Because Aaron told Mimi to. She’d said so, and I didn’t think anything of it. That’s another aspect of this whole thing that stings. I’ve always prided myself on my smarts, but it turns out I was an ignorant dumbass this entire time.
I don’t respond to Mum; instead, I scoff down the rest of breakfast and leave the room. My body feels icky and tired, so I take a shower.
Afterwards, I have enough energy to sit at my desk and open my maths book. I stare at the questions, the numbers blurring, and immediately give up. I don’t have the energy to study like a machine. I don’t have the energy to do anything. I climb into bed and pull the blankets up to my chin, but pretty soon, I realise that even lying in bed doesn’t help either. All I can think about is Aaron.
I wish I could fall asleep so I didn’t have to think about anything.
In a moment of desperation, I take out my laptop and rest it on my stomach, and watch an episode ofKaguya-Sama: Love is Warin an attempt to cheer myself up or distract me. But then I remember Aaron was the one who introduced me to the anime. We watched it during the holidays, on the phone together, laughing at the jokes at the same time.
Halfway through the episode, Mum comes in. I think she’ll admonish me for wasting my day, but instead she walks over and places a plate of heated frozen pizza on my bedside table.
“I made you lunch,” she says.
What in the world? “Thanks. I’m not really hungry, though.”
“You might get hungry later.” She sits on the end of my bed.
“What is it?” I ask after half a minute has passed, and she hasn’t said anything.
“Are you okay?”
“Don’t pretend you care.”
“Of course, I care.” She sounds affronted. “You’re my son.”
“Like that means anything to you. You kicked your own daughter out.”
“Jude.” Usually, when she uses my name, she sounds exasperated, but now, she sounds tired. “Winona left of her own accord. I couldn’t force her to stay, not when she was eighteen.”
Couldn’t force her to stay? I let out a cold laugh. “So if I ran away today, you’d let me? I’m eighteen.”
“It’s not a matter of letting,” she says.
“Not a matter of letting?” I echo. “Right, so that’s why you won’t let me talk to Winona and why you insist on searching my phone and laptop and make me feel like a criminal.”
Mum’s body crumples. I blink because that’s the last thing I expected.
“I know I’m not a good mother. I know that my children resent me. I know it might be hard for you to believe me, but I do care, and that’s why I worry. All I want — all I ever want — is for my children to be safe and have a bright and happy future.
I close my eyes. I don’t know why we’re having this conversation. Sure, I’ve spent a long time feeling angry at Mum, but that’s not what I care about right now. I’m upset about Aaron and using this as an opportunity to take it out on her.
“I’ll leave you alone if you want,” Mum continues. “I know we don’t really talk about anything, and that’s my fault. But if you want to talk to me, I’ll listen.”
All year, we’ve been living like housemates rather than mother and son, and all it took was a pair of puffy eyes for Mum to suddenly change her demeanour. I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to tell her my problems just to assuage her guilt.
“I want to talk to Winona.” I open my eyes, and Mum’s looking at me, really looking, for what feels like the first time all year. “When she left, I felt alone, and then you decided to move us here where we don’t know anyone, and I felt even moreisolated. Then I met someone, and before you say that dating is a waste of time and a distraction, he wasn’t even my boyfriend —”
“I wasn’t going to say that,” Mum says. She doesn’t blink at the word ‘boyfriend’.
“Well, it’s over now. So I’m back to how I was before. He was the first person I could talk to properly after Winona left. I wish I could talk to her. She’d make me feel better, and before you start, I know she made bad decisions. I don’t agree with the things she did, but I miss her. I’ve been missing her every day.”
Mum doesn’t reply for a minute. Instead, she takes out her phone and fiddles with it. I stare incredulously. Is she looking at her emails right now?
What the hell was I expecting? How did I think she’d react to me spilling my guts?
She leans over and shows me her phone screen. It’s a text message of a phone number from a contact named Deadbeat Bastard Manwhore, and despite today being absolutely awful, I almost laugh out loud. Well. It appears Mum is a human being, after all.
“What is it?” I ask.
