Family is complicated. One of the most valuable things Patrick Curtis learned in seventeen years. He watches people get confused when he tries to explain his; how they can't understand that family isn't just the thing you're born into. Kids at school think family lives and dies at birth and death. Your Uncle is your parent's brother, your aunt is your parent's sister, your siblings are your parents' other kids. Patrick Curtis knows different.

His family is bigger than one would have expected out of a kid whose father is dead and who hasn't seen his mother since the age of two. Fifteen people to be exact. (Including Patrick's youngest cousin, Charlotte, who's only three weeks old.) It doesn't matter that only ten of them are actually related to him, they're all his family.

He finds it funny that in 1983, no one gets that. His teacher's are always confused when his Uncle Steve or Uncle Bit come in for parent teacher interviews when his blood relatives (and official guardians) can't. His friends don't understand how he hasn't made a fortune off of babysitting money because, even though they understand not taking money from family, Liza and Rosie aren't his family. Not really. It's something that will continue to haunt him years later when Charlotte brings him in for fifth grade show and tell, and introduces him as her brother. Trying to explain would be the biggest pain in the ass, but that's a story for later.

Right now, Patrick is sitting at the counter of a waffle house wondering how complicated family can really be. How complicated it has to be for him to be scared right now. But what does today really matter? He's practically all grown up, just started his last year of highschool. He's been raised by three amazing women and four incredible men. He's got eight awesome cousins, though they all just think of him as an older brother. He's got all the family he needs, so he can't understand why he's so scared. Can't understand why—after all these years of not needing her, years of already having a family—he's so scared to meet his mother.

Patrick feels like a little kid, sitting on a stool at the counter unable to help swivelling back and forth. As a kid, though he never said it out loud, he wanted nothing more than to meet his parents. (His mindset changed once he realized that even if he didn't know the people who brought him into the world, he still knew his parents.) But now that that childhood wish was finally being fulfilled, he wasn't sure he wanted it. Patrick groans as he makes the mistake of resting his hands against the countertop. No amount of napkins can stop his hands from feeling perpetually sticky.

He doesn't see her come in. Doesn't even recognize the blonde woman that sits down on the empty stool next to him. She knows exactly who he is, even before she sees his face. Sandra Hamilton, neé Jonhnson, knows exactly who she's sitting beside. Patrick Curtis is the spitting image of his daddy.

"Hi, Patrick." She struggles to say Patrick instead of baby. He's her baby, but he's not. He's not a baby anymore, he's seventeen… and he's not hers. He hasn't been hers since he was two-years-old, and it hurts. It hurts her to see her son grown and to know she was never a part of it.

"Hi." He knows it's her now, and not just because she pretty much just introduced herself. Patrick's heard that voice before, snippets of it float across his memories and dreams. He could never make out any words, but he couldn't forget it.

Then Patrick gets up and he hugs his mother. It's awkward and uncomfortable and he doesn't completely wrap his arms around her because of his sticky hands, but he hugs her. He does it because the same day he lost his mother, she lost a son. He has to keep reminding himself of that.

"Look at you, all grown up. You look exactly like your daddy."

He wonders if it hurts, him looking exactly like his dad. If she feels like ice was just dropped down her back, the same way Patrick did when he found that picture in Steve's stuff last year. Maybe it's like seeing a ghost, and he'll say something too close to home and she'll go white. He did it to his Uncle Darry once.

"How've you been?" Everyone else in the waffle house assumes their strangers, and Patrick guesses they are. He knows nothing about the woman society expects him to call mom.

She wants to tell him about her husband, about how he's technically an older brother, about the fact that she misses him every single day, but she doesn't. She smiles, "I've been good. Living life, I guess."

Patrick wonders what living life means, but thinks it must be something expensive judging by the diamond ring on her finger. He knows she has a right to move on with her life. A right to not be held accountable for a dumb mistake she made when she was sixteen. His only problem with that is: he's the dumb mistake. "Got any kids?"

He doesn't say other. As much as it might hurt, Patrick hasn't been her kid for a long time.

"My husband and I have a daughter. Callie." She's uncomfortable, not wanting him to think she just left him and started a new family. Even though that's almost what she did. He gets it though, he really does. Patrick doesn't mind too much; he has a family, his mother should be able to have one too. "I guess that makes you a big brother then."

He doesn't point out that he's already a big brother. He drives his cousins to school and pre-school in the mornings. He teases Billy when the kid's ego gets a little too big and builds him up when it gets a little too small. He lets Matt sit in the front seat of his car, pretending to drive and race in the indy. And when Charlotte was born, it was Patrick—not Darry, not JD, not Caroline—who got to hold her first (other than her parents.) He doesn't say anything about that and just smiles. "Yeah, I guess."

"Enough about me though, I want to know about you."

He tells her what someone would expect to hear about a seventeen year old kid. He talks about his childhood. The appendectomy he got when he was eleven, the first fight he ever got into a twelve. He tells her about school; how he's a member of the national honours society, how he plays baseball for the school team. He tells her about his girlfriend and how wonderful she is, mentions how he's going to ask her out to homecoming. Patrick raves about his driving test, how Steve threw the keys to his old '65 Pontiac at him, how long it took him to realize his uncle was giving him the car. He talks about his uncles and his relationship with them, how they can go from parents to uncles.

Sandy smiles through all of it, nodding and laughing with every story. She's happy that he's happy, of course she is. But… she can't help but feel disappointed. Part of her, a bigger part than she was willing to admit, wanted Patrick to be unhappy. Maybe then she could've gotten her little boy back… Sandy knows that no one in their right mind would leave the life her son's got.

He leaves a lot of things out. He doesn't tell her how Aunt Caroline would come into his hospital room in between shifts, sneaking him jello and his dad's old teddy bear. He keeps the fact that Aunt Annie had patched up his face and gave him a cookie and a hug after his fight (she had heard what the other kid said about his dad) a secret. The hours spent at the baseball diamond with Keith Matthews and his dad's old baseball glove were omitted, so too was the information that Steve and Ponyboy had been teaching him how to drive since he was ten.

She sighs, "Your dad would have loved you."

He knows that better than she does. Almost a year ago, Steve Randle finally worked up the courage to go through his old war things. That included the things that had belonged to Sodapop that Steve had kept after he died. He had asked Patrick, Ponyboy, and Darry to come help go through it all. Ponyboy was the one who found the picture, a one-year-old Patrick grinning up at the camera. They would've just assumed it had somehow gotten in there from Steve's collection of pictures of the kid if they hadn't seen the handwriting across the back. "Patrick Curits, your son" was written across the back in Sandy's handwriting but it was the thing just below it that reduced Patrick to tears. "Love you buddy," was written in Soda's chicken scratch just under what Sandy had written. After sixteen years, Patrick learned that his father had in fact known of his existence. After sixteen years he learned that his father had loved him.

They found the letter Sandy had written a few minutes later, where she explained why she lied. The photo and the letter were heavily creased and stained with fingerprints, they were looked at often. Patrick had that photo, with his dad's words facing out, in a frame in his room.

He nods. "Thanks."

Sandy assumes her letter never made it to Sodapop. She hadn't included a return address on the envelope, so she knew he wouldn't be able to write back even if he wanted to. What made her think he never got it was the fact that Ponyboy and Darry were shocked to find out they had a nephew. She figures Soda would have told them as soon as he could.

Sodapop Curtis received that letter and cried. He decided that he was going to tell his brothers when he got home. Telling them you have a son you don't know about wasn't something that should be put in a letter, he thought. He kept that picture in his pocket whenever he wasn't on patrol, not wanting to ruin it. He was killed three weeks later.

"Mom… do you regret giving me up?" It's the first time he's called her mom to her face, and he doesn't mean too, it just slips out. Patrick honestly believes the label is more suited to his aunts, but he doesn't say that.

Her heart swells; he called her mom. Sandy has to keep herself from laughing and smiling and crying all at once. He called her mom. It takes a minute to realize there was a question attached to the name. "Do you regret giving me up?"

The answer is not a simple yes or no like he wants. Of course she regretted it. Almost immediately she wanted to turn back into that little house and take her son back. They'd manage, she'd thought as she got into her car without him, we can manage. But still Sandy backed her car out and drove away without her little boy. For months she longed for her child back. She wanted to see him grinning at nothing or babbling to the wall. She wanted to hear him call her "mama" and she wanted nothing more than to hold him. Sandy wanted her son back, and she regretted ever giving him up.

But then there was the other side. They were living in their car, and she couldn't provide for him. She didn't have anybody to watch him while she picked up double and triple-shifts. Dropping him off at Soda's old house was the best decision she's ever made. Look at him: the kid is smart, has a car, has a girlfriend, has a job, is a responsible teenager. He lives in a good house where they don't worry about the food on the table. He's a good person. She could never have given him any of that, never shaped him into the person he is. And, even though Sandy hates to admit it, if she had kept Patrick she wouldn't have married Russell and Callie would never have been born. Sandra Hamilton cannot imagine life without her daughter. She could imagine it without her son.

She shakes her head, "No. At first I did, but after seeing the person you are… I could have never given you any of what your uncles have."

He nods, wondering whether he should be happy with that answer. She's right, and he knows it. She did a good thing giving him up, but sometimes he wonders what would be different if she hadn't.

They talk for a bit longer, ordering a little more food and some drinks. The conversation weaves its way through topics, but it mainly stays focused on PAtrick. Once or twice they talk about Soda, and Patrick hears about his father from a new perspective. Eventually though, the conversation dwindles down.

"We've recently just moved to Colorado." She says, writing out a number on a napkin. "I don't know if you want to, but you can call. That's my number."

"Thanks." He pockets the napkin, unsure whether he wants to call or not. "I will."

She lets him leave first after hearing that his uncles have been waiting outside this whole time. They've never forgiven her for not telling Soda about his son, and Patrick doesn't blame them. It's the one thing he's ever let himself be mad at his mother for. If she hadn't lied, he could have at least had two years with his father. He wouldn't have remembered them, but at least they would've happened.

"You tell them thanks for me, ok honey?" The honey just slips out of her mouth, but he doesn't seem bothered by it.

"For what?"

She smiles. "For raising such an amazing human being."

Patrick's quiet on the ride home in the back of his Uncle's truck. As a kid, he wanted nothing more than to meet his parents. It was his ultimate wish, and he had finally gotten some of it fulfilled. It didn't feel as good as he thought it would. It didn't fill some gaping hole he thought he had. It was just pretty normal, and almost—if he was being honest—a little bit of a dissapointment.

He kept the phone number and he called her every so often. He called her mom whenever they talked, not wanting to hurt her feelings. He kept her updated on his life, but that was the extent of their relationship. His friends didn't understand. They all thought he'd move out and go live with his mother after that one meeting. They didn't get why he wasn't all excited to talk to her or to see her whenever she was in town. She was his mother, he was supposed to love her. They didn't get why he wasn't over the moon after that one visit, and neither did Patrick. But, like I said, Family is complicated.

It's late and I'm tired so I probably shouldn't post this, but I've been working on it all day and I really wanted to put it out there. So, here goes.

I have an obsession with the next generation, and more specifically Patrick Curtis. He's been bouncing around in my head a lot, and I've been trying to put him on paper as much as possible. Thanks for indulging. I appreciate all the reads and reviews!

S.E. Hinton owns everything but Patrick