Ginger: Family Disagreements
I realise over the next few days that I'd been spoiled when Hope had visited me every day for a week. The only interaction we've had for three whole days now has been in the form of emails, passed between Gran Pulse and Bhunivelze with Lucan as our intermediary. Even then it's awkward since there are things we both want to say and can't with my brother involved, so the separation aches all the more.
Lately I've been working non-stop. As soon as I finish one set of chores there's another waiting for me and today is no different. Just after I've finished tending the vegetable gardens and before I'm setting out with Rhongo to corral the greens at the south of Blue Feather, I catch Lucan alone in the kitchen. He winks at me when I hand him a folded piece of paper and then I'm off, grabbing a bottle of water as I head out the door. Hope is with me the whole day, nestled away secretly in my thoughts.
When the last of the afternoon's light is low in the sky, I've finally finished all of my tasks. I set Rhongo down to roost in the stables with the other birds, discreetly feed him a lettuce from the garden since he's my favourite, and then I wrap my arms around that great feathered neck. His scent is comforting, rich earthy tones and accents of plains grass scattered in amongst it today from our hard work in the fields. Rhongo nuzzles my shoulder with his beak and settles down in the hay, chirping out a goodnight to me as I head through the large double doors and bolt them shut.
A storm is coming from the looks of the steel grey expanse spreading across the sunset. There's a slight chill in the air so I hurry to the house and take off my boots on the porch. Already running through my head is tonight's agenda; hot shower, hearty meal, perhaps a bit of reading and then secretly meet with Lucan for Hope's reply.
Father is sitting at the kitchen table when I enter the house though, his thick arms folded on the solid oak surface in an uncharacteristically reserved posture. The feeling of dread in my stomach tells me there's going to be trouble shortly and I have a few guesses as to what it'll be about.
"Where have you been all day?" he asks too calmly, his eyes slick with something unpleasant.
"Out corralling the greens like you told me to. They're all fine except Jericho, who's managed to sprain his ankle somehow. I put him to rest in the stables with -"
"I know you've been seeing that Academy suit, but it stops right now." Father's voice is still calm, but I know how that can change in an instant. I consider briefly that since he's sitting there at the table so serenely, he may be willing to talk about this. But it would be the first time in my life I've ever experienced such a change in his otherwise adamant will. Playing innocent will do nothing in this situation, so I stand up straight and take a deep breath, take my first step into the faeryl's maw.
"As long as it's not affecting my work on the ranch, I can do what I want with my life. I'm old enough now."
Father glares at me. His fists clench on the tabletop and I see both massive biceps tighten as he struggles to retain some modicum of self-control. I wonder who it was that told him; who had been spying on me and telling tales. My oldest brother Indrik usually doesn't involve himself in such trivial matters and I know with every shred of my being it's not Lucan, so it has to be Denny. He would do anything to gain father's favour and this is so typically him. Petty and childish.
"You're my daughter and this is my house. If I say you're not seeing him again then you're not going to," father states, a rising threat edging its way into his voice.
"I thought you wanted me to meet new people," I say, going to get a glass of water from the sink. "Or is it only people you specifically want me to get along with, like that son of Richter's. What's his name? Andre. I'm not interested, but if you want to be a part of their vast fortunes, go ahead and marry him yourself."
"How dare you. After everything I've done for you!" father snarls, standing up suddenly and sending his chair clattering to the floor. His face is reddened and angry, his body a raw mass of ire now that he's no longer pretending to be calm. I guess he doesn't like being faced with the truth, but I'm in no mood to back down either now.
"What have you done for me? You were never there when I was young. I looked after Lucan and then I was shipped over here where you immediately put me to work. When have you ever cared about anything I've ever wanted in my life?"
And so the argument goes for a while, tension rising and tempers fraying the longer it escalates. In the end I feel this is a losing battle, no matter what the outcome will be. Father is used to getting what he wants and me, the weakling daughter, is powerless to change that irrefutable fact of life.
Every one of my strengths – a love of knowledge, my curiosity and imagination, the affection with which I nurture my chocobos – is a weakness to father, whose virtues are being strong and showing people you're better than them. Two of my brothers follow in his footsteps but perhaps I saved one of them – Lucan.
"Nothing I do ever makes you happy, father. Even the birds. You only care because they make money. I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment to you, but I won't abide by your rules any more. I'm a grown woman."
My parting shot is designed to dispel the air. I don't want to argue any more, nor do I want to be lied to or deceived by my own flesh and blood. There's the feeling that nothing was really solved because I know father is too stubborn to just leave it at that, but I've spoken enough for today. Heading out of the kitchen and upstairs to my room, I retreat.
As I climb into bed, still fully-clothed, there's a crash from downstairs. I try to ignore it and turn my attention to the window, shut tight against the storm. The sky is purple and black now, churning in rage as if reflecting my father's tumultuous mood. A flash of white lightning streaks through the clouds and is followed by earth-rumbling thunder, shaking the walls of my room and me along with it. Rain drives down in sheets not too long after.
The sights and sounds of a storm are normally a balm for my soul, sending me off into peaceful repose. Not so much now with the argument still whirring furiously in my head. I take Hope's books from their hiding place under my bed and unwrap them carefully. The familiar aroma of the paper and of Hope himself comforts me a little, but it's not until much later that I'm finally able to sleep.
When I go downstairs for breakfast the next morning, I see the chocobo orchid lying on the ground. It's dead and crushed. Scattered around it are fragmented shards of plant pot and a spread of dark, earthy soil.