The Donafrio Donor (18+ Only) [COMPLETED]

2: In Which She is All Talk

2: In Which She is All Talk

**************************************

@embrace_passion made the fan art on the side (gracias!) ==>

*********************************

“You look like sleep is a ghost and you’ve been chasing it,” Mum informed me, setting a cup of green tea on the table before me. “This is Jazz’s remedy for insomnia.”

I hated green tea and my mother knew it, so why she was trying to get me to chug down her girlfriend’s stupid, so-called remedy was beyond me. As tactfully as I could, I pushed the cup away and sighed, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in Mum’s immense kitchen.

“Mickey’s keeping me up at night,” I lied, when truthfully, it was the possibility of serving him up to the criminal that helped make him that was giving me sleepless nights.

My mother’s eyes glittered with love for her grandson. “You know you can leave him here whenever you want, pet. He loves his gran.”

“Of course,” I said. “But Jazz loves her sleep.”

“Don’t be like that.” My mother instantly closed up and busied herself at the sink.

It was like “that” whenever I made it plain that I despised Jasmine Lewis’ very existence. If it wasn’t for her, my parents would probably still be together and I wouldn’t have had to come home from school one day and discover that my mother’s gay and my parents were splitting up. Adam and Charlie were absolutely cool with it. Having a lesbian mother gave them some sort of weird street cred. They’d never come home with tears in their eyes because their friends had suddenly turned on them and called their mother a carpet-muncher and other filthy names. Naturally, their friends found it quite hot.

“Do you ever think of Dad?” I turned in my seat to get a better look at her.

“Michael and I are quite good friends.” She didn’t bother to fix her eyes on me.

“Would you ever go back to him?”

This time, she spun around, her brow furrowed. “Danielle, you’re a big girl now. You’re not a child; you’re an adult. You know how relationships are. How can I go back to your father when I love Jazz?”

As if on cue, Jazz herself sauntered into the kitchen, the scent of sweet oils filling the air. Her waist-length salt-and-pepper hair was done into a neat French braid that snaked down her spine, a crown of daisies on her head. In a purple gypsy top and flowing, white ankle-length skirt to finish whatever look she was going for, she was still as OTT as I’d thought she was all those years ago when she’d introduced herself as Mum’s “friend”.

“Danielle!” she said, clapping her hands together when she saw me at their table. “I had no idea you were here.”

I hated everything about her – from her wacky dress sense to her lilting I’m-more-posh-than-you accent. Everything. I was still coming to terms with my mother’s poor taste in lovers.

“I was just leaving,” I said, sniffing as I got to my feet.

“Where’s Michael?” she asked, bending down to peck my mother’s cheek. That was another thing about Jasmine Lewis – she was a giantess standing at six-foot-something while my mum was a dwarf in comparison. It was unnerving to say the least.

“He’s with a friend of mine,” I offered vaguely. I knew I was being immature but I couldn’t help it whenever I was in the same room as Goliath the Home-Wrecker. “Have a lovely day, Mum.”