Unspoken Bonds

Benny was 24, an Ivy League graduate, and somehow, my secretary. Not because he needed the job—far from it—but because my mother insisted. She wanted someone to keep an eye on me, even though I was well into my forties. My mom was like that: overbearing, always meddling, and never quite ready to let me go.

She'd been the same way with my ex-wife, Laila. I thought Laila could handle her suffocating nature, but I was wrong. In the end, my mother's constant interference was too much for her.

I was nursing a half-empty beer on the couch when a teenage girl barged in. She crossed her arms and gave me a disdainful look.

“So this is where you lounge around while my brother works himself to the bone,” she spat.

I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t my fault Benny stayed late. I never asked him to do overtime. Huffing in annoyance, I leaned back.

“Benny, why are you here?” I asked as he sauntered in, making himself comfortable on my sofa. He glanced at the beer bottles scattered around and my disheveled appearance.

“Mr. Stan, you need to take better care of yourself. You've been letting yourself go for months,” he said in a neutral tone, the kind that barely masked judgment.

“Well, Benny, I didn’t know you cared,” I shot back sarcastically. “And who’s this? She’s been giving me attitude since she walked into my house.” I gestured toward the teenage girl.

“That’s my younger sister, Druid,” Benny replied nonchalantly.

Druid. Now, that was a name you didn’t hear every day. While Benny launched into a lecture about drinking in moderation, Druid wandered off, exploring the house like it was her personal playground.

Druid wandered through my house like she owned the place, her curious eyes flitting from one object to another. I was still slouched on the couch, half-listening to Benny’s lecture about my drinking habits, when I noticed she was no longer in the room. A quiet dread settled in my chest.

The moment I heard a door creak open, I bolted upright. Not that room.

I stormed down the hall, my heart pounding. Sure enough, Druid stood in the middle of my son’s room, turning slowly as if cataloging every item with clinical interest. The door was wide open, inviting memories to flood in—the kind I’d worked so hard to bury.

“Hey!” I barked, my voice harsher than I intended. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Druid didn’t even flinch. She was holding up my son’s PSP, her head tilted in curiosity. “Is this the new model?” she asked, ignoring my question entirely.

I clenched my jaw, taking in the room she had so brazenly invaded. It looked exactly as it had the day Desmond left. Posters of his favorite games and movies lined the walls, frozen in time. On the desk sat a half-finished Lego set, untouched since the day he packed his clothes and left with his mom along with his sister.

The room was immaculate. I made sure of that. It was my quiet way of pretending he might come back any day, walk in, and pick up right where he left off.

I yanked the PSP from Druid’s hands. “It’s my son’s,” I said tersely. “And you shouldn’t be in here. Can you please go?”

Before I could push her out, Benny appeared in the doorway, arms crossed and wearing that familiar look of quiet exasperation. “Druid, what did I say about respecting other people’s spaces?” he said, his voice sharp.

Druid finally looked chastised, her shoulders slumping as she shuffled past me. But she stopped at the doorway, glancing back at the room with a mix of curiosity and something softer—pity, maybe? It made my stomach twist.

“I didn’t mean to snoop,” she mumbled before disappearing into the hall.

I let out a heavy sigh, my grip on the PSP loosening. Benny stayed in the doorway, his eyes sweeping over the room. He didn’t say anything, but I could feel his silent judgment, or perhaps it was concern. Either way, I hated it.

“I keep it clean,” I muttered, more to myself than him. “In case he… you know.”

Benny nodded slowly. “I get it,” he said, his voice softer now. “But it’s been, what, a year? Maybe longer?”

“Eighteen months,” I corrected without thinking. The words felt heavy in my mouth, like an admission of guilt.

Benny didn’t push further, and for that, I was grateful. Instead, he shifted gears. “You could’ve just said no to her, you know,” he said with a slight smirk, nodding toward the hallway where Druid had vanished.

I huffed. “Yeah, well, she looked like my daughter when I used to say no to snacks. Same pout and everything.”

Benny chuckled under his breath. “Druid’s good at that. She’ll wear you down if you’re not careful.”

I shook my head, setting the PSP back on Desmond’s desk. “She can play with it,” I muttered. “Desmond already has a new one.”

Benny raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Moments later, Druid’s delighted squeal echoed from the living room as she hooked up the console to the TV. Benny pinched the bridge of his nose, and I caught a flicker of annoyance on his face.

“Kids,” he muttered.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, I smiled. It was a small, fleeting thing, but it was there. The room behind me might have been a shrine to a life that had moved on without me, but out there, in the living room, was a kid who just wanted to play.

For the first time in months, I felt something close to joy. Watching Druid smile and lose herself in the game was oddly comforting. It reminded me that even in the mess of my life, small moments like these could still bring a flicker of happiness.