Some anniversaries are good things - For slowlyburn

[thepainted_lady]

Lydia had missed the last fourteen birthdays with her daughter. To be sure, sometimes she'd managed to send cards, but she hadn't always been able to get away, to send them, and to send too much would risk them tracking back to her. And letting the family know about her past, to be able to make the effort, wasn't always easy. Trips to the post office would be noted, possibly questioned. She'd tried, but she knew it hadn't nearly been enough.

This year, she was determined to do better.

That Amanda was turning fifteen, such a painful year in Lydia's own past, she was sort of trying not to focus on. It was going to be a good day. She was still getting to know her daughter, and had been uncertain what, exactly, she'd like, but she had one idea for part of spending the day she hoped she would approve of, at least, if the gifts weren't quite...right.

All gaily wrapped in bright paper, she had several packages. Inside were: a hand-woven charm bracelet; a brightly colored, butterfly hoodie; and a smaller box containing an aquamarine belly button ring. She has a matching amethyst--her birthstone--one in another box...as a thought that, maybe, if Amanda wants...they could go into town and get piercings done at the same time.

She's let the right people know it's Amanda's birthday, and there will be a larger celebration later, but for now, she just wants to have some time that's just hers with the daughter she's spent too much time away from.

Comments

[slowlyburn.livejournal.com]

Most birthdays were woken up to Aunt Carol's hands gently prying her awake with soft, tone deaf singing of Happy Birthday as she held a cake with however many candles her age was that day, all lit up and ready for her to huff away with a single breath. Poof. All gone. And every year, even if it was a school day, Aunt Carol always allowed her to play hookie--even if she was a stern enforcer against it--just for this day. When she was younger, Aunt Carol always said: "It's because you made my wish come true." Being told at three that you were adopted went a lot smoother with that explanation, even if you were never told the whole story, much less anything about your mother.

This birthday there were no songs--at least not yet--and no cakes lit with candles that her uncle got it into his very, very lame head to make them the "hard to blow out" kind when she began puberty. Every single time he did this, especially when she just woke up, it became less and less amusing. Aunt Carol thought so, too.

Yawning she threw her legs over the cot and stretched her arms heavenward. She was mindful not to wake up Jennie, the little girl she had grown attached to since Gail and Chris offered to make Amanda apart of their act, who was fast asleep, lightly sucking her thumb. Rubbing her eyes she made her way towards her mother's trailer, once dressed in casual attire so she wouldn't sully her costume while doing chores, lightly knocking on the door after hopping on the wooden steps. She wasn't expecting much, really, but, it became a bit of a habit to say "good morning" to her mother. Mostly, because she spent fourteen years of her life not being able to. Fourteen years of her life not even knowing what she really looked like, save what her Aunt had told her, which wasn't much.