Pluto

My mother was the worst cook to ever exist. The meat was always either under seasoned or overcooked and the vegetables often tasted like mush. My dad and I would always eat before we got home with the lame excuse of “we’re too full” when we take our two customary bites. I could tell it hurt her feelings, but as a kid, I would much rather sacrifice her feelings than endure another nasty meal. I truly was the world’s worst son. 

She’s gone now and I miss her cooking the most. It wasn’t because the awful taste was memorable, but because she tried her best and made it with such care and love. I miss the voicemails she’d leave after the many calls I ignored for something I considered more interesting. She’d plan dates for us, and I’d tell her I had other plans or bail out at the last second. She deserved better than how I treated her and now that she’s gone, I feel deep shame with every waking thought.

I lay in bed awake scrolling through my various social media accounts searching for videos that help with grief. I can feel my fingers beginning to lock from my hours long search for comfort in the words of others that understand exactly what I am feeling right now. Just as I was ready to throw my phone and stare aimlessly at the wall, I see an ad.

Perfect. I think to myself as I watch an ad that seemed perfectly catered to what I needed. It’s a generative ai app called Pluto. Within the video, there is a family grieving the loss of their grandfather. The daughter sugests uploading a video and photo of him and they watch as the app generates video messages and updated family photos. This is exactly what I need!

With shaking and clammy hands click on the bottom of the video and download the app. This is exactly what I needed to prove myself. Maybe even redeem myself and become the son I should’ve been from the start. I spent the rest of the night uploading every voicemail she has ever sent me. I try to find photos but realize that I don’t have any. I’ll have to call my dad the moment I wake up. I place my phone on my nightstand and close my eyes. My body is too excited to sleep, but I force myself to sleep with the hope of seeing my mother again.

RRRIIINNNNNGGGGGG RRRRRRRIIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGG

I thought I shut off that stupid alarm after the third time. I turn over in my bed, careful not to disturb the large pile of clothes that occupies the other side of my bed and try to go back to sleep. I began to fall deeper into the darkness. Just before I slip out of consciousness my phone rings again. It rings that annoying ring and it takes all of my will power not to chuck it out of the window above my nightstand. Without looking, I reach a long arm out and snatch my phone muting the annoying the ringing. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the bright screen and when I do my eyes almost pop out of my head. There are 20 text notifications, mostly from my dad, and 5 miss calls belonging to him too.

How did I mix up the phone alarm and ringtone? I think to myself. I unlock the phone and click on one of the miss calls and I’m soon met with the ringing tone as I wait for my dad to pick up.

“Hello? Ty are you there?”

Obviously

I roll my eyes. Who else would call with my phone number.

“Yeah, it’s me” the nicer choice than what I’m thinking, “I’ve seen your calls, and I just wanted to call you back to see what you wanted.”

“Right” he replies dryly, “I was just checking to see how you were doing, but I can by your voice you’ve been rotting in bed all day again”

“Dad enou—”

He cuts me off before I can even call

“I don’t want to fight you, okay? I was also calling to see if you wanted to go over to your Cousin Sharon’s house for dinner,” He takes a steadying deep breath “It’s been a while since we’ve seen you after your mother.... and we, I, was wanted to spend more time with you.”

“Fine” is all I manage to utter out and I can already tell he’s on the other side of the phone smiling that big cheesy grin.

“Good, no great! I can’t wait to see you tonight at 8!”

He hangs up the phone before I even get a chance to ask him about the videos. I toss my phone on the pile of clothes and turn my body so that I’m now facing up at the ceiling. If it weren’t for work, I would have stand like this every day, looking at the shadows slowly overtaken the white ceiling. It takes a lot of effort, but I began moving my hands and slowly wiggle my feet and legs. When I feel confident enough that my body is still in my control I get up out of the bed and walk into my bathroom.

Looking in the mirror I see tired deep set eyes looking back at me. My deep brown skin is beginning to pale, and my cheek bones are starting to poke out from once full oval face. I turn the knobs on the sink and begin brushing away last night’s grime out of my mouth. When I went back to work after the funeral, it took my best friend, and Co-worker, Harris to tell me that my breath was “kicking” and killing everyone in the office. I didn’t neglect just my teeth, my clothes are loose, and I’ve since forced myself back in the shower. Things I’ve did normally have started becoming chores I have a hard time completing.

After a hot shower and a change into hopefully clean clothes, I make my way into my apartment’s kitchen. It’s a mess, but at least I can still see the floor. I found the last clean bowl and made myself some cereal. I move to the blue, slightly broken, couch my mother brought me and spend the rest of the day watching tv.

My butt is tired and it’s time for me to head out. I grabbed my keys, my phone and charger and drove to Sharon’s house. My car makes odd sounds here and there on the drive, but it doesn’t sound like an immediate problem so I should be okay.

I pulled up to her house just outside of the city. It’s a semi huge white with huge columns in the front. She said it was called Greek revival since she and her husband met in Greece. I could care less what it’s called, I just know the upkeep is expensive. I shift my focus to the cars parked in her driveway and breathe a sigh of relief that it’s just my dad and aunt here. I’m not in the mood to entertain a million people like we did at the repast. Not wanting to glimpse further into the past, I brace myself as I walk to the big black wooden door. Taking in the pots of daisies that guard the door and that God awful welcome mat. I knock slowly and firmly on the door, listening as whatever muffled conversation ceases and someone’s footsteps begin to get louder and louder. The door swings open and I’m greeted by excessively bright lights.