immediate family

Blood makes you related, loyalty makes you family.

Waiting for Sunday
"He would have loved this," Sadie said to Marta, Max's mom. "He sure would have, sweetie. He also would have loved to see you smile. How about some ice cream?"
By Lexi Holland5 years ago in Families
They Lit Up the Night
I’ve been making the trip six days a week for over three years. Monday through Saturday, every day, at 2:30 PM, I walk around the corner to check the mail. Sometimes I have to go back at 3:00 PM because our mailman (mail-person) is not as reliable as that commitment from the Mailman’s Oath would make you think. Ours is deterred by “snow, rain, heat, gloom of night,” and a million other things. The walk is typically a non-event, no one’s home that time of day, there’s never much through traffic, it’s quick enough that weather is not a factor. The mailbox, or the contents do constitute an event for me, akin to opening gifts on Christmas morn when you were a kid. I call it junk mail, as most do, but in my mind, it’s entertainment, the sale papers, coupon books, political flyers, even the bills, the occasional birthday card, holiday greeting cards, a rare magazine—no letters, of course. It’s disappointing that no one mails letters these days—it’s a lost art—the way people used to write letters. Today we get texts with awful spelling and grammar, incomplete thoughts, crazy abbreviations. Anyway, I’m getting off-topic. Earlier this week I was on my way to the mailbox and where I cross the street, right in the middle of the street, there was this shiny black thing about the size of a business card. I couldn’t resist—I picked it up. It was a tiny black book, only about an eighth of an inch thick, maybe ten pages, each scribbled all over, but without a legible thought anywhere, not a single group of letters that made up any real word in any language I knew. There were more numbers than letters, but the numbers didn’t add up to anything cogent either. I decided to check with the neighbor nearest the spot in the road to see if the book was his, but, he said, “Nope, not mine.” So, I took it home with me—better than anything in the mailbox lately.
By Bracy Ratcliff5 years ago in Families
In the Details
Anthea hated dusting. Truly, of all the mundane domestic tasks she had been charged with since her parents had begun their new business venture of buying and flipping abandoned houses; dusting was the absolute worst. The “deal” had been that if Anthea agreed to help her parents with cleaning up these houses for reselling, she could keep anything “cool” that was found inside them. Anthea had agreed; images of lost diamond rings behind radiators and forgotten stacks of cash beneath floorboards flooding her decision making. Unfortunately the most exciting things that had been unearthed after an entire summers worth of relentless toil on Anthea’s part were some fantastically boring old books, some random rusty pieces of silverware, and what Anthea thought was a Monopoly piece, but her mother had informed her was a thimble…whatever that was. The last several months’ worth of neglect to her social life and hard labor she had put into these musty old houses were, in Anthea’s opinion, a complete waste of time.
By Valerie Stumpf5 years ago in Families
Story for a Rainy Day
The notebook didn’t look like it belonged in the bin. The spine was intact, the cover wasn’t peeling, the pages were barely yellowed. At first, Raine thought it was Mr. Mayfaire’s. He was getting up there in years; it wasn’t impossible that he had misplaced it. Picking it up, Raine marveled at the quality. Soft black leather cover with a red silk ribbon bookmark. On the inside cover, in neat handwriting, was a message. “For Morgan and all your wonderful stories. Love, Grandpa.” Raine smiled. They put the notebook in their shopping basket next to an old scarf and a chipped china figurine.
By Chloe "Autumn" Ferrier5 years ago in Families
Things We Don't Talk About
Photo by Courtney Nuss on Unsplash I only heard from Lizzy once after she left home. More than ten years had passed by the time she called. Evan was asleep upstairs, but I didn’t even think to wake him. He was old enough to understand that his mother had left him, but he hadn’t started asking questions yet.
By Rebecca Johnson5 years ago in Families
FOUND
When I was 8 years old, my father told me about a treasure chest my grandpa had hidden on our 200 acre property. I remember this story vividly, because he’d often tell stories about it and show me his secret treasure map.
By Bekah Foster5 years ago in Families
The Reception
The day was supposed to be about us: Me and Callie, our commitment to one another, our love. I suppose it mostly was, and as we sat hand-in-hand at the reception, I knew things had gone as well as could be expected. She’d said her vows. I’d said mine. Friends and family cheered as Callie triumphantly lifted a bouquet of dahlias over her head and trotted back down the lawn. Now we were quiet, tired, and warm with wine.
By Willow Kraimer5 years ago in Families
You'll always be my baby, Little Bear
Walking around this old house felt refreshing. This home was where Maggie grew up, raised by her great-aunt Fay. Fay was particularly fond of Maggie despite having many children of her own. The favouritism didn’t go unnoticed, but Maggie was the one who graciously took Fay in when she began to suffer from Dementia later in life. Fay passed away quietly last winter, leaving to Maggie this old house and everything in it. This house was full of warm memories for Maggie and her son Nathan. When Maggie came by with the lawyer to sign paperwork, she realized that she hadn’t been inside for many years. As she walked around, she noticed that Fay’s children had taken much of the old furniture and valuables already. But that’s not what made this place special to her.
By Carly Blanchette5 years ago in Families
Pros and Cons
Pros:...let’s face it...that’s a lot of money. Cons: Let’s face it...your father has been buried for a month. Pros: Sure...sure, but the money’s not coming from him. And with that money, all $20,000, I could pay off the rest of my debts--$15,000--and I wouldn’t have to risk my neck making deliveries anymore. I wouldn’t have to assume that risk of being caught by police. I wouldn’t have to worry about hauling unmarked bags and parcels all over town, sometimes being attacked with the objects I’ve delivered. Since I took this job I’ve started grinding my teeth. Kay kicks me out of bed now. I brought up the risk to the boss, and she didn’t care.
By Patrick St. Amand5 years ago in Families
Starting Over
Today was the day. The final day to lay everything out before hearing the final ruling on the rest of my life. I laid in my bed trying to imagine how I would feel by the time I laid in this bed this evening. I sat up and told myself it was time to get up, and it was time to get moving with my day. I could hear my family moving about, getting ready for their day in the other rooms of the house. I could do this, I could fight this fight and come out successful. As I stood I looked at my notebook on my nightstand. I touched it as if the connection of my fingertips to the cover would download all of its contents on my memory as the backup drive when in fact it was the opposite. I executed my morning routine on autopilot as my mind drifted to all that the day would hold for me.
By Carey 5 years ago in Families
The Opportunity Inheritance
Nicole held the golden fountain pen her father had given her on her 18th birthday in her right hand. She ran her thumb across the cover of her journal enjoying the texture as an attempt to calm her mind into a meditative state as she waited for the words to come to her mind and be bled onto its pages. It had become apparent to her that if she spent all night researching lucid dreaming, the actual sleep may never come. She thought to herself “how am I supposed to keep a dream journal when I can never remember my dreams?” as she opened her brand-new black Moleskine journal. She decided to jot down what she remembered from her research to get her creative juices going.
By Jessica Morales5 years ago in Families
Where Your Treasure Is
“Okay, Ma! Show me the money! I know you're up in Heaven just waiting for us to start this hunt, so give me a sign," yells Lizzie as she slams the front door. Ruth rushes to save the picture that falls from the wall, but the glass front shatters.
By Rita Zoladz5 years ago in Families