An hour later, my mom knocked softly on my bedroom door, her gentle voice coaxing me to open up. "Gabriel, sweetie, can I come in?" she asked, her tone warm and inviting.
I hesitated, still simmering with anger and frustration from the earlier confrontation with my stepdad. The memory of his harsh words and condescending tone lingered in my mind, making me want to retreat further into my shell. But my mom's gentle voice put me at ease, and I nodded, opening the door to let her in.
She sat down beside me on the bed, her eyes filled with concern. "Hey, kiddo, why didn't you have dinner? You must be starving," she asked, her brow furrowed with worry.
I shrugged, trying to brush it off. "I'm not hungry, Mom. I don't have an appetite," I replied, my voice flat and unconvincing.
My mom knew me too well, and she saw right through my excuse. "Gabriel, don't give me that. You're upset about what happened with Mr. Thompson, aren't you?" she asked, her voice soft and probing.
I sighed, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me. Anger, frustration, and hurt all battled for dominance, making it hard for me to articulate my feelings. "Mom, I just can't stand him, okay? He's always criticizing me, always making me feel like I'm not good enough. Like I'm some kind of disappointment to him," I said, my voice cracking with emotion.
My mom put a gentle hand on my shoulder, her touch warm and comforting. "Gabriel, I know it's tough, but try to give him a chance. Get to know him better. He's trying to be a part of our lives, and I think he genuinely cares about us," she said, her voice filled with a quiet optimism.
I shook my head, feeling a lump form in my throat. "I don't know, Mom. I just wish...I wish I could go live with Dad," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
My mom's expression softened, and she pulled me into a warm hug. "Oh, sweetie, I know you miss your dad, but that's not an option right now. We need to make this work, for all of us. Can you try, for me?" she asked, her voice filled with a quiet pleading.
I nodded, feeling a pang of guilt for wanting to abandon my mom and stepdad. But the thought of living with my dad, of escaping the tension and stress of my current situation, was tempting. I knew it wasn't a realistic option, but it was a comforting fantasy nonetheless.
"I'll try, Mom," I said finally, my voice small and uncertain.
My mom smiled, her eyes shining with tears. "That's all I can ask for, kiddo. Now, how about some dinner? I can heat up some leftovers for you," she said, her voice warm and nurturing.
I nodded, feeling a small sense of gratitude towards my mom. Maybe, just maybe, things would get better. Maybe I could learn to tolerate my stepdad, even grow to like him. But for now, I just needed some time to process my emotions and figure out how to navigate this complicated web of relationships.
As I sat at the dinner table, mechanically shoveling food into my mouth, my mom began to whisper to my stepdad, her voice barely audible. She was trying to have a conversation with him without me noticing, but I couldn't help but overhear.
"You know, dear, maybe you should try to be a bit easier on Gabriel," she said, her voice laced with concern. "He's still adjusting to having you around, and your constant criticism is really getting to him."
My stepdad, Mr. Thompson, looked up from his own dinner, his expression skeptical. "Easier on him? He needs to toughen up, learn to take criticism. That's the only way he'll succeed in life," he replied, his voice firm but dismissive.
My mom placed a gentle hand on his arm, her touch calming. "I understand what you're saying, but Gabriel's still a teenager. He's sensitive, and he needs guidance, not constant criticism. You're always focusing on what he's doing wrong, never on what he's doing right."
Mr. Thompson snorted, his expression incredulous. "Sensitive? He's too soft, that's his problem. I'm just trying to prepare him for the real world. You're always coddling him, making excuses for him. That's not going to help him in the long run."
My mom's voice took on a soothing quality, her words dripping with empathy. "I know you're trying to help, dear, but maybe there's a better way to do it. Maybe instead of always focusing on what he's doing wrong, you could try to find something he's doing right and praise him for it. Build him up, make him feel confident and capable."
Mr. Thompson raised an eyebrow, his expression unconvinced. "Praise him? For what? He's not exactly setting the world on fire with his grades or his basketball game. He's just average, at best."
My mom's grip on his arm tightened, her voice taking on a firmer tone. "That's not the point, dear. The point is to build him up, to make him feel confident and capable. You're always tearing him down, and it's not helping. It's just making him feel worse about himself."
Mr. Thompson sighed, his expression softening slightly. "Fine, I'll try to be more... diplomatic in my criticism. But I'm still not going to go easy on him. He needs to learn to take it."
My mom smiled, her eyes shining with approval. "That's all I can ask for, dear. Thank you."
Mr. Thompson walked over to my table, his footsteps echoing through the room with a sense of hesitation. He cleared his throat, sounding quite nonchalant, but his eyes betrayed a hint of nervousness. "Hey, Gabriel, can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked, his tone casual, as if he was asking me about the weather, but his body language screamed otherwise.
I looked up from my food, slightly surprised by his sudden interest in talking to me. I had been lost in my own world, trying to escape the tension that had been building up between us. "Yeah, sure," I replied, my voice neutral, trying to hide my skepticism.
Mr. Thompson pulled out a chair and sat down, his movements relaxed, but his eyes darted around the room, as if searching for an escape route. "Listen, I wanted to apologize for earlier," he began, his voice sounding almost sincere, but his words were laced with a hint of insincerity. "I know I can be a bit... harsh sometimes, and I realize that my words might have come across as hurtful."
I raised an eyebrow, my skepticism growing. "A bit harsh" was an understatement. He had been downright cruel, his words cutting deep into my soul. But I wasn't going to argue with him. I just wanted to hear him out.
"It's just that I want the best for you, Gabriel," he continued, his voice sounding almost passionate, but his eyes lacked the conviction to back it up. "I know you're capable of great things, and I don't want to see you waste your potential."
I shrugged, still unsure of where this was going. Was he genuinely trying to make amends, or was this just another ploy to manipulate me? "Okay..."
Mr. Thompson leaned forward, his eyes locked on mine, his gaze intense. "I know I'm not your real dad, but I'm trying to be a good stepdad to you," he said, his voice laced with a hint of desperation. "And I promise to work on my... delivery, let's say. I'll try to be more constructive in my criticism, instead of just tearing you down."
I studied him, searching for any sign of insincerity. His eyes seemed genuine, his words sounded heartfelt, but I had been burned before. I wasn't going to let my guard down easily.
"Okay, thanks," I said finally, my voice a little softer, but still cautious.
Mr. Thompson smiled, a small, awkward smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "No problem, kiddo. Let's start fresh, okay?" he said, his voice filled with a sense of hope, but I could sense the underlying tension, the unspoken words that hung in the air like a challenge.