Addressive, on Reunions

A young xero sat before a long mirror, her legs crossed, her arms to her chest, her eyes filled with sadness. The light from the window behind her darkens her reflection.
— Still looking Addy? — a figure more familiar, yet more alien than any, walked up behind her.
— ..Mhm.— she hesitated in response. 
— You know.. the produce is still somewhat fresh, you could have some if you'd like.
Addressive's eyes move to the floor, to her paws and her fur: — No... I don't want any.
— .. That's okay. But please do at least consider joining us for dinner will you?
— I will, — she said somber, staring back into her mirror.

It was tough raising a xero that seemed reluctant to have a physical existence. She wasn't in any way, shape or form aesthetically unappealing, not to her adopters, not to the rest of their society.
They tried everything, offering her produce on demand, even the more expensive seasonal and premium varieties. Produce that if not eaten meant a sizable financial loss for them. They even saved funds to offer her therapy, but even so, it did not seem to help the xero.

Addressive never seemed caring towards them, she never called them "mom", "dad", "parent" or any other familiar title, they'd always known her to be distant. Could it have been adolescence? Could it have been a need for independence? That's what parenting advice articles and online help groups might claim. But a claim does nothing to solve what's afoot. Giving up on her also did not seem an option to them.

The 5 of them sat at the dinner table. It's polenta and leaf rolls today, each meal lasts about a third of the week in their household. To her left, a reptilian artist and content creator, Addressive had to request to never be featured or even as much as mentioned in their vlogging activities. To her right, an older grumpy dragonfly-like woman, smoking while reading over a clipboard of papers. In front of her, not yet even sat down, two heads conjoined in one body, bovine-like individuals, still preparing the table, though they had very different interests, cooking is the one hobby that brought them together.

They speak of work, of neighbourly gossip, of art projects here and there that never come to any fruition. It was a calm existence, though they weren't living the most extravagant life, they also never dipped into struggle. Addressive found it perplexly displeasing, but her adopters never judged her.

— Cream? 
— Magma Peppers?
Asked her two headed caretakers.
— Are they pickled? — the xero inquired.
— Yep, just how you like them! — One of their interests, making everything from scratch, especially when it comes to cooking.

Perhaps it was the lack of hobbies that led Addy to have such low self esteem. They tried to teach her their own, to see if she'll find anything she enjoys doing, but it never seemed to work out. Not that she did not have talent, not that she didn’t have potential, but that she never seemed passionate enough about it.

They ate in peace. A peace that the xero so terribly despised. Was it ungratefulness? Was she just unaware of how hard they were trying?

Though the four won't say it, for they knew it made Addressive uncomfortable to be talked about at all, their shifty eyes, towards her, towards each other, made her aware. It's going to be a boring day like every other.

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Or perhaps. That's what I imagined it would be.

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— Hey, so I know you're not a big fan of presents. But we do know your birthday is coming up. — the one to her left spoke.
— We thought we'd get you something. Ah- um, — one of the two heads in front of her stuttered, — If you don't like it, we can return it. So don't worry about that.
The one on her left got up and closed all the curtains of the windows in the dining area.

A small box had been placed before her, next to her plate.
She looked at them perplexed, thought she was clear enough in her dislike of their attempts to “cheer her up”. Reluctantly, she pulled the ribbon holding the box closed, and stared inside.
A green glow illuminated the xero's shaded face, a card no bigger than her snout, and a mysterious vial.

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It must have cost them a fortune to get the glitch card and vial, I can't even imagine how hard they had to dip into their savings, let alone the fact that they had to dabble into something of dubious legality back in the Arez. But they did it anyway. I had always thought they couldn't understand me, and they proved me wrong; they understood me perfectly. They understood that I was not like them. I wanted to live an exciting life, that's what a full life was to me. And so I left the nest, not too long after I was old enough for interplanetary transport unaccompanied.

Perhaps it did nothing more than throw me from one obsession to another, but I like it this way, I'm happy this way.

I haven't seen them in a long time, heard from them for that matter, we don't keep in contact except to tell each other happy birthday on socials. That's how I know they're alive. 

The idea of seeing them again kind of terrifies me. Would they even recognise me?

— I get how you feel.. Not the recognising thing. Just that- it's scary. — his grip on my paw tightened up slightly, as if to offer me comfort.
— You do, huh?

Maybe I shouldn't have told him all of that.