Love Without Limits
1584 Words
Half-way up the stairs, I heard my father say: "I told you he didn't hate you, Cece. He loves you just like I do, honey."
"I know, I just," she sobbed, "Every time he calls me mommy, I keep waiting for that sarcasm, that attitude I've seen from the other kids, but he's so sweet and caring. I love him to bits, and I'm grateful Tina gave birth to him, but I sometimes wonder if I'm overstepping too much."
"You're not, Cece," I heard Dad say. "Trust me, if Dreson hated you, he would have shown it by now. It's been four years, baby, you can stop worrying now and put those dark thoughts aside."
Let me elaborate a little here.
You see, father and I are white. Celestia's skin is dark brown, but people called her black. It didn't matter to me that she was a different colour. She loved Kaden and I equally, and that was the most important thing.
As I stood at the top of the stairs, listening to her cry, hearing my father soothe her calmly in his own way, I felt a strange weight in my chest. I had never once doubted her love, never questioned why she hugged me so tightly or smiled whenever I called her "Mommy." If she was afraid of something—afraid that I might pull away one day—then maybe there was something I wasn’t seeing.
I glanced up over the stairs and felt the need to ask Kaden what he thought about being a different colour than me. Opening his door, I walked into the room and sat on his bed, my thoughts still tangled in Celestia’s words.
He turned his head to me and grinned, "Wanna play Hot Wheels with me, Dre?"
"Um, Kaden, Mommy is upset," I said, watching the way his face shifted.
He frowned and came to sit beside me, "Why?"
"Do you mind that we don't look the same?" I replied, trying to put it into words the way she had.
His frown deepened, "I don't get it. Are we playing a game?"
"No, Kaden," I took a breath and tried again. "See my skin? It's white, but you're not."
"I still don't get it," he muttered, his brows furrowing slightly.
Groaning, I tried to word it just right so that he wouldn't get confused. "Kaden, we're not the same colour. You're brown, and I'm white."
"Yeah, but you're still my big brudder, and I'm still you're little brudder." He reasoned in a way only four-year-olds could, his voice filled with certainty. "We have the same daddy, silly."
That's when it hit me like a gut-punch.
He knew the difference, but he didn't care any more than I did. It wasn't a question to him, nothing confusing or complicated—it was just the way things were, as natural as breathing.
I grabbed his hand and pulled him down the stairs to the living room where Celestia and Dad were still talking. They were surprised to see us but tried to hide their shock.
"Mommy, you got to listen to this, okay?" I said as I stopped in front of them. "Kaden, tell Mommy and Daddy what you told me upstairs."
He looked thoughtful for a moment, his small fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he considered. Then, he said, "Dreson asked if I cared that we are different colours, but I don't. We’re still brudders."
"See, Mommy," I said happily, the excitement bubbling up inside me. "It don't matter what colour we are 'cause we're family."
My father laughed softly. "Dreson, come here, son. Did you tell your brother to say that?"
"Daddy, I said it all by myself," Kaden growled, puffing out his chest pridefully. "Dre didn't tell me what to say."
Celestia grabbed me into her arms and hugged me tightly, "Thank you, Dreson. I was so worried about what you thought, and your dad's been trying to tell me not to worry, but I see it clearly now, baby. Don't let anyone change who you are, okay?"
"I won't, Mommy." I slipped from her grasp and took Kaden's hand, already thinking about what came next. "C'mon, baby bro, we have to have a bath tonight."
Kaden started wailing, his entire body stiffening in protest as a tantrum started. Typical Kaden – not wanting a bath. "I don't wanna have a bath! Daddy! Daddy help! I don't wanna take a bath!"
Celestia laughed, shaking her head. "What if Dreson gets in with you? I don't usually allow it, but I guess it's all okay now."
I heard Dad mutter that she didn't need to worry from the start. Yet, with everything that was happening – the harshness of other people, the slurs thrown our way – I could see where her fear was coming from.
After our bath, Dad called us down for story time, but that was when the phone rang in the kitchen. While Celestia went to answer the call, Kaden and I sat down on Dad's lap.
"Dreson, you're wanted on the phone," I heard Celestia yell out.
I slid off Dad’s lap, my feet barely making a sound against the floor as I hurried into the kitchen. Celestia stood by the counter, slicing sandwiches into neat triangles, the scent of fresh bread and peanut butter filling the air.
I took the phone from her hand. "Who is it, Mommy?"
"Answer it and find out," she said, flashing me a small smile before turning back to the food.
Putting the phone to my ear, I said, "Hello?"
"Hi, best friend," I heard Neil say on the other end, his voice light but carrying a hint of excitement. "Daddy told me it was okay to call you, so I did."
"That's so cool!"
He went quiet for a moment, then said, "Dreson, can you and Kaden come to my birthday party? It's not until December, but I wanted to know now."
I could hear someone laughing in the background and knew his dad was there with him. The warmth in his voice made me smile—it wasn’t just a question, it was an invitation, a promise that we were important to him.
"Yeah, sure," I told him. I glanced over at Celestia as she carefully spread jam onto the bread, pressing the pieces together so neatly they looked perfect. The rhythmic slicing of the knife against the cutting board felt familiar, comforting.
"Um, Neil, what do you think of Kaden and me not looking the same?"
The jar of jam slipped from the counter, crashing onto the floor as Celestia twisted around to face me. Glass shards scattered across the tile, the sticky spread pooling like spilled ink. Her eyes widened, worry flashing across her face.
"Who cares? Did someone make fun of him again? Do you need help beating up the bullies?" Neil asked, his voice sharp with concern.
"No, no," I said quickly. "I was just wondering."
Neil growled at me, frustration lacing his words. "You made me worry, brat."
"I'm not the brat, you are," I shot back, grinning. "Anyway, what are you doing?"
"Eating," he replied. "Then I gotta go to bed."
"Me, too. Mommy is making peanut butter and jam sandwiches for Kaden and me, but the jam fell off the counter, and now there's a mess." I told him. "I'm going to help her clean it all up, though."
Celestia looked over at me, her expression softening despite the tension in her shoulders. A silent kind of gratitude flickered in her gaze—like she hadn’t expected me to do anything, but knowing I would made something in her relax.
Hanging up the phone after saying goodbye, I walked over to the closet and grabbed the floor cleaner bottle. The cool plastic felt firm in my hands as I brought it over. "Here, Mommy."
"Thanks, Dre," she whispered, her voice quieter than before.
Wrapping my arms around her neck, I said, "I love you, Mommy."
"I love you, too, baby," she sobbed, hugging me back, her grip tight, warm, like she needed the embrace as much as I did.
Celestia held me close, her grip firm but warm. I felt the steady rise and fall of her breath, her face still pressed against my hair. She didn’t let go right away, didn’t pull back like she normally would. Instead, she stayed still, holding onto me like she needed a moment to just exist in this feeling.
When she finally did pull away, her hands cupped my face gently, her thumbs brushing against my cheeks. "You really are something special, baby," she murmured, her voice soft but thick with emotion. "I hope you always know how loved you are."
I grinned up at her. "I do, Mommy. And you don’t have to cry, you know—I already know how much you love me."
She let out a small, watery laugh, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe how easily I understood. "You always know just what to say, don’t you?"
I shrugged, giving her a little smile. "It’s because you care so much."
She chuckled, ruffling my hair before turning back to the mess. "Come on, you promised to help me clean up, remember?"
I grabbed the cloth from the counter and nodded. "I always help, Mommy."
She watched me for a second, then smiled, something softer this time—something that felt like peace. “I know, sweetheart.”
- Writer
