I can sit with my glasses on and a drawing pad and create erotic artwork and tease an omega via email.
She disappears to where she writes, and I focus on the drawing. Letting the art consume me until I hear that notification ping, then I can’t get my concentration back.
With a grumble, I reach for the laptop and open my emails.
She’s sent five laughing face emojis. I stare at them, perplexed. Then glance at her window. What’s going on in her brain? How often do I ask myself that? A few times a day, I swear.
I send a winking emoji and then close everything and go downstairs, where I find Mum sitting at the counter looking older than I have ever seen her.
“Mum?”
She looks up at me, and her eyes fill with tears. I walk over, putting my tablet down so I can hug her. I don’t know when she transformed from this giant in my world to this flawed omega, but I know that I have tried my best to do what I could for her.
“It feels too soon,” she wails.
I chuckle. “Sofia left years ago.”
“But she wasn’t my baby. I knew she’d be fine.”
“I’m only going across the road, and I promise you I can look after myself.”
“I know you stayed here for me,” she whispers. “After Sofia left, I know you were going to go, and you saw how upset I was, and you stayed. Thank you.”
I shift uncomfortably. I figured she knew, but it’s been a subject we’ve been avoiding up till now.
“Mum, I love you. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I think it’s past time, don’t you?”
She sniffles and wipes her eyes. “Everything is changing.”
“You signed me up for this dating event,” I remind her.
“I know, but I thought-”
“Please don’t tell me you thought they would all move in here,” Dad says as he puts two bags of shopping on the massive granite-topped kitchen island.
“Well, yes?”
Dad laughs. “Sweetheart, you are the cutest omega ever.” He looks at me. “Please don’t move your pack into my home.”
I snort a laugh. “Not a chance that’s going to happen.”
Mum bursts into tears again.
“You need the omega timeout, darling,” Dad says with a laugh.
“I can’t!” she wails. “Franco is in there, sulking.”
For a second, I’m shocked, but then I choke on a laugh before really losing it.
“Why?” Dad asks, perplexed.
“He said his eldest son going into a rut is giving him a midlife crisis and not to bother him. He locked the door!” Mum snarls, her eyes flinty. “It’s my nest, and he locked me out!”
“Easy, babe. We can go pick the lock, but how about we try to have a nice cup of secret recipe cocoa first?”
I open my tablet and start sketching again, working my way through shaping how I want the bodies to look until I’m happy.
Dad slides a cup in front of me. At some point, Mum has left, and it’s just me and Dad in the familiar kitchen. Even the renovations can’t take the pure Sol vibe out of the kitchen. It just amplified it.
