Scene 2 - October 26th

Interior Mongolian Grill - Continuous

Quinn Kaufman

“So,” he said as we sat with our finished dishes, “I’m guessing that she had a message for you from Laura?”

I nodded. “Not much of one,” I had to say. “Just that she didn’t want to leave, and that she was sorry. For all that’s worth.”

He sighed. “I was told much the same thing. Legion didn’t want to elaborate on what had actually happened - apparently Laura had been like a mother to her, over the years they spent together, and speaking of it is painful. But I wish...”

“That we knew why,” I said, quietly, and he nodded. “We may never know, unfortunately. Legion was the only lead, and this her is going to be gone before long.”

We ate. Slowly, still digesting the revelation we had been given, we ate.

“One great truth in life I've found, / While journeying to the West-” Dad began a few minutes later. “The only folks who really wound / Are those we love the best.”

I raised my eyebrow. “More quotes, dad?”

“Ella Wheeler Wilcox,” he said. “The people whose actions hurt us the most are the ones who we care about.”

“I understand the quote, I’m just not sure of the relevance.”

“We’re hurting right now. We just learned something painful - that Laura didn’t die all those years ago, like we thought, but simply... left. Somehow, for some reason. And we may never know why, because she is, after all, dead.”

“Great recap, but...”

Dad raised a finger, and I trailed off to let him continue. “We’re hurting,” he said, “because we loved her. And she loved us, too. But perhaps we can take our comfort from that - even years afterward the last time we saw each other, her last thoughts were of the two of us.”

I turned this over in my head for a few minutes as we continued the meal. Something about his proposal didn’t feel right, at least not for me, and I wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was that... I barely remembered my mother. I hadn’t heard her voice outside of recordings until today. I had seen her in pictures, but... I barely knew anything about the woman, really. Dad spoke of her so rarely, that...

Legion’s message had been a shock to me, yes. But, I was starting to realize, not for the same reason if was for my father. It was shocking because it was forcing me to examine my feelings for my long-gone mother, in a way I hadn’t really ever done before.

I had admired her, the little I knew about her. Laura Kaufman had been a neurologist, a research doctor. She had worked in metahuman medicine, just like I wanted to. It had, in fact, probably been an influence on me - perhaps I had wanted to feel connected to her.

But the truth was, I didn’t. Legion’s message was a long-gone woman seeking connection to a child that had never known her, but that connection wasn’t there. Perhaps a few years ago, yes, back in those uncertain years when I had been unsure of who I was or who I would be, when I was struggling with my gender and sexuality and finding my footing. Now, however, I knew who I was - not where I was going, admittedly, but I knew the person I was at this moment.

I was the child of David Kaufman. Laura Kaufman was a woman I had never known. It was unfortunate that it could never change, yes, but it was what it was.

“I’m no good at poetry,” I eventually said to my father, “but I think there’s one for this. And I’m sorry, but... it’s Edgar Guest, I think? Something about what makes a family?”

He rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. “The Stick-Together Families?”

“That sounds right.”

“The stick-together families are happier by far / Than the brothers and the sisters who take separate highways are. / The gladdest people living are the wholesome folks who make /A circle at the fireside that no power but death can break,” he quoted. “Is that the one?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not sure of the relevance.”

“It’s...” I sighed. “I’m sorry to say it, but... you, me, and mom haven’t been a stick-together family.”

“No,” he said quietly. “We haven’t.”

“And maybe it wasn’t by choice, but... no one can change the past. And you and me, dad?” I reached across the table to take his hand, and gave it a squeeze. “The two of us have been a stick-together family. We’ve gotten on just fine without her.”

“...”

“I never really knew mom,” I said, apologetically. “I know you loved her, but... I’m not feeling hurt in the same way you are. I’m feeling... more that I lost the idea of her, I guess. And you...”

“I feel like I got her back only to lose her again moments later,” he said, and I squeezed his hand again.

“I’m sorry, dad,” I said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m glad you did. I’ve always raised you to be honest with me. Thank you for sharing. But...” he sighed. “Maybe we should talk about something else.”

“Okay,” I said agreeably. “I wouldn’t mind not thinking about this myself.”