Tada! An update. A pretty revealing update as far as the mystery box goes. Other than that... probably just more questions I'm afraid. Either way, though, I hope you enjoy reading it as much I like writing it.

Chapter 25

I stared at Papa for a moment. Unsure of what to say. I know he was just looking out for me. It just got on my nerves that he didn't think I could handle knowing certain details about my own life. Finally, I just handed him his phone and mumbled, "I'm sorry."

He brushed a curl away from my face and lifted my chin to meet his gaze. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I need to get it through my thick skull that you're not a little girl anymore. You can handle yourself, and you can handle the information that regards your life. I need to learn to trust you as much as you trust yourself." He gave me a warm, reassuring smile.

"Does that mean I'm allowed to use the elevator again?" I asked hopefully.

He just laughed and shook his head, turning me to face the bed and the box that still lay unopened there. "I'll think about it." Then, without even giving me enough time to take a breath, he picked me up and tossed me onto the bed so that I landed, sitting before the pink box. I sent him a grin that was returned immediately and then turned my attention to the box.

My hands hesitated once more on the box as my heart thundered inside my chest. I think if I waited any longer I might die from the stress of it. There was only one thing to do. I had to open the box and get it over with. No matter if I was scared… terrified really. It had to be done. Slowly and carefully, I lifted the pink lid and set it aside. Inside was a folded piece of paper, also pink, though the palest of shades. I took a deep breath and lifted it from the box, unfolding it, and read.

Maggie,

Over the past year I've been overjoyed to watch you grow and develop and though it has brought with it stinky diapers and unexplained crying from both of us (just the crying bit, not the diapers. I'm perfectly capable of excreting in a toilet) I have loved every minute of it. Now, unfortunately, it seems our little adventure must come to an end.

Over the past weeks I have been suffering intense headaches, ever increasing in their strength. According to the doctors I have a brain tumour. Inoperable due to its size and placement. I pray every second that they are wrong and that I will not have to give you up so soon, but deep in my heart, I know they must be right. It's just the way my luck seems to go. I never get to keep anything that brings me joy for very long. So, in the case that I do get shuffled off this earthly plain, I have put together a memory box of our time together, starting from when you were first conceived.

I know you must be looking at this box, in all your teenage attitude, thinking that such a small box can hardly contain all the memories from almost two years of a person's life. And you'd be right. This is not the complete memory box. The rest I have left in the care of a very good friend of mine. You probably have never heard of him, having been raised by well… I haven't decided who will raise you in my absence yet, but I'm sure whoever I eventually choose will not even think to mention my friend. He has a tendency of popping into my life unexpectedly, and if you are reading this, then chances are he'll be visiting you very soon.

For now though, I've enclosed a few things from the day you were born.

I'll always love you, no matter what

Mommy.

I couldn't take my eyes off that last word. Mommy. I'd never really said the word. Never had a reason to call anyone mommy. But I had had a mommy. And she'd loved me very much. I looked up at Papa, tears welling in my eyes, and smiled. "It's from Mama," I told him, gazing into his concerned face. I glanced back down at the letter in my hands and corrected myself. "It's from Mommy," I said, testing out the name. And then, without warning, the floodgates broke and tears streamed down my face.

Papa was there in an instant, pushing aside Tio Eloy and Auntie Mare to enclose me in his strong arms. Brushing his big palms over my hair as he held me impossibly close to his chest. When the tears stopped, he didn't let me go, just held me a little looser. When I finally moved my head away from his shoulder and looked into his eyes again, I was smiling.

"Can I see it?" Papa asked gently, smiling back down at me again. I nodded and held the letter out for him. I watched him as he read it, slightly frustrated anew that I could not read his expression with as much accuracy as his men.

Once he was done, he handed it back to me without a word. I took it, and reread the part about the friend before meeting his steady gaze. He seemed to be waiting for something. Finally I asked, "If I ask you, will you answer honestly and in full?"

His lips quirked up at the corner. "His name is Diesel. Just Diesel. And when she says popped, she means it quite literally."

"You knew him?" I asked, unable to stop myself. "Why didn't you mention him before? He could know something about my biological father." He gave me a look that was very confusing in it's purpose, somewhere between a grimace and a shrug. But he said nothing. "What? What haven't you told me?"

It was Tank who answered my question. As always. "None of us really thought there was anything there. We didn't even know she liked him at all. He popped in now and then, wreaked havoc on the town and was gone before anything could be pinned to him. I suppose we didn't even entertain the thought that he could have helped Steph when she left."

"Can we discuss this later?" Auntie Mare interrupted. "I wanna read the note."

I shrugged and handed her the pink paper, turning my attention back to the box. Brushing aside the light purple tissue paper that concealed the rest of the contents, I took a deep steadying breath, drawing strength from Papa, who's lap I was still sitting in. Opening my eyes, I scooped up the first item, a tiny pink onsie with a purple flower on the front. I held it up for everyone to see and Auntie Mare and Tio Eloy made 'aww' noises. I held it to my face, wondering if the scent that clung to it was the scent of my mother. It made me smile to finally have this link to my mother. The link that I had been denied for so long.

"Does it smell like her?" I asked Papa, passing the item back to him. He seemed to be battling with emotions as he held it, but the moment I realised the battle was there, it was gone. He held it to his own face and took a hefty sniff, nothing like the elegant scenting I had done. Then he met my eyes, held them for a moment and simply nodded. This is what my mama smelled like.

As Papa passed the onsie around the circle that had now formed on his bed (and I wondered how one bed could support so much bulk) I picked up the next item. A tiny hospital bracelet with my name and mama's name on it. I looped it around my finger, marvelling at how small it was and then spotted another bracelet in the box. It was Mama's. I looped it around my own wrist and my breath caught when I realised it fit perfectly. I held the baby bracelet next to it for a moment, admiring them in all their plastic glory, before passing them to Papa to see. It continued the same way. I pulled each item from the box marvelled at it, then passed it back to Papa, who passed it on to Auntie Mare and continued around the circle.

Then I found the note in the bottom. Mama had written it just a few hours after I was born.

My Dearest Little Magenta,

I've only known you a short time. A few hours at the most, but you've already stolen my heart and my breath away from me. The first time I held your tiny body in my arms I cried with you. You're so beautiful, don't let anybody try to tell you otherwise.

I'm sitting here in bed imagining all the teenage boys I'll have to interrogate. All the hateful snobs I'll have to give what for's and all the pretty dresses I'll want to buy for you even though you just want to climb trees. I know. It was the same with my mother and me. I was jumping off the garage roof trying to fly while she was out buying frilly dresses I would never wear. But I won't force you into anything you don't want to do. I promise. I don't want you to hate me that same way I thought I hated my mother.

Speaking of Grandma, she'd just adore you to bits. I can't wait to show you off.

You are my pride and joy. Of all the things I have done in this lifetime, you make me the happiest.

Love and Kisses through eternity,

Mommy.

I read the note several times before even looking up from the paper. With each pass over the words I felt the connection between myself and Mama strengthen. Suddenly my mother wasn't just some abstract ideal everyone told me about and insisted I should love (a bit like Jesus that way), she was becoming a fully fledged person. One I had spent time with. One whom had cared for me for nearly two years of my life. One whom I know loved me. One that still does love me. No matter what.

Finally, I passed that note, too, around the circle. I looked over at Auntie Mare, who was bawling her eyes out, blubbering about cuteness and love and other such things. The guys were also looking a bit emotional, not that they would ever admit it, I'd have to hijack the security feed to prove it. Last of all, I turned all the way around in Papa's lap and looked into his face. It was completely void of any emotion or expression. It was practically his punishment face. The only thing cluing me in to the fact that I wasn't going to be punished was that I hadn't done a single thing.

I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, but instead of words, a yawn leaked out. Not the mild kind that you can hide and even manage to talk through. This yawn was the mother of all yawns.

Papa tucked my head into his shoulder a little gruffly, and spoke to the room at large. "It's getting late. Magenta needs to get some sleep, it's been a very emotional day for all of us. I suggest you all head to bed as well. Mary-Lou you can use one of the spare apartments. Tank will show you the way. I've already spoken to Ella, it should be made up."

A moment of silent stillness followed his statement which soon turned into a flurry of movement. No one wanted to disobey Papa. Then, before I knew it, we were alone. On the bed. With my baby things spread out before us. And Papa had pulled me into the tightest hug in the all history of tightest hugs.

"Papa?" I asked, but there was no reply. I tried again, "Papa?" Still nothing. His face was buried in my hair.

Finally he simply whispered, "Time for bed."

I wanted to argue. Wanted him to tell me what had gotten to him like nothing else ever had. Wanted to know his thoughts on the memory box. I wanted to sit on his bed with him for hours and just talk. Talk. Talk about all the things we'd never talked about before. But I yawned again and he laid me down on one side of the bed, pulling the covers up to my chin like he used to when I allowed him to tuck me in, carefully packed away the items into the box and climbed in on his own side. I was asleep before he'd even settled.

One. Two. You know what to do. (I'll stop there before I start singing a totally unrelated song by Aussie comedy trio Tripod). REVIEW!