the yelling is nearly unbearable. arguments of ‘you pushed me too far’ and ‘you promised until death do us part’ echo throughout the house and he can’t concentrate. his math homework is splayed out on the table and thin fingers grasp onto a pencil as he thinks as hard as he can to add the simple numbers.
it’s useless though; they’re not going to stop and he knows it. from when his mother left that afternoon, to when his father came back into the house, he knew it wouldn’t get quieter anytime soon.
blaire oxford is seven years old and he doesn’t know why his parents won’t stop fighting.
they moved into the bedroom, and blaire thinks that he can maybe finish his math homework now.
the arguing is muffled by the closed door and he saw his daddy roll a suitcase out of the closet before they slammed it shut. he thinks maybe he’ll be leaving for a business trip, and when he comes back, blaire wonders if maybe they can go get ice cream.
his dad always gets him ice cream when he comes back from trips.
they opened the bedroom door about fifteen minues ago, and blaire can see his mother standing in the kitchen next to the counter. every time that they fight, they tell him to stay in the living room, so that’s where he sits, fingers clutching a crayon now as he doodles on the back of his spelling paper. (his teacher, the next day, will tell him that spelling papers are for spelling, blaire and not for drawing).
his daddy comes out, rolling a suitcase and blaire smiles at him through the hallway.
his daddy doesn’t smile back.
his daddy comes in and kisses him on the forehead, tells him he loves him so much. blaire stands and hugs his knees tightly, knowing that he’ll see him soon and he can’t wait to get his art picture back from the day before to show him when he gets home.
when he sits back down on the couch, blaire doesn’t even notice the door snapping shut behind him.
two months after.
blaire adds another drawing to his green folder to show his daddy, of them getting ice cream when he gets back.