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Leaning back into the seat, I took another long drag of cigarette. I let my arm dangle out of the car window and slowly exhaled. Reclining deeper into the leather seat, attempting to loosen my muscles. I replayed the scene in my head, brows furrowing.

How could I think it would be perfectly fine? This is real life. Not some sort of clichéd movie to warm the soul.

I slammed the steering wheel and readjusted my jacket and seatbelt again, even though I’m about to leave. I propped my arm against the frame of the window, running a hand once again through my already thoroughly tousled hair. All that expensive gelling and effort, wasted. Scoffing, I took another drag and let the smoke float over me. My eyes began to wander to the picture peeking out of the glove box.

The torn Polaroid showed a well-dressed family standing closely together underneath the glaring sun. Their postures were painfully straight and their smiles did not reach their eyes. This was taken on an Easter Sunday outside the church. I was in a suffocating blue suit next to my black clad older brother. My father, in his black preacher’s robes, stood next to my mother, his hand touching the white fabric of her shoulder, but not quite touching her. That day he preached about family, love and forgiveness. He preached about family sticking together and being there for one another no matter what.

My eyes fixed themselves on my father’s face, his last words to me ringing in my ears.

“You are no son of mine. Get out of my house. Now!”

Tearing my eyes away from his forced smile, I kept studying the photo. My eyes fell on Ahiezer and my teeth gritted. The brother who helps, was he?

Sure, he helped, I mused. If by help, you mean adding to the hysteria and telling me to go to hell for sinning against God, then yes. He was a helpful brother. He was forgetting, of course, his little speech before I was deemed a sinner.

“Matthew, whatever you need to tell us, we will be here and support you.”

What a load of bullshit.

Looking away from my brother in disgust, my eyes fell onto my mother’s soft face. The more I took in her eyes, the more my head spun. Her eyes are so different now.

A teacup flew at my face and I ducked just in time. I looked up to see her arm outstretched, tears running down her face. Her eyes looked past where I was standing. She doesn’t see me anymore.

My eyes glazed over the crinkled photo again, tracing the figures, almost missing the gaps between us. The blue beamed out from the black and white, making me grimace. My hair stood out in odd places, unlike the well groomed sleek hairs on their heads.

I flung the photograph, cursing as my hand bruised against the steering wheel. Letting it sit on the dashboard, I took one final drag before dumping it out the window. I sat there, slowly exhaling the last of the smoke. I stayed, reclined in my seat for a while longer before stepping outside.

Sighing, I made my way to my door, fishing out my keys, only to have it open before me with a head poking out. I grinned sheepishly and made my way inside; avoiding the small scowl I received.

“How did it go?”

Shaking my head, I accepted defeat and allowed myself to be dragged through the house. My eyes glanced at the many photos of us that decorated the walls and mantelpiece. As I got pulled past the couch we picked out, my mouth involuntarily curled into a smile. We finally reached our kitchen and I was sat down, a pot of tea waiting for me as usual. I reached out and smiled at Nathan, the golden bands on our fourth finger gleaming.