Emerson sat in the passenger seat of her mother's car, casually watching the New York scenery pass her by. The route was familiar to her by now and she took pleasure in watching the signs and buildings she recognized flash her by. Her mother, on the other hand, only looked ahead of her.
Emerson Adler had always felt like a stranger to her mother. Sure, she had known the woman for seventeen years, (the entirety of her life) but instances like this reminded her just how strained her relationship with her mother really was. Not that she didn't try to work on it, they both did. However, trying was sometimes just as disappointing as not.
"So, I-uh-got that prompt for my history class.." Emerson said, trying to ease some of the tension in the car.
"Oh?" Her mother said. Emerson could tell from just the one word spoken she was not interested, but at least she had responded.
"Yeah," she continued, shifting away from the window and toward the middle of the car. "We have to argue whether women's lives improved or not from the 1920s to the 1950s." Her mother's eyebrows lifted slightly, a sign she was at least a little interested now.
"You get to choose?"
"Yeah… Supposed to be a persuasive essay, I guess," Emerson shrugged.
"When's it due?" She asked. Emerson watched the buildings change around her and knew from the sequences of turns made that they were close to home.
"By the end of the month," Emerson responded quickly.
"What's it out of?" Her mother pulled to a parking structure by their apartment.
"A hundred points. Nothing too big, but.." Emerson shrugged.
"Better get it done then," her mother finished, parking the car. Emerson only nodded her head, not really wanting the conversation to go anywhere further than it had already gone. She grabbed her bag from her seat and closed the car door, walking up the steps to her family's apartment. She heard her mother behind her lock the car and follow her up the steps.
"Is Dad home?" Emerson asked without looking back.
"Yes," her mother replied.
Internally, Emerson sighed with relief. Her mother and she could really only coexist if her father was there. He kept the two at bay, offering topics of conversation when awkward silence presented itself. He was really the glue that kept her small, broken family together. Knowing he was home lifted a little bit of the car-ride anxiety from her shoulders.
She finally reached her family's door, opening it and holding it for her mother. When she passed through, Emerson closed it again and walked to her right, entering the kitchen. Setting her stuff on the small kitchen table, she found her way to the fridge, grabbing a can of soda and cracking it open. Before she could even take a sip, something small and fuzzy touched her leg, almost making her jump. Looking down, she was relieved to see the familiar face.
"Bug, I almost had a heart attack," she bent down to her furry friend, patting his head first before scooping up the small kitten. "Who would be here to sneak you table scraps if I died, huh?" She asked sarcastically. The black cat didn't respond, only pressing himself further into her arms for warmth. Emerson slightly chuckled, taking a sip of her drink and carrying Bug with her to her room. She placed him on top of her bed, placing him on a spot with plenty of blankets for him to lay on. Bug stretched his body, releasing a silent yawn, and made himself comfortable on Emerson's bed. She shook her head at the cat's behavior. 'What I wouldn't give to have your life, Bug.'
She went to her window, the one connected to a fire escape, and opened it slightly, hoping to get some airflow into her stuffy room. She looked out the window a bit, admiring her view. She really did love New York, even if that opinion was controversial. She knew there were probably many beautiful places out there, but to her, none of them could compare to her own home state. She had always felt a weird sense of acceptance living in the land where dreams were made. There was always something to be done, always adventures to be had and journeys to take here. The thought of not living in New York almost terrified her.
Behind her, she heard two swift knocks on her already opened door, waking her up from her thoughts. She turned and saw her father, wearing his almost always present goofy grin.
"I was wondering where my Cuddle Bug went," he said, making his way to the bed where the cat slept, "but now I see I've been betrayed," he finished.
"I've tried to tell you I'm his favorite," Emerson said, watching her father pet the cat, making him purr softly.
"How was school?" he asked, changing the topic.
"Good," she replied, putting her drink down on the desk next to the window. "Kevin finally gave us our essay prompts," She said.
"So I heard," he said. "I find it odd you call almost all of your teachers by their first names," he narrowed his eyes with a hint of confusion, however, he didn't look at her.
"You find everything I do odd. I can't explain to you how my brain works," Emerson pointed out, crossing her arms on her chest.
"Give me a few months and I bet I could," he said, finally looking at her to wink. She only responded by rolling her eyes, not trying to hide the smile inching its way to her face.
Her father was a psychologist. When he was young, he went to a local community college with an undeclared major. It was there, he always told her, that he discovered his fascination with the human mind; how it works the way it does, and such. Although he had told her that he used to do lab research and run his own experiments, he now mainly focused on child psychology and was the head psychologist at the school. She never knew why he stopped his experiments; the way he would talk about them, she could tell he really loved doing it. His eyes would light up, his face would wrinkle around his eyes and lips and he would smile big. Of course, she could tell he was happy with the job he had now, but she also knew it wasn't the same for him.
"I was thinking of heading over to Lucy's to brainstorm on the prompt. Would that be cool?" Emerson asked casually, trying to stop the overflowing thoughts in her brain.
"Totally radical, Em!" Her father said, imitating a stereotypical "surfer-dude" voice. She could tell he was trying to make her laugh, he was always doing that.
"How are we related?" Emerson asked bluntly, using all the force she had in her not to chuckle. Suddenly, a voice from across the apartment caught both of their attention.
"Ryan, your work phone is ringing!" her mother said in a tone Emerson swore was specifically reserved for mothers. Even though the voice wasn't directed toward her, she could feel the six-year-old version of her coward inside of her.
"Well," her father said, giving Bug one last stroke before getting up. "Duty calls." The two smiled at each other before her father walked out. Emerson found her drink on the desk again and brought it to her lips, chugging half of it. As she drank, she walked over toward her bed, then, when finished, she put the half-empty can down on her bedside table. Her blanket laid haphazardly on her bed, since she saw no reason to make it in the morning; she was only going to get back in it, so why bother? She took off her sneakers, resting them next to the bed, and slipped into her unmade bed, burrowing herself into the comfort of her blankets and pillows.
"Whadda say, Bug? How 'bout a quick cat nap?" Bug, having been disturbed from his resting place by Emerson's feet, stretched his body lazily, then walked enthusiastically up towards her arms. He quickly plopped himself down in the crevice between her arm and her side.
"Who am I kidding? You're a pro at naps," Emerson said quietly chuckled. Taking her phone out of her pocket, she set a timer for one hour. Her phone was placed on the table beside her drink. She pet the top of Bug's head, hearing and feeling his gentle purr. The soft mewls of Bug lolled her to a dreamless sleep.
….
Below the city, Raphael sat in his bean bag chair placed in the middle of the lair, reading a comic book he had stolen from his brother, much to his demise. He hated being stuck in the sewers as much as any other person. Being caged down until sunset made him feel like a prisoner. However, he knew that the sun was still out, and would be for the next couple of hours. There was really nothing he could do except pass the time until night fell. Once the sky grew dark, he would be free to roam the city streets again. He kept reminding himself, 'Only a couple more hours.'
"Mikey!" He heard a familiar voice ring. "Stay out of my lab!" He watched the hallway where the booming voice came from, confused as to what was happening. Suddenly, an orange-clad turtle ran from the hallway that led to the lab and found refuge behind the beanbag chair Raphael was currently sitting in. He turned his head slightly to look at his brother, who was trying his hardest to make himself as small as possible behind Raphael. He then looked up and saw Donnie march his way out of the hallway, wearing goggles on his forehead.
"I don't know how many times I need to tell you to not mess with my stuff!" Donnie said, his words aimed at the turtle hiding behind Raphael.
"Well this is weird," Raphael said to himself, amused at both of the brothers' behaviors. "Usually I'm the one chewing Mikey out."
"I like it better when you get mad," Mikey said quietly so only Raphael could hear him. "When Donnie gets mad he starts using big words."
"What, are you scared of vocabulary now, Mikey?" Raphael teased.
"No!" Mikey said, feeling somewhat offended. Before anything else could be said, another voice made itself present in the room.
"Okay, everyone," Leonardo said. Raphael figured he must have heard the yelling from where he was in the dojo. "Why don't we all just calm down…" he suggested.
"Not until Mikey agrees to stop touching stuff in my lab," Donnie said, pointing at his younger brother. Mikey, who seemed to have gotten his boost of confidence, stood up from his crouched position, putting both hands on his hips defiantly.
"For your information, Geek-brain, I didn't touch anything," he said, almost offended. Donnie gave him a look, clearly not believing him. "Fine, I touched one thing but that was it!"
"Damn it, Mikey!" Donnie threw his hands up, reaching his limit with the younger turtle. "I've told you countless times not to step foot near that lab but you refuse to listen," he said, making his way closer to Mikey. "Not only do you blatantly ignore me, but you go so far as to possibly damage precious tools and equipment, the only ones I have, might I add! I don't know how to get it through your thick skull to mind your own business!" He jammed his finger into the plastron of his younger brother.
Leonardo quickly stepped between the two brothers, separating them. "Okay that's enough," he said authoritatively.
"Awe, Leo. It was just gettin' good," Raphael pouted, but unsurprisingly got no response from either three.
"Donnie, go back to the lab and cool off," Leonardo said, pointing at the hallway. Donnie opened his mouth, no doubt about to defend himself, but was cut off. "Now, Donnie," Leo said in a much more loud, stern voice. Donnie then glared at Mikey one last time before walking away, muttering angrily to himself.
"You," Leo said turning to Mikey looking a bit angrier. "Stay put. I don't want you anywhere near Donnie or the lab, got it?"
"No fair," Mikey said, crossing his arms, then finally walked toward an empty beanbag chair and plopped himself down.
"What a weird day," Raphael said, shaking his head. "Mikey annoys someone and it's not me? There a full moon out tonight or somethin'" he joked.
"You've been good today, Raph," Leo said. "Don't do anything to ruin that."
"Well, there go my plans," Raphael said calmly.
"Our only plans for today are to go out and bash some heads," Leonardo said, walking a bit closer to Raphael.
"What kind of heads are we talkin' about?" Raphael asked excitedly.
"Anybody's that needs bashing," Leonardo said with a shrug.
"So you're tellin' me our mission is to just go out and wing it?" Raphael asked, to which Leonardo only shrugged again. "Huh, no one immediately after us," Raphael thought. "That's a little… suspicious." He finished.
"Tell me about it," Leonardo said, before exiting the room and entering the dojo. Raphael looked over at Mikey, who was still sitting in his beanbag, pouting. Although he would never admit it, Raphael liked Mikey's endless enthusiasm; in his mind, it was refreshing. To see Mikey hurt was a rarity, and none of the brothers enjoyed watching him in any other state. Raphael got up from his own seat and walked over to Mikey, reaching his hand out to him. Mikey looked up from his lap and stared at Raphael's hand in confusion.
"Come on, moron." Raphael encouraged. "I'm sure there's one of those lame cartoons on that we could watch."
Mikey smiled at Raphael before taking his hand and lifting himself up. "They're not lame. They're just too complex for a simple turtle like you to understand," Mikey said, placing a hand on his chest dramatically.
"Uh-huh, sure. Keep walking, idiot," Raphael said, pushing his brother forward toward the TV. 'Only a few more hours,' Raphael thought.