Meet Me Where the Oak Tree Grows

In the late afternoon and stretching into the wee hours, some folks would swing by to get inked by him. His skills had to be top-notch because even
the burliest guys, who'd be howling like they were having a rough time, would leave with a thumbs-up, promising to come back for more.
Naturally, those late nights meant he’d catch up on his sleep during the day.
In this house, I was the one with time on my hands. They’d always say that kids shouldn't worry about chores and should just enjoy being kids. I
wasn’t much into gadgets, so I’d either dive into my homework, chill on the porch with Aunt Marie, or give Jonah a hand tidying up his workspace. I
had a knack for remembering things; once I saw how he laid out his tools, I could recall their exact spots and order.
If I had to pick something entertaining, it’d probably be admiring Jonah’s hands. They were something else—large but elegant, with distinct knuckles.
When he slipped on those black nitrile gloves for work, they had this undeniable charm.
During meals, he'd always check, asking if I’d had enough.
At first, I found it hard to be upfront and would often fib, but to my surprise, he always saw right through me and would give me a playful flick on the
forehead.
Bit by bit, he chipped away at my facade.
He’d say, “All that stuff your parents taught you is nonsense. Anyone who buys into it just ends up hungry and short.”
Once I stopped playing the fool, I realized how great it felt to be full, and even my sleep got better.
One day, I headed home during the day to grab my piggy bank.
As I thought, my dad was nowhere to be found. The neighbors mentioned that my dad had been on a lucky streak lately, winning loads of money and
was barely ever around.
Oh well, I hoped he kept winning so he'd forget about the daughter he used to vent his anger on.
That night, lying in bed, sleep just wouldn’t come. But this time, it was because I was happy.
Today, Aunt Marie took me shopping, and Jonah wanted to tag along, but Aunt Marie told him to go chill somewhere else.
She then took me to a women’s lingerie store, a place I’d never set foot in before.
For the first time, I discovered the world of girls’ lingerie, with its variety and color, and learned that different stages of growing up required different
types, and that a wrong size wasn’t good.

Patiently, Aunt Marie helped me try on one piece after another until we found the perfect ones. She showed me how to properly wear different bras
and how to fasten the straps.
She explained that breast development was a natural part of growing up, a sign that I was maturing, and I should stand tall and be proud, not shy.
She warned that wearing the wrong bra could cause issues, like side bulges.
That day, I received my very first two real pieces of teenage lingerie, gifts from Aunt Marie.
She was so thoughtful and caring that the store clerk commented on how attentive she was to her daughter.
Aunt Marie didn’t correct her, just hugged me with a smile and said, “How could you not adore such a sweet girl?”
Aunt Marie felt more like a mom than my actual mom ever did.
I buried my face in the soft blanket, feeling dizzy with happiness.
Now, I too had pretty and comfy lingerie!
Lingerie!
Oh!
Suddenly realizing something, I shot up from the bed.