Having staff in your house means it never truly feels like home.It feels clustered and busy, like a place of work.Not that I’ve ever had a job in my life, despite asking my father if I could get something part-time in between my studies.
He’d laughed in my face before the scowl settled, and he said one word.The one word that was not to be challenged.The one word that was not to be misunderstood or debated.
“No.”
I’m allowed to go to university because, and I quote him,“You need something to occupy you.”Not that I need to enhance my learning or my chances at understanding the world I live in, or that I might want to follow a path where microphysics, biology, or engineering is needed.No.I just needed something to “occupy” me.
That’s when I looked at my mum and wondered what was occupying her, other than the drinks she pours and the pills she swallows.
Our parents should inspire us.We’re supposed to strive to be like them.
I don’t want to be like my father.
And I sure as hell am not going to end up like my mother.
Or am I?
Selecting a tin of coconut milk, some lemon juice, and dried parsley, I try to recall how to make chicken Alfredo when I hear sniffling coming from the dining room.
Placing the ingredients on the counter, I tiptoe over to the doorway to see Willa, her mobile clasped to her ear as she stares out of the window.
“I’m sorry.I’m so sorry,” she whimpers.
I’ve never seen Willa upset.Annoyed, yes, but not sad.Her distress disturbs me more than it should, and I have to hold back from scurrying over to hug her.
“I love you.Please believe me when I tell you that I love you.”
I should leave, but it hurts to see Willa like this.
Her arm drops to her side, the phone clutched in her hand, and I have to speak.
“Is everything okay?”I edge into the room as Willa turns at the sound of my voice.
“Hey.”She sniffs, wiping her cheek with the cuff of her hoodie.“It’s fine.Everything’s fine.”She plasters on a Willa smile, but it’s fake.I hate fake.
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter,” I tell her, adopting one of my sterner tones.“You’ve seen me at my worst, kicking and screaming, biting and scratching, sobbing and snotty, so please don’t give me the shit that everything is okay.We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere with only each other.Right now, I’m all you’ve got, so please tell me what’s going on.”
She regards me before her head drops, and she bites her lip.
“That was Marta,” she says, her voice small.“She’s been to the midwife this morning, and they’re concerned about the level of protein in her urine.It could be a sign of pre-eclampsia.”
My stomach plummets.“Is the baby okay?”
“For now.But they’ve sent her to the hospital where they can monitor them both and take action if needed.”
“Take action?”
“They’ll induce labour or do an emergency C-section if they feel either Marta or the baby is at risk.”Willa’s voice trembles.“She’s scared.I should be there with her, with both of them.”Tears fall down her cheeks, and my heart cracks.
Then the anger arrives.“Shit.I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.It’s not your fault.”
“Of course it is.It’s because of me that you aren’t with her now.”Rage swims in my chest as I take in Willa’s shaking hand, her swollen eyes, and her broken spirit, all because of me.
“You should leave.”It comes out as if I hadn’t meant it to.
“What?”Willa stares at me.
