“Aurelia,” my dad reprimanded sternly, slamming a fist down so hard on the table that the dishware rattled. “Stop with your constant negativity and attitude. This is the adventure of a lifetime. An opportunity your mother and I have been wanting for a very long time.”
Since I was born, presumably, but I kept that thought to myself.
I knew that once my parents set their minds on something, no matter what it was, there was no talking them out of it. That was a lesson I had learned many years ago.
I sighed dejectedly. “When are we leaving?”
My mom and dad shared a knowing look as my question lingered unanswered in the air. The windchime hanging on our porch rang in the wind, the sound seeping in through the open windows.
“What? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Aurelia, dear.” My mother reached over and grabbed my hand. “We thought it might be better if you stayed here.” I opened my mouth to protest but she pressed on. “We both know how much you love the farm, and we wouldn’t want all of your hard work to go to waste. And besides, if you came with us, your father and I would be too worried about taking care of you, and our focus wouldn’t be fully on the Hunt.”
I hated the farm as much as they did, if not more. The only difference was that I tended to the farm because the animals deserved someone to take care of them. They didn’t ask to be purchased by wanderlusts with no farm experience. And if I didn’t plant seeds and harvest them, we’d have no food or income. I understood at least that much at a young age. The farm was our only source of living. If I didn’t take care of it, no one would. But when I grew up, I never wanted to milk another cow or harvest another crop or clean out another chicken coop ever again. I wanted to move far away from farm life and start over somewhere new. Maybe enjoy life for once.
I turned to my father to see if he would contradict my mother’s words, but instead he was practically giddy in his seat with the prospect of this treasure hunt.
“You’re seriously going to leave me here to run the farm by myself? For how long?”
Another shared look.
“We’ll write as often as we can and make sure some neighbors check in on you, too.”
I choked down a laugh. We’d burned any bridge we had with our neighbors when my parents dug up some of their land a few years back, insisting that a relic was buried beneath. That response also didn’t answer my question, and I had a sinking feeling it would be a while until I saw them again.
“When are you leaving, then?”
My mother gave my hand a tight squeeze. “Right after breakfast.”
And breakfast was already over.
I turned around towards the front door, and I noticed bags packed, ready to go. Those weren’t there last night when I went to bed after my evening chores, so while I was doing the morning work, they must have collected their belongings.
“You’ll come back to me, right?” My voice wavered, tears lodged in my throat. My parents and I were never particularly close, but they were my parents, the only family and life I knew. Up until that point, I still held hope that they would grow out of their fantastical dreams, and I’d get to live a normal life as a teenager. Maybe even go back to school.
“Oh, dear, of course we will.”
One second led to another, and then we were at the front door, my mother gathering me into a tight hug.
“We won’t leave you for long. You’ll be alright. And imagine the riches we’ll have when we come back! You’ll be able to do anything you want to do, go anywhere you want to go.”
I nodded into her shoulder as I dissolved into tears.
“We’re doing this for you, Aurelia.” Now it was my father who pulled me into his embrace. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”
I hoped I did, because I sure wasn’t understanding it now.
I cried heavily as I watched my parents ride away from our farm, taking our only two horses with them. I tried my best to memorize their faces and their features, imprinting them into my brain until the next time I saw them.
I stayed like that for a while. They had long since disappeared into the morning, but yet I was still standing on the porch. Waiting. Hoping that this was all a mistake and that they would turn back around and I’d see them riding back.
That never happened.
Instead, I was now on my own at fourteen. I’m sure to some kids my age that sounded like a dream - no parents to discipline you and no rules to follow. But to me, life continued on as it had, with me singlehandedly maintaining our farm and self-disciplining myself. The only difference was that our house was now missing my mother’s jokes and her terrible cooking and my father’s off-key singing and loud snoring I used to hear through the walls at night. The only conversations I had were with the animals, and no matter how much I willed it, they were always one-sided. I’d hear giggling and yelling from the other kids passing our farm, but I never had the time nor energy left in the day to join them.
Unsurprisingly, no neighbors ever showed up to check on me.
Nights were always the worst for me, though, when the chores were done and the sounds of the animals and neighbors quieted. It was as if I was in a soundproof cell, void of all senses. I’d lay alone in my bed, seeking solace in the distant echoes of the windchime and the chirping insects. Sometimes, on the worst nights, I climbed into my parents’ bed, hoping that would help me ease my loneliness. If anything, it made it worse.
