Neil’s parents returned roughly around
seven. Roughly, because they arrived sometime before Neil had woken up from a
nap he hadn’t meant to take. His phone told him that it was seven in the
evening. He stood, finally moving himself from the couch, and walked into the
kitchen.
They were standing by the table, facing him.
There was a pizza box on the table, which was open. “Neil,” his dad said, “We have
something to say.”
Neil nodded.
“We haven’t been telling you everything,”
his mom said, “About our lives.”
Neil was relieved that he hadn’t done
anything wrong. He didn’t even stop to consider what exactly they meant by not telling you everything.
“We got some pizza,” his dad said, “This all
might go down smoother with a slice, I thought.”
“Cool,” Neil said. He walked over to the
kitchen cabinet. He didn’t know why his parents seemed so somber. But he wasn’t
feeling bothered.
“Those meetings we go to,” his mom said,
“The ones we say you can’t go to until you’re older. They’re with other people
like us.”
Neil grabbed a plate, “What do you mean?”
“I mean, Neil, you’re not like the other
kids,” his mom said, “Surely you’ve noticed it? A predilection for flame, or
maybe, water?”
“Uh,” Neil said, throwing a slice down on
his plate, “Not really.”
“Maybe you haven’t noticed it,” his dad
said, “But it’s there.”
“Ok,” Neil said, “Sure. But, I don’t think
I’m really all that special. I don’t really even do anything. I just realized
today that I spend all my time sitting around, playing video games or watching
television. I mean I used to play baseball but that’s not really a… I don’t do
it anymore. There’s track, but I’m off season for that.”
“That’s fine,” his mom said, “We’ve never
been against your habits. We think they’re fine. You’re fine.”
“Thanks,” Neil said, biting a slice.
His dad rested a hand on his shoulder.
It startled Neil enough that he didn’t move
for a second. When he did, his dad’s hand slipped away. “This is a big deal,”
Neil said, “Isn’t it? This isn’t going to be like that time you announced that
we were going to start recycling.” There’d been a similarly somber event for
that. As there had been that one time his dog had died. His parents had been
prepared to break the news to him but Asta had texted him long before even they
had known.
“We’re members of an organization dedicated
to the worship of the Thalassic Pyreweaver,” Neil’s father said, “and to the
preservation of the arts of pyreweaving and thalassism.”
“What?” Neil asked, “Really?”
“Yes, really,” his dad said, “We’re known
more commonly as the Greys.”
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