Life, Love & A Little Coffee

Chapter Four- Fading Genes

Ada glanced across the dinner table several times, noting her brother's usual enthusiasm was missing and he hardly touched his dinner. He sat there poking at the food, staring off into a haze.

The half hour they spent at the dinner table was the longest of Ada's life. Her father told her he had to talk to them both after dinner and ever since then, time moved at a snail's pace. The hour since they arrived back home felt like twenty hours and the dinner normally filled with chatter was silent, minus a few coughs and utensils hitting the plates.

It was after dinner when they moved to the porch, her parents telling her and her brother they needed to talk about something. Knowing her mom and dad had come from a doctor's appointment, she realized whatever was happening would be big.

There was about fifteen minutes of pacing and throat clearing from her father before her mother got a few words out of her mouth; four to be exact. Four words that caused Ada's face to turn white, her hair to stand up on her arms, her body to tighten and shake and her breath to catch.

If Peter had said anything, she couldn't hear him; but she was certain no one had said a word after those four words. Every time Ada tried to, she opened her mouth to ask some question she couldn't think of or give some reassurance she couldn't muster, but the words never came to her, so she had to close her mouth. This went on for another lifetime.

Ada wanted to run away from all this, but her feet wouldn't do much of anything, no matter how much she willed them to. She wanted to plead to the heavens to take this all back. She wasn't religious at all, but it couldn't hurt, could it?

The sun was halfway through its descent, just above the tree line in the distance. The sky was full of hues of pinks and oranges and the birds were finding their way home to their young. Spring air was becoming more brisk as evening neared, prickling at her skin. Its breeze whistled as it passed through the branches and twigs and made her mother's long curls dance.

Ada wondered what she'd remember about this day.

Would she remember that awkward moment in class or the kind comments from Mr. B? Would she recall her brother hinting at his first crush? What would she take out of this day besides the words of her parents that shook the foundation of their way of life?

Whether it had been five minutes or an hour since her mother's confession, Ada couldn't be certain. The only thing she was certain of in that moment was her bloodshot eyes and clenched grasp on the armrest of the porch swing was giving her away and the fact that she was already sitting down was the only thing stopping her from crumbling into a thousand pieces and letting the evening's breeze sweep her remains between the paint-chipped floor boards.

Ada wiped her tear-filled eyes with her free, trembling hand and opened her mouth to speak, but only a slight squeak escaped her lips. She sucked in a slow, shaky breath, one after another, taking in the spring air. The tears gathered there beneath her eyelids, threatening Ada with tears she seemed to be in an endless supply of.

It happened three or four times so far. Ada would try to gain her composure, to look strong in front of her parents and appear somewhat composed in front of Peter. Yet every time Ada felt like she'd managed, she tried to speak and instead fell apart.

It felt like over five minutes of unrelenting pain, more than an hour of agonizing fear.

"It's," her voice came out as little more than a faint whimper and Ada let out a cough to strengthen it. "It's genetic, isn't it?" Ada questioned as she stared at the old beat up floor board, focusing on a nail coming up.

Her mother's heavy breaths filled the quieting dusk in an almost deafening way. "It's genetic, yes. My mom had it. She started showing symptoms in her early forties, but we didn't know what it was until much later." Each word her mother spoke came out shaky, catching in her throat before trickling out of her mouth.