As I awoke from my sleep, I slowly began to recognize the things around me.
I was on my bed.
My dresser was nearby and so was my book stand.
Through the window, an ambient and warm light shined through. It lit up the room despite no lights being on.
That's when more personal things came back.
The fact that this area was my bedroom.
The fact that it was Saturday morning.
And the fact that I was Tristan.
Though, a part of me doubted if I was really Tristan at all.
If I was really alive, if maybe the past few years were a dream.
Calmly, I got up from my bed and walked towards the door.
And when I opened it, my nostrils were hit with a pleasant scent.
"Huh?" I blurted out under my breath.
The scent was comforting, accepting, like a warm embrace. The type of smell that grounded you in reality.
It was none other than…freshly made pancakes.
Entering the kitchen, I saw a woman placing down plates at our dining table
She had pale white skin and sparkling blonde hair.
Once she placed the two plates down, she looked up, noticing me.
"Good morning Tristan," she greeted with a kind smile.
"Good morning mom," I replied.
Walking to the table, I sat down at my usual seat.
My mother, after taking off her apron, sat down in the chair beside mine.
That's right, this woman was my mother.
Not my birth mother, but without a doubt she was my mother.
She was the person who cooked for me, who looked out for me, who protected me.
From the day my parents died, she cared for me like no one else did.
'Oh, Zi.'
Our cat, Zivan came over and jumped into my lap, snuggling against me.
I rested my hand gently on his fur. It was so soft that it seemed to absorb my hand.
"You're the only person he does that to, you know?" Mom mentioned.
"Really?" I said neutrally.
Of course I knew, I had long noticed that Zivan treated me differently than everyone else.
I just didn't know why.
"I guess it's natural, you were the person who saved his life. He can't help but warm up to a kind soul like yours."
I frowned.
"What kind soul?"
I was a pretty apathetic person, not very warm or friendly. I wasn't a terrible person, just not a bad one either.
But what really made a person good or bad?
By what standards do I measure myself by?
And if I'm using my own standards, where did they come from?
I hadn't had many opinions on morality for a while. Since life was meaningless, what you did in that life was meaningless as well.
Recently though, that view on life had faltered. I could no longer feel that nothing mattered.
'It's good…'
Taking a bite into my pancake, every flavor interwoven together, graced my tastebuds.
Being able to enjoy such a delicacy, being able to be in my mother's presence, I felt that in itself, that was precious.
"That kind soul," my mother declared, pointing at me.
I gave her a slightly confused look.
'What could she be talking about?'
"Your smile. Through it, your kindness leaks out," she explained happily.
Focusing on my face, I noticed my lips were tugged into a small smile.
'How didn't I notice that?'
"So many rare expressions today. First peace, confusion and now surprise. What other surprises do you have in store for me?" My mother laughed.
It was certainly an odd morning.
The house was empty, only filled with sunlight.
My heart was calm, like a tranquil river.
At that moment, I wondered.
'Why am I here?'
What was behind my existence?
Who was behind my existence?
Because I felt that…I needed to thank them.
Thank them for this very moment.
"I have an idea. Would you like to hear it?"
My mother's smile was bright now, almost being. Kind of like the one Soriel gave Elliot, except not romantic.
Finishing my pancake, I replied curtly.
"What is the idea?"
"We should all have dinner together as a family."
"Today?"
"There's no time like the present."
I took a small breath.
My little brother was at soccer practice and my older sister was at a SAT prep class. And my father was playing pool with his friends.
The rest of my family and I weren't very close. I never made an effort into developing a relationship with my siblings so they never tried either. My father always attempted to make conversation but I never continued them.
In the end, I made as few connections as possible.
But what if I didn't?
"Okay."
**
"We're home!" my father announced.
He had just arrived with my little brother and older sister.
"Welcome home. Don't bother taking off your clothes, we're going out to dinner," my mother replied, walking towards him.
She was already dressed.
My father raised an eyebrow but just shrugged.
Behind her, I was also present. Fully dressed as well.
"Good evening," I said calmly.
The others reciprocated my greeting with slight surprise.
My little brother, a cheerful boy full of curiosity and intrigue.
My older sister, a popular and knowledgeable young woman.
And my father, a lively and passionate middle aged man.
Staring at them, a confusion rose over me.
'I can't see them.'
I could see their figures, acknowledge their presence, but I couldn't make out the details of my family's appearance.
Like they disappeared. Like they no longer mattered.
As we all exited the house, I took a silent breath.
I was going to do something. Something that I didn't like.
But perhaps, it was something that had to be done.
I hesitated, not really wanting to speak. Yet, I continued.
"So…how was your day, everyone?"