Chapter 4

Sitting at the kitchen table with Joyce and Sam over dinner is - tense. Joyce finally breaks the silence, by apologising. “Avi, I’m sorry for always being so hard on you. And for the comment about your childhood - I genuinely meant no harm by it, it’s just that your mother would tell me when you were bullied and things so I can’t help but worry,” she says honestly. Not sure I actually believe her, but at least we’re talking and she’s not yelling.

“I’m sorry for shouting at you. It won’t happen again,” I say quietly, my death grip on the table returning. Sam and Joyce exchange a look, before Sam reaches his hand out, placing it on the table in front of me in a gesture that I can’t decipher.

“Avi. We want you to express how you feel - we understand that because of your…previous, uh, family, you are concerned about doing that, but neither Joyce or I would ever do anything to harm you,” Sam says gently.

Shrugging, I remove my hand from the table and instead grip my fork like it’s my only lifeline. “Yeah I know - and besides, I’m not worried about you harming me or whatever; I mean it’s not like the foster carers ever hurt me y’know, they just chucked me in a freezer to get me out the way or whatever. But I know you won’t do that, I mean your freezer wouldn’t fit me in and even if it did! You wouldn’t…that’s not what I’m worried about,” I ramble on, realising that this is probably the most I’ve ever spoken to either Joyce or Sam about anything.

Both of their expression soften as I talk, and Sam takes his hand back from the table, sitting back in his seat. “Avi, you do realise that locking you in a freezer is harmful and did hurt you, right?” 

Shrugging, I pick at a loose thread on my sleeve. “Yeah, I know. It’s not like I particularly enjoyed being in there…” I trail off. It just made me claustrophobic, and cold. But I prefer not to think about it.

“So…if you’re not worried about that, then…what are you worried about?” Joyce asks gently, and I chew on my lips. “I don’t know. That you’ll just-“ stop feeding me? Or not let me leave the house, or stop me from going to school and finishing my education, or stop me from getting any help at all?

I have so many worries, and it’s hard to talk about - well, any of them. I don’t consider my time with my previous family to be that traumatic, but I guess I have picked up a lot of trauma responses thanks to them - like being friendly and polite around adults, especially when I’m worried about getting fed, and then fucking off the moment I’m done, back to the safety of my room.

I guess I do have a lot of shit, and I’m still just working my way through it all.

“Avi, we want you to be able to feel like you can rely on us, and trust us, and I know that that will take time. But we are really trying - and I know we can do better, but please- won’t you just give us a chance?” Sam asks softly, and I abruptly look away.

“I’m trying to give you a chance. I just- I have to be careful,” I explain, threading my fingers together. Joyce suddenly stands from her seat, walking around the table and towards me. My heart jumps into my throat, but she just wraps her arms around me in a hug.

“I’m so sorry, Avi. I know I’ve been shit since you came here, and I haven’t been trying properly. I expected you to just settle in right away, and I got angry when you didn’t. But it’s only been two months. And this is a whole new continent for you, let alone country. I know this is all so much, and we weren’t there for you after your parents died and then we let you go through all of that with the foster carers. But please believe me that both Sam and I want you here. And not just because you’re a Hendricks - but because you’re a sweet boy, and I really do know that. You’re having a really tough time at the moment and I haven’t been understanding enough - I haven’t been trying to understand. And I really am so genuinely sorry,” Joyce says quietly, her voice breaking a little at the mention of my parents.

Maybe I’ve been reading her actions wrong too. I know she gets angry easily, and I always just pretend that I don’t know, or that I’m totally above it all, which is part of what pisses her off.

Joyce isn’t a bad person. And sure, it’s not like I get on with her amazingly, and I doubt we ever will, but…

I might as well try.

Because this is my home now. Even if it doesn’t feel like it - even if I don’t really want it to be…this is my home now. And Joyce and Sam were kind enough to take me in, and want to be there for me. 

So I hug Joyce back.

“I guess I just don’t know what you want me to do,” I admit, my eyes feeling a little hot. But I won’t cry. I won’t ever cry.

Joyce rubs my back gently, combing her fingers through my hair in the same way that my mother always used to do. It sends a pang of hurt straight to my core, and I end up pushing her hands away.

“Avi, we don’t want you to do anything special - we just want you to be happy. So, all we want you to do is whatever makes you happy. But I suppose as well…if I’ve done something you hate, I would really appreciate you telling me that. I know I’m not your mum and I don’t intend to be, but I would like to be like an aunt or something. Whatever you’re comfortable with,” she says softly.

Taking a deep breath, I let out some of my annoyances. I mean, she said she wanted me to tell her, so… “I hate it when you act like you know me. Because whatever you know about me- that isn’t the same as knowing me. And we haven’t had time to get to know each other, so that’s fine, but still. I am a stranger here, to both of you. And I really hate when you say I have ‘issues’ or something about my disability or how because I’m ‘deaf’ or whatever - it feels really insensitive. Like when you guys shout at each other because of me - I can hear all of it, and I pretend I don’t, but honestly I’d rather if you just- didn’t.”

Joyce’s expression twists into regret and she rubs my back again. “I’m so sorry Avi. I really am. I’ve said so much shit about you that I never meant, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting. I’m not asking you to forgive me, but can you…can you try to not hate me?”

Shrugging, I grip the table tightly. It’s not like I have any other choice. “Yeah. Ok.”

I don’t hate Joyce, I just don’t particularly like her. And I don’t trust her apologies. I know part of the reason is that I’m just eternally suspicious of everyone, but still. I feel like she had a sudden change of heart now, so that means she’ll probably change again.

I guess…I just have to hope not.