So many thoughts raced through my head during the flight. I was going to give my mom a piece of my mind. I was going to tell her how angered I was that she had hurt me even though she should have been able to feel my emotions. But then I felt guilty.

Maybe my mom didn't have those powers; after all, mine hadn't shown up until recently. But perhaps she did have powers; because when I was thirteen, she suddenly switched to supporting me. After enough of my suffering, she couldn't take it anymore, and she caved in to my needs! If that was the case, how could she be so… ignorant?

But then again, she was always so scatterbrained. She really was like a child who just didn't know better. You can't get mad at a child for being ignorant, except my mother wasn't a child! She was a grown woman who had a child who needed her.

I flip-flopped like this all the way to Phoenix.

I finally decided to express my disappointment to my mom. As we landed, I prepared my totally rational and calm explanation.

"Jack! Honey!" My mother cried as soon as she saw me, bouncing on her toes like an excited five-year-old. As soon as I saw this, all my aggression dissipated. I saw her, and I couldn't stay angry with her.

"Hi, mom," I called out. She surged forth and hugged me.

"I'm so happy to see you again!" She squealed.

"Me too!" I muffled into her shoulder.

I let her prattle on about her life on the way home. She went on about Phil and his career and their living conditions. I didn't really pay attention because it was way too much too fast. I nodded politely while my diaphragm sunk into my stomach. When we got to her house, I noticed that it was empty.

"Hey, where's Phil?" I asked nonchalantly.

"He's at an away game, honey!" Mom answered, "I told you on the way here. I stayed here for your visit!"

She sat on the couch and patted the spot beside her. I sighed and plopped myself next to her.

"So?" she grinned at me.

"What?" I felt heavy anticipation coming from her; she wanted something from me.

"You know…" She hinted. She was excited. She seemed to believe that I was playing coy. Then it dawned on me.

"Oh, shoot!" I exclaimed, "I left the camera at home!"

"Oh, my God! Are you serious!" She exclaimed, "I kept emailing you about that!"

"I've been distracted," I muttered.

"Ugh, you always do this," Mom said as she got up, "You never listen to me."

She felt slighted and personally attacked as if I had done this on purpose to hurt her.

"I know, Mom," I said, falling easily into old habits, "It's alright. I'll email you the photos when I get back."

"But I wanted to see them now." Mom whined.

"I know," I reassured her. I frowned. I was the parent again. This wasn't why I came here.

"Mom," I said slowly. She looked up at me. Her annoyance had been placated.

"Do you…" I wanted to describe my powers in as little words as possible, "understand how others feel?"

My mom felt confused and offended. She must have thought I was insulting her intelligence. I sighed in exasperation and interrupted her before she could start defending herself.

"I mean…" I tried to get my thoughts collected, "Do you ever feel anyone else's emotions as your own?"

She scrunched her face up, confused.

"Can't you feel how tired I am?" I asked pointedly.

She looked at me. She felt regret.

"Am I doing it again?" She whispered.

"Doing what?" I asked, taken aback. Could she read me? Was she reading me now?

"Stamping you down." She answered. I blinked. She wasn't reading me; she was recognizing her past behavior.

"What makes you say that?" I asked.

Mom looked down. "Because you're talking to me like that again."

I sagged into the couch. She had no idea about empathic powers. She wasn't picking up on my emotions, she was picking up on my language and tone. I remember that I got very assertive about my situation when I was a tween. I desperately did not want to hit female puberty.

I mean, I did anyway because I started hormone-blockers much too late, in my opinion.

"Are you ok, Be… I mean, Jack?" Mom slipped up.

I looked up at her.

"Life is getting weird for me," I admitted. Mom came back to the couch and sat near me.

"Is it because of 'the incident?'" she asked. I paused I slowly realized something. My new skills only appeared after "the incident." Were they triggered by that event?

"Maybe," I said slowly, "Things did get weird after that."

"How so, sweetie?" Mom asked. I looked at her. I didn't want her to think I was crazy. I needed to find a way to ease her into this.

"What were your parents like?" I asked. My mom blinked. She was not prepared for a question like that.

"Huh?" she blurted. "My parents?"

"Yeah," I said nervously, "I mean, I know Grandma died young, but what about your dad? I've never really heard about him."

She looked off into the distance.

"He took care of me until he couldn't," she reminisced, "I don't know that much else about him. I stayed with my mom until she couldn't take care of me either. Then I lived with Obaa."

Obaa was Mom's nickname for her grandmother. I knew about this, though.

"What can you tell me about your dad?" I pushed, "Is he still alive?"

"I think he is," Mom said with considerable uncertainty. "I get letters from him every now and then."

I gaped. "What?!"

Mom flinched, startled. "Yeah. I don't read them, though."

"Why not?!" I exclaim.

"Because he walked out on me and my mom," Mom said indignantly. I frowned.

"Didn't you walk out on Dad?"

"Well, yeah," Mom blushed, "but that's different. I took you with me."

I was a little confused about her logic, but it felt like she resented her father for ditching her. Which, I guess, explains why her situation is different because, unlike her dad, she didn't ditch me.

"Mom," I said carefully.

"What?" She answered back with just as much care.

"Would you mind if I looked at those letters?"