Unraveled bonds

Desmond and I were riding quietly on the car. Only the radio was playing which eased out the awkwardness between us. Leia, my daughter had a school trip today. Even though it was my visiting time, I understood that Leia is having fun with her friends right this moment. 

Desmond was playing with her switch and he didn't bother to talk to me. I understand how he felt. How can he be friendly to his father who neglected him for the majority of his childhood. Druid help me out to look through my son's Fensta. With her help, I got to know that my son loved plants and farming. He posted mostly about plants and pictures of him farming with his uncle. 

Then I found out that there was a fair specially for farmers and plant enthusiast, the Bloom and Bounty fair.  It was fortunate that the Bloom and Bounty fair was happening at the town he was staying. I am sure he would love it. 

After few minutes, I parked outside of the fair. I noticed my son faced was shocked and confused of why I was parking outside of the fair. "Why are we here?" Desmond asked, his voice cautious, almost wary.

I glanced at him, trying to gauge his reaction. "I thought you might enjoy this. I heard you’re into plants and farming."

Desmond's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. He quickly masked it with indifference, turning back to his Switch. 

“Why are we here?” he asked, his voice lacking any real emotion, almost like he was asking about a random stop at the store.

“I thought you might like it,” I replied, trying to keep my tone light. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” I added quickly, not wanting to pressure him. "But I thought it might be something fun to do together."

He hesitated, the screen of his game suddenly less interesting. After a few seconds, he shrugged and muttered, "Fine, I guess."

Relieved, I climbed out of the car and waited for him. As we walked toward the entrance, the vibrant energy of the fair washed over us. The air was rich with the earthy smell of soil and the sweet scent of blooming flowers. Farmers stood proudly beside stalls overflowing with fresh produce, while others showcased rare plants and innovative gardening tools.

I followed him through the rows of stalls, feeling like I was intruding on his world. Desmond moved quickly, his eyes scanning the booths, and though he didn’t say much, I could see his curiosity piqued by some of the plants, the displays of exotic species, the intricate arrangements.

"These are echeverias," he said quietly, almost to himself.

"You know a lot about these, huh?" I asked, genuinely impressed. He glanced at me, surprised, then nodded. "Yeah. They're cool. Easy to propagate, too." "Maybe you could teach me sometime," I offered tentatively. For the first time that day, a small smile tugged at his lips. "Maybe."

We moved from stall to stall, and slowly, the tension between us eased. He started pointing things out—explaining how certain plants thrived in specific conditions or why one farmer’s irrigation system was genius. I listened intently, grateful for this glimpse into his world.

At one booth, a vendor offered a “Plant Your Own” activity, where visitors could pot a plant to take home. Desmond paused, reading the sign. "You want to try it?" I asked. "Sure," he said, his tone still guarded but a little lighter. We picked out pots and plants together. Desmond chose a small, vibrant pothos, explaining its hardy nature.

Finally, when the sun began to dip lower in the sky, I stood up. “Well... we should probably head back.” Desmond didn’t protest. He simply stood up and we started walking back toward the car. There was a subtle shift in the way he moved, no longer rushing ahead or pulling away. This time, he stayed beside me, his pace matching mine as we walked. It wasn’t the animated conversation I had hoped for, but something had softened between us.

The drive home was still mostly quiet, but the air between us felt lighter. Desmond wasn’t buried in his phone or looking out the window like before. Instead, he glanced at me occasionally, and I could tell he wasn’t as closed off. “It wasn’t terrible,” he said, breaking the silence. “Actually, I kinda liked the succulents.” The words were casual, but they felt like a small breakthrough—an acknowledgment that he wasn’t completely indifferent to the day.

When we reached the driveway, I didn’t feel the usual tension in the air. There was no need to fill the silence with forced conversation. Desmond offered a small, almost imperceptible smile before turning toward the house. “It wasn’t as awkward as I thought it’d be,” he said. And for the first time in a long while, I felt a flicker of hope. Not for everything to be fixed, but for something small to start. It was enough to remind me that we were moving in the right direction.