Hey, Can I Touch Your Pants?[ON HOLD]

13~Tavolozza del Pittore

*Why, hello readers. I just wanted to start off this chapter by apologizing. I’m probably going to butcher and misuse the beautiful Italian language… and… On top of that, I shall be screwing up geography and well… history, too. You will see why shortly. Anyhow, I really hope you guys can be forgiving and just enjoy the story from here on.   

PREVIOUSLY

"So the reason you came to see me... Um, are you finally ready to tell me what really happened?" I finished talking by looking her dead in the face with the most serious expression I could manage. Her easy-going smile faltered for a second before returning as she looked away into empty space.

"Yes. I suppose it's time for me to try and be fair. I mean you never questioned me about this even after the vague explanation I gave you when you were seven. Well... not until your last birthday." She paused, took a breath, and started again. "Okay. I'll tell you... I'll tell you what really happened between your father and I."

>>>>> 

“Mom…”

“Uh… Mom?”

“Hello?”

I blinked, snapping out of my reverie. “Oh, huh? Yeah. Did I say something?”

Elliot smiled. “No… nothing yet. All you said was that you were finally gonna tell me about my father, and then you kinda spaced out.”

“Ah, okay.” I fell silent again, slumping forward. My hair slipped over my face. Hmm… I need to take a shower. I stink. When was the last time I bathed? Wow, that’s disgusting. I’m a grown-ass woman and I can’t even recall the last time I shampooed my filthy hair. Well, then again, when’s the last time I slept or had a proper meal? What was my breakfast this morning? Uh… an eggo waffle. Lunch? Hahaha. When’s the last time I actually had the time to eat lunch? Thinking about it, my lifestyle sounds like that of a college student. Pathetic. Dammit, Elleanor! Stop stalling and think about how the hell you’re going to explain everything to your son!

“Mom, you’re doing it again...” Elliot said impatiently.

“I know, I know!” I began, “but in my defense, I was quiet because I was… Um, I was… I was just trying to think of the best way to explain this! Okay? Okay.” Yeah, right. You were more concerned with your lack of hygiene.

“Well, go on then,” he said, gesturing with his hand. Aw, f**k me. I don’t even wanna relive these memories.

“Alright, alright. Just give me like two seconds to gather my thoughts.” I pleaded. He began to count aloud before I glared at. Hmm… What is the best way to go about this? I suppose I could start from where we left off when he was seven. Yeah, I’ll do that and just wing it from there.

I sighed. “Elliot, do you remember the last time you asked me about your father, and I told you he was this handsome guy I met in college?”

“Yeah,” he replied, fully engaged in our conversation.

“Well, that was true.” He nodded in understanding.

“I bet you already guessed there’s much more too it than that, though.” I continued and he nodded again as his reply. I looked up at the ceiling and leaned back into the couch, sinking in with the sound of the leather squeaking against my blazer. Elliot patiently awaited my next words that would most definitely turn his world upside down.

I sat back up and held my son’s hands in my own, resting them on my lap. They weren’t a child’s hands anymore. These were the hands of my grown boy, large and calloused. They were slender, though, like a piano player’s. I frowned. They looked like his father’s.