Guess who's back? ;) Y'all probably thought I gave up on this story, huh?


The walk home seemed longer. Maybe because I walked slower. I wasn't exactly in a hurry to get home and I still had a lot on my mind.

But I did eventually get home, brushing past my dad, Ike, and Abby. I shut myself in my room without a word and killed three hours doing homework and reading, the entire time aware that my phone had not gone off once…

When my dad called me for dinner, I reluctantly trudged downstairs. Spaghetti and meatballs. Yay.

For the first fifteen minutes, we ate slowly and silently. Needless to say, it was awkward. I avoided eye contact with anyone and picked away at my plate. I hadn't had much of an appetite for the last few days. The noodles looked like ripped-out human innards and the meatballs were Cajun of all things. I hate Cajun. I wished I had water. My mouth was on fire from one microscopic piece.

My dad broke the silence by clearing his throat and announcing that our mother had been found. He didn't immediately say how, not that I cared. As it turned out, she drove all the way to New Jersey, Newark to be exact. This most likely meant she was with her parents.

"Grandpa Levi called me and told me where she was," he continued. Oh, so that's how—thanks a lot Dad, I really wanted to know… "I haven't spoken to your mother personally yet. I know things have been a little rocky for us, but I promise you three that as soon as I'm able to get in contact with her, we'll start making plans for reconciliation and-"

My fist came down on the table. My dad and siblings jumped and looked at me with shock. I huffed with annoyance at myself for once again letting my anger steer me. Now I had to explain myself.

"No," I said firmly. "I don't want her to come home."

My dad sighed and rested his head in one hand, his fork teetering in the other. "Kyle, I understand how you're feeling about this, I really do. But if we just gave it a chance, then maybe we could-"

"NO!" I raged, glaring at my dad with intensity that scorched through his retinas. Ike cowered slightly and Abby put a hand on his shoulder. I was aware that I was scaring both of them, but I was so enraged that I didn't care. "If she was so willing to boot me out of the house and disown me in an instant, then I don't want anything to do with her! I don't want to talk to her or see her or be near her ever again! Abby and Ike can do whatever the hell they want but I refuse to associate with that…that…BITCH!" Okay, so I wasn't very creative with the name-calling that time, but what can I say, my mind just doesn't work right when I'm angry.

Pushing back from my chair, I stomped up to my room and slammed the door. I grabbed my phone, my hands shaking, and was moments away from calling Stan…

But I collapsed onto the bed before I could do anything. I couldn't even cry, I was that upset. I swallowed and winced in surprise at how raw my throat felt. I ignored it, though. It was probably from all the yelling and then my body urging itself to cry when there were no tears to be shed.

Sometime later, Abby knocked on my door. I went ahead and let her in; honestly, I was getting tired of shutting my family out.

She entered the room with something tucked under her arm, a wistful look in her eyes but a smile on her face.

Sitting down on the bed next to me, she placed the mystery object aside and pulled me into a hug. I considered not responding, but I had been craving her affection for so long that I gave in and wrapped my arms around her waist, nuzzling my head into her chest.

"First of all," she began. "I just want to make sure there's no doubt in your mind that we love you."

I just nodded. My throat wasn't agreeing with talking. Where did we put the cough drops?

"I know things have been really rough with Mom, but Dad's still here. You know how much he loves and supports you, and just so you know, he isn't mad about your outburst at dinner. He understands, believe me. And so do I.

"Ike and I love you beyond all comprehension. You're my little brother and I would do absolutely anything to protect you, even if it means protecting you from our mother. Ike is having a really hard time understanding everything that's going on, but through all of this crap he's got one person on his mind and that's you. He really looks up to you as his big brother and when you hurt, he wants to do anything he can to make it better."

I blinked and sniffed. Oh, so now the tears were deciding to make their return appearance. I fought them tooth and nail; I couldn't break down in front of my sister again. I already felt weak enough as it was.

Abby took a deep breath. The type of deep breath she takes when she's about to say something important. Uh-oh. It better not be about Mom. Was she just buttering me up with all of this sentiment just so she could try and convince me to rebuild my relationship with my mother? Well, regardless, I refused to lash out at her for it. I held my breath and willed myself to stay calm.

But I wasn't as ready as I thought I was for what she really had to say.

"But with everything that's happened recently," Abby started, with a tone of uncertainty as to how to put this, "Dad thought it would be a good idea…for you…to start…going to therapy…?"

I looked up at her with absolute bewilderment. Therapy? What the hell did I need therapy for? She had to be joking.

Abby's mouth became a tight line. "Well? I kind of agree with him."

I loosened myself from her grasp. "What the fuck do I need therapy for?" I demanded to know, attempting to stay calm. "I'm not crazy, I'm not depressed, I'm not a spaz—I'm not any of that crap!"

Abby squeezed my shoulders. "I know, I know. But Dad just thinks it would be a good idea for you to talk to someone. Your anger is at an all-time high and your happiness is at an all-time low. A therapist can teach you how to cope with those things and more."

I cast my eyes downwards and leaned back into her chest without saying a word. She was right. I felt like a monumental turd. I almost wished Shelly was there with us. She had been calling me and Stan and our friends that lowbrow word for years, but this was the first time that I ever felt like I actually deserved it.

"But do you want to know why I agree with him?" Abby asked.

When I didn't answer, she released me and said, "Well, I want to show you something."

Picking up the mystery object she had brought into the room with her, she got up from the bed and walked over to my TV. I got a better view of the mystery object and discovered that it was a videotape.

Abby switched on the TV and popped the tape into the VCR (God knows why I still had that old thing) before snatching the remote and sitting back down next to me.

The screen flickered a few times, and then an image of two small children flashed up. Two very familiar-looking children.

It was four-year-old me and six-year-old Abby. Dressed in our Hanukkah best, we were all smiles, anxiously tugging at our clothes. I could hear my mother's voice. "Gerald, I just can't get the damn thing to connect…"

I tensed up and pinched my lips at the sound of her voice, but Abby's hand on my knee relaxed me.

My father, who was holding the camera, quickly answered, "It's the green cord, Sheila, just push it in!" Then, clearing his throat and assuming a voice like that of an anchorman, he proclaimed, "Well, our radio went on the fritz last month, and we just got this amazing brand-new stereo system as a Hanukkah gift from Sheila's parents, and we have two little helpers who have just been itching to try it out."

The two of us giggled in response and began hopping around.

"Alright!" my mother called again from off-camera. "We're good to go!"

Moments later, a very familiar piano riff blasted from the stereo. I knew that song. My hand flew to my mouth and I stifled a choked sob.

Dancing Queen.

Little Abby and little me shared a glance and gleefully shrieked as our favorite song began.

And we danced.

Abby put her arm around me. "You always loved ABBA," she said to me softly.

I buried my face in my hands. I did love ABBA.

"Keep watching," Abby urged, rubbing my shoulder.

The camera zoomed in on my sister first. Jumping and spinning in circles, she was smiling, showing off her newly lost front teeth. Her giggle was infectious.

Then the camera moved over to me. My pearly white baby teeth gleaming in the light of the room, I was swaying my arms in time with the music.

It was right then that Abby paused the video. I looked at her for an explanation. She smiled warmly and said, gesturing towards the screen, "Do you know why I agree with Dad? Because I want that Kyle back."

I looked back at the screen quizzically. Abby continued.

"Look at that little boy. That happy little boy who didn't have a single care in the world. Kyle, when you danced, you danced like you meant it. It came from your heart. You had so much joy in you and it showed.

"I want that Kyle back. This is the Kyle Broflovski that I know and love. Happy, smiling, and full of joy. I miss him."

I turned to look at her. Her eyes shone with tears. I practically fell back into her arms, quiet sobs escaping from my throat (which pulsated with pleas to stop). I didn't say it out loud, but I missed that Kyle too. And if therapy was the first step in getting him back…then so be it.

I didn't even have to say it. Abby knew.

However, our sweet sibling moment was put on hold as my phone rang. My heart soared. My confidence was boosted tenfold and I hoped that it was who I thought it was.

I snatched my phone from my nightstand and read the caller ID. It was Kenny.

Confused, I answered it, thinking he probably butt-dialed me. "Hello?" I said.

"Kyle?" came a desperate Kenny from the other end. "Have you seen Stan?"


DUN. DUN. DAAAAAAAAAH. Things are getting serious! Will our hopeless romantics find each other and themselves? Did that make any sense at all? No? Well, uh...

MOVING ON! Thanks once again to Jish, the best beta like no one ever was.