Misscomunication

“How much junk do we need?” I screeched, pushing the started items to the sides of the drawer, huffing when nothing new appeared. Pulling open the next cabinet, and slamming away the pots and pans. 

“Problem, sweetheart?” my mother comforted, walking into the kitchen with her arms filled with different odd bags. 

“Yeah, I’m trying to find that one pot. You know, with that, like a twisty handle.” I managed, hearing as she dropped the bags to the counter. 

“Oh, I think that one was under the oven,” she said, sorting through the items. 

“Of course, the one place I never think of.” Opening the bottom drawer, and moving away the assorted kitchen needs. Just as I went to the back of the cabinet, a metallic shine caught my eye. 

It was a heart-shaped box that looked stuck in between the top and bottom shelf. I reached to pull it loose, and it fell into another pot, the desired pot. 

“Yes, I found it!” I reported, trying to not bang my head when jumping up. Throwing the box on the counter, forgotten. 

“Perfect, what are you making honey?” She interrogated, suspiciously eyeing me as I danced the pot in the sink. 

“Oh, just preparing brownies for tomorrow. Janice and I are making them after school,” I responded, already cleaning the pan with sudsy water. 

“That sounds nice. Where’d you find it?” She said, putting away the previously bagged objects. objects 

“This box fell into it,” I remarked, grabbing the box back from the counter. I smoothed the box under my hand, it was just a name brand, heart-shaped, chocolate box. 

There etched right under the brand name were two separate names, easily mistakable for more of the boxes design. Yet, the two names were definitely familiar, they were my parents'. My parents never celebrated Valentine's day, rolling with the idea it was just a economical advance. 

“Mom, why does this have your name on it?” I asked, my mom back stiffened for a moment. She turned to me, eyes widening when she saw the box. 

“Where did you find that?” She snapped, already lurching across the room. “This is supposed to be in the trash.” 

I stared at her for a moment, very rarely did my mother get enraged, and never about something so simple. This seemed insanely neutral to involve this outburst, but maybe it had some meaning. 

“Why?” I quipped, quickly bringing the box behind my back, trying to get it out of her reach. My mother stopped right in front of me, watching as I misplaced the heart-shaped box. She calmed for a moment, and relaxed her shoulders back. 

“Sweetie, it was just an old thing from your father. I mean you can see our names right there, Theresa and Jerry, alright nothing special. I just wanted to make sure it gets thrown away, that's all.” My mother explained calmly, but I could see her hands tighten into a fist. 

“Alright, I'll throw it away for you.” I responded, thinking over the idea in my head, maybe I could take a longer look at it before. 

“Thank you darling, just make sure you put it in the right bin” she reminded, already turning back to her previous task. It was as if someone had switched the light off, she was completely serene. 

“Of course,” I said, already reaching for the door. 

***

Trailing to the side of the house, the little heart-shaped box in hand. It seemed just a waste to throw it away, obviously this box had some meaning, it had their names on it. Even if my mom said it was unimportant, there had to be more to the story. 

Yet, nine times out of ten, Thearsea was right, and there was no true point in arguing. Maybe though I should get a second opinion, ask my dad about the strange box, and have a little more insight. That would involve sneaking the box back inside, and past mom. 

“Bella!” I jumped, turning from my spot in front of the garbage can. Assuming it was my mother, just checking in to make sure I didn’t disobey. Yet, that Irish brogue was unkistakabe, it was Mr. Miller, the neighbor. “What are you doing back there? Garbage day isn’t for another three days.” 

“Right, I was just throwing something away out here,” I replied, I could still feel the cool of adrenaline rushing through me. 

“Oh, nothing wrong then? You’re picking your nails,” Mr. Miller observed, and I looked done to my nails, then rested just on top of the box. An old anxious habit I had picked up, leaving my worry to be observed for everyone around. 

“Nothing really, just the odd last few minutes.” I answered, shuffling the heart-shaped item to my side. 

“Well do explain, does it have anything to do with that lovely box right there,” he supplied. 

“Oh, I think it was my parents.” I lifted the box in front of me, pointing to the names inscribed on the bottom. “See their names right there.” 

The neighbor peered down at the bottom, and nodded once he recognised the names. 

“Definitely seems so,” he whispered, though his eyes didn’t leave the box, peering over the entire front, even to the brand. 

“Something wrong Mr. Miller?” I asked, as the silence became heavy. His hooded eyes brightened again, and he looked back up to me. 

“Nothing, I just could swear this box is misprinted,” he said, and I furrowed to understand what he was talking about. 

“What do you mean?” I interrogated him, this might give me insight on the item. 

“Well, your parents didn’t start dating until they had graduated high school. It was such a big deal, due to, well you know,” he hinted, revealing just a whisper of light to the situation. “So, if your father had given a Valentine's gift before then. I’m sure we would all know.” 

I thought for a moment, I had always assumed my parents were together in high school. 

“I best be on my way, I can almost hear Millie from here,” he sighed. “Interesting box you got there. Have a good day.”

I watched as he hummed back to his house, leaving me in a slight standhill. What did he mean? My parents had gotten married on their tenth wedding date, they must have repeated that my entire childhood. 

Maybe, I needed to rethink the simplicity of this situation. Perhaps, this box should be kept, just for a symbolic sign of course. 

***

I tried to ask my dad, but he had almost played completely when asked. Janice had become a member of the questioning, looking up yearbooks and such. 

I picked at my nails again, this just kept getting weirder and weirder. Why didn’t mom want me to keep the box? Why did dad look as though it was cursed? And why did Mr. Miller thinks the date was so odd? Nothing was lining up. 

People said my parents had been dating since college, the date should have been there first or second year. The date would have lined up with maybe the beginning of their relationship, perhaps even a one year anniversary. 

“Stop doing that,” Janice ordered, not even looking up from her paper. She was scribbling my notes from biology, which she had skipped due to a certain ‘classmate’ walking back from lunch. 

“Sorry, I’m just fidgety. This whole thing with the box is really messing with me.” I apologized, trying to refocus on the room. Everything seemed to bring me to the box, and I could tell it was beginning to annoy Janice. 

“Well why don't you just ask them?” she asked, flipping in between my notebook and her own. “Is this an eight or a six?” 

“Eight, and I can’t ask them. I told my mom I already threw away the box,” I reasoned, even though it only made her  more angry. 

“Then don’t mention the box, just tell her it’s been on your mind,” she argued, and the class bell rang for the third time, filling the room with remaining classmates. “Just consider it, it might be better than all this useless worrying.

Maybe, I thought to myself, maybe dinner might have a little more drama tonight. 

*** 

I tried to remember everything I had planned with Janice. We had scoped out anything I would need to use, to debate with my parents, from referencing my age, to their own experiences in high school. 

Again, the situation just started becoming strange and unusual the more I looked into it. My parents were dating in college, so why did the date seem strange. There were pictures of my parents side by side, and even holding hands or kissing. It all just seemed so weird. 

So, when I was sitting in the creaking wooden chairs, secrecy was unnecessary. I probably knew more about them than I had in my entire life. I just needed for one of the bowls to be emptied, the signal for me to speak up, and then I would take my chance. 

The cheese was gone from the bowl, this was my chance, everything and anything i this moment. Throwing all caution to the wind, I pulled myself high, deep breath, remembering my lines. 

“Alright spill,” I interrupted, and lurched into standing. My parents stared at me, my mom dropping her fork back to the plate, and dad setting his glass on the table. 

“Spill what?” 

“The box, the secrets. I mean come on, this hasn’t been itching at you." I yelled.

“Oh, you're still talking about that.” my mother sighed, continuing to eat her food. 

And so they told me. Turns out, the box was from their high school days. The person who was wrong was Mr. Miller, who had no idea of their relationship at the time, no one did. The relationship was completely and underlie a secret. Mainly consisting of kisses under bleachers, and laughing through notes. 

The forgotten heart-shaped box was from their sophomore year of high school, the first Valentine's day together. My grandparents hated the other family, something about bad blood. So, my parents didn’t exactly advertise anything. 

Therefore, my mother had snuck into her house, the one we currently resided in, and gave her the box. The names were etched using his own fingernail, on the walk there. Just after school, and the sun leaves the streets in darkness. My mom's parents wouldn't be home till seven, well so they thought. 

My grandmother had come home early, which left my parents scrabbling for a way out. Involving my dad trifling out the garage, adn the box thrown into the cupboard, not to be seen for another twenty years. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me when you saw the box?” I asked my mother, who looked quite bashful. 

“Well, we thought you might be,” she blushed. “Disappointed I guess. We just thought it wasn’t that big of a deal. I’m sorry” 

***

The next day, I came home to a bag on the kitchen counter. Inside was an array of chocolate, and a little note on the side. It was addressed to me by my parents. 

“Hopefully, you like the junk.”