there. A missing tooth, an amputated arm. Phantom pain in a limb that isn't there.
I miss everything about you. I miss your smile, your voice, the way you always make sense. I miss your fingers twined with mine and your skin under my hands. I miss--
(Deborah went bright red, and said, 'I'm skipping this paragraph' in a tone that brooked no argument.)
I miss you. I miss you like I'd miss my arm.
Farid
--
Nadia took the letter when Deborah let it fall, and, reading it, snickered. "Hah! Who would've guessed Baba had it in him?"
"Nadia," Deborah said. "That is vile. Baba should be ashamed of himself, writing such filth."
Joanna and Alan exchanged a glance that elected Alan spokesperson. "It's just sex, Debby," he said. "It's a natural and normal part of life."
"Granted," Nadia added, "this is adulterous sex, but sometimes that's the best kind."
When that got her incredulous looks, she shrugged. "It's better when there's no strings."
Deborah hugged herself. "It's vile," she repeated, and wouldn't meet anyone's eyes.
--
Dear Arelie;
I'm worried about Jasper. He's so... angry, these days. You'd pat my arm and tell me that he's just being a teenager, but he isn't, it's worse than that. He lashes out. He gets in fights at school. His grades are plummeting.
He doesn't talk to me, he's never talked to me, but he won't talk to Fatimah anymore either, and I don't think he even talks to his sisters.
I'm afraid for him, Arelie. I just want him to be happy. I want all my children to be happy. I just... I don't think he's happy.
Farid
--
Everyone looked at Jasper.
He folded his arms against them and slumped in his chair, looking exactly like that long-ago sulky teenager. "What?"
"You weren't happy," Joanna said. "Not at all."
He shrugged, staring at the table. "Mema fake-loved me and turned me into an incredibly awful little shit. That made the rest of you hate me. What was there to be happy about?"
Joanna lifted the letter she still held. "Baba didn't hate you. He was worried. So were we."
Jasper shrugged again. "Not like it mattered. It was so long ago."
Joanna reached over and hugged her brother.
--
Dear Arelie;
We've just left Alan at college. It's more or less over now.
Fatimah and I are living together still, but we might as well not be. We never talk. We don't share a room. We hardly even see each other. I've considered moving out, but...
But.
I'd have too much time to think of you, then.
I realize it's my fault. I realize I brought this all on myself. What I should have done was just walked right past you, left you alone. We'd both have been better off.
But maybe-- we wouldn't have been as happy.
Farid
--
Joanna put her hand against her mouth, her eyes sheened with tears.
"Oh, love," Deborah said softly. "I told you it wasn't your fault."
Jasper scooted his chair over and put his arm around his sister. "Why would you ever think this was your fault? Baba fucked up and the rest of us had to pay for it."
Joanna shook her head. "It wasn't. He fell in love. They both did. I can't... I can't blame them for that."
"Lust, maybe," Nadia murmured, but she didn't sound certain.
Joanna shook her head. "Love," she said, firmly, and no one argued.
--
Dear Arelie;
I'm dying.
Prostate cancer, very advanced. The doctor tells me it could have been treated if they'd caught it, but I haven't been to regular checkups in years.
Not that it really matters. My children have all moved on to their own lives. Fatimah's been dead for years. You're gone. There's nothing for me anymore.
I wonder where you are, how you are. Are you happy? Did you find someone else? I hope you did-- you deserve to be happy. You deserve every good thing in the world.
I love you, galiya. I hope you never suffer.
Farid
--
Alan, sitting alone at the table, put down the last letter and leaned back in his chair.
His siblings had all drifted off hours ago, back to cleaning, or their hotel rooms. He alone stayed with the years of unsent love letters from his remote father to a woman he'd never known. They were-- illuminating.
They'd loved so much, in so little time. His father, at least, had never gotten over her.
Arelie. Arelie Koch. He had a name now, and a story, and that was more than he'd ever had before.
He shuffled the letters back into a stack.
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Pomelo 7 (The best memory is not so firm as faded ink), My Treat (Caramel: letters from a parent/grandparent found after their death.), hot fudge (Farid), pocky chain, malt (Dear diary challenge, since these letters were never sent), rainbow sprinkles.
Word Count: 1300
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: The Amala children find their father's love letters.
Notes: I don't think this is actually caramel, but it fits the spirit of the challenge. Meant to be read in conjunction with Aftershocks.
Nadia found the letters.
They were cleaning out their father's house after he died, all six of them, just the six of them-- their husbands and wives and children had gone home and left them to it. It was easier with just them. Even Jasper was there, though sullen and uncommunicative.
They'd boxed up the lower flower and were working on the upper when Nadia found the letters, folded and tied neatly in red ribbon, in stacks in the bottom drawer of their father's desk.
She pulled one out, read Dear Arelie, and knew she had to get the others.
--
Dear Arelie; (read the first)
I miss you so much. It's so sad, here. Dark and oppressive. Fatimah won't talk to me... well, I can't blame her for that, but I miss you, I miss talking to you. I miss being able to tell you what's happening.
My children are frightened. Fatimah locks herself up with Jasper and my girls just look at me with such frightened eyes. I wish I could take them all and go to where you are. I know you'd know how to help them.
I miss you. I love you. I hope you're happy
Farid
--
They sat around the kitchen table, the six of them, the letters stacked neatly in the center between them all. Nadia set the first one down, and cleared her throat, fighting a strong and sudden urge to cry.
"He must have written that just after," she said. "When everything was going straight to hell."
"Yes," Deborah said, hugging herself. "Do you suppose he meant that?"
Jasper snorted. "Well, that part about Mema locking herself up with me, that sure happened."
Joanna patted his shoulder, and to Deborah, said, "Yes. I think he meant it."
They all fell silent, after that.
--
Dear Arelie;
My son was born this morning. Alan Amir Amala... very alliterative, I'm sure he's going to hate it. He's so small, so beautiful. You would hav loved him.
I sometimes think that I should have packed them all up and taken you and gone somewhere else, where we all could have been happy. You would have loved them, I know, and they would have loved you. We could have been happy.
You know, I think in some strange way I'm grateful to you. I couldn't have left them, not really, and you knew that.
It still hurts to lose you.
Farid
--
Alan set the letter down and looked at his lap. "It feels oddly narcissistic, reading that."
"He was right," Nadia said. "You do hate Amir."
"Yeah." He ran a hand through his hair, feeling it ruffle upright.
Ruth was staring at the letter, her eyes huge. "He wanted to make us a home. That's so stupid. How could we have had a home without Mema?"
"We didn't exactly have one with her," Deborah said, quietly.
Ruth clamped her jaw shut. "At least she tried," she said, through her teeth.
"So did he," Joanna said.
Ruth didn't reply.
--
Dear Arelie;
I miss you.
It's like... not a gaping wound, that's what everyone compares it to, more like a gap that shouldn't be there. A missing tooth, an amputated arm. Phantom pain in a limb that isn't there.
I miss everything about you. I miss your smile, your voice, the way you always make sense. I miss your fingers twined with mine and your skin under my hands. I miss--
(Deborah went bright red, and said, 'I'm skipping this paragraph' in a tone that brooked no argument.)
I miss you. I miss you like I'd miss my arm.
Farid
--
Nadia took the letter when Deborah let it fall, and, reading it, snickered. "Hah! Who would've guessed Baba had it in him?"
"Nadia," Deborah said. "That is vile. Baba should be ashamed of himself, writing such filth."
Joanna and Alan exchanged a glance that elected Alan spokesperson. "It's just sex, Debby," he said. "It's a natural and normal part of life."
"Granted," Nadia added, "this is adulterous sex, but sometimes that's the best kind."
When that got her incredulous looks, she shrugged. "It's better when there's no strings."
Deborah hugged herself. "It's vile," she repeated, and wouldn't meet anyone's eyes.
--
Dear Arelie;
I'm worried about Jasper. He's so... angry, these days. You'd pat my arm and tell me that he's just being a teenager, but he isn't, it's worse than that. He lashes out. He gets in fights at school. His grades are plummeting.
He doesn't talk to me, he's never talked to me, but he won't talk to Fatimah anymore either, and I don't think he even talks to his sisters.
I'm afraid for him, Arelie. I just want him to be happy. I want all my children to be happy. I just... I don't think he's happy.
Farid
--
Everyone looked at Jasper.
He folded his arms against them and slumped in his chair, looking exactly like that long-ago sulky teenager. "What?"
"You weren't happy," Joanna said. "Not at all."
He shrugged, staring at the table. "Mema fake-loved me and turned me into an incredibly awful little shit. That made the rest of you hate me. What was there to be happy about?"
Joanna lifted the letter she still held. "Baba didn't hate you. He was worried. So were we."
Jasper shrugged again. "Not like it mattered. It was so long ago."
Joanna reached over and hugged her brother.
--
Dear Arelie;
We've just left Alan at college. It's more or less over now.
Fatimah and I are living together still, but we might as well not be. We never talk. We don't share a room. We hardly even see each other. I've considered moving out, but...
But.
I'd have too much time to think of you, then.
I realize it's my fault. I realize I brought this all on myself. What I should have done was just walked right past you, left you alone. We'd both have been better off.
But maybe-- we wouldn't have been as happy.
Farid
--
Joanna put her hand against her mouth, her eyes sheened with tears.
"Oh, love," Deborah said softly. "I told you it wasn't your fault."
Jasper scooted his chair over and put his arm around his sister. "Why would you ever think this was your fault? Baba fucked up and the rest of us had to pay for it."
Joanna shook her head. "It wasn't. He fell in love. They both did. I can't... I can't blame them for that."
"Lust, maybe," Nadia murmured, but she didn't sound certain.
Joanna shook her head. "Love," she said, firmly, and no one argued.
--
Dear Arelie;
I'm dying.
Prostate cancer, very advanced. The doctor tells me it could have been treated if they'd caught it, but I haven't been to regular checkups in years.
Not that it really matters. My children have all moved on to their own lives. Fatimah's been dead for years. You're gone. There's nothing for me anymore.
I wonder where you are, how you are. Are you happy? Did you find someone else? I hope you did-- you deserve to be happy. You deserve every good thing in the world.
I love you, galiya. I hope you never suffer.
Farid
--
Alan, sitting alone at the table, put down the last letter and leaned back in his chair.
His siblings had all drifted off hours ago, back to cleaning, or their hotel rooms. He alone stayed with the years of unsent love letters from his remote father to a woman he'd never known. They were-- illuminating.
They'd loved so much, in so little time. His father, at least, had never gotten over her.
Arelie. Arelie Koch. He had a name now, and a story, and that was more than he'd ever had before.
He shuffled the letters back into a stack.