Sugar Rush

24- Whatever Titles Those Fakers Want To Be Called

Dedicated to @bernsadrias93 for the gorgeous work to the side (If on the website) or above (if you're on mobile)

24

I was in the kitchen helping my mom clean up the dishes. My sister was busy taking care of Liam. Blake was with my other relatives, talking. I was half scared on what they were going to disclose on him. I was mentally sending a prayer that it wasn’t anything embarrassing, or that they haven’t pulled out my mom’s albums of my childhood photos. They did that when Reese brought Dominic over for the first time and I just hope that they were wasted enough to forget about the horrifying album.

We were alone in the kitchen, wiping the glassware dry. My mother was holding on to a soft cotton towel as she wiped each plate and glass and passed it to me. I was on top of a bar stool so that I could reach the top shelf of the cupboards where mom places all of the cheap utensils that we only use once a year. I wasn’t that tall to be able to reach it.

“You and that boy, Blake seem to be cozy with each other.” My mom said as she passed me a ceramic plate. “Are you two together?”

“No mom.” I shook my head, placing on top of the cupboard shelf. “We’re just friends.”

“That’s what I said to your grandmother about your father.”

I stopped what I was doing to look at her. My father was a topic we never talk about. After what happened, he was on the other side of the line that we never ever cross. But now hearing my mom talk about it for the first and most likely the last time, I was more curious to hear what she had to say.

“Your dad…we were just friends at the start too.” She said and lowered her hands and I step down from the bar stool and sat on it. “We even promised to stay that way.”

“We were like the both of you, you know.” She continued. “We were stuck to each other, twenty- four, seven like we had slept on a bed of glue and woke up together.”

“Mom…”

“And everyone used to tease us non-stop. We’d look into each other’s eyes like we were each other’s world, like we wouldn’t be able to live the next without each other.”

I drop my gaze down to the wooden floor, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I didn’t know where this was going and I had a big feeling I wasn’t going to like it. There was a reason on why we never talk about him, and now I was going to find out about it.

“And by the way I see it, that’s how you look at him.” She said slowly in a whisper like voice. “And that’s how he looks at you too.”

I didn’t say anything and so did she so went back up on the bar stool and started piling up the plates and cups on top of each other. When we finished keeping away the plates and cups, we stayed in kitchen. I knew my mom had more things to say than what she just had so I waited.

“Your father was a great person, Beth.” Mom said quietly.

“But he isn’t anymore.” I snapped rather harshly and I didn’t care. She knew how I felt towards him and I wasn’t the type keen on hiding it. “He isn’t the same person, mom.”

She sighed. She knew no matter how much persuasion she’ll try, how I see him will never change. He’ll always be a coward.

I pushed myself of the counter, ready to leave the kitchen. As much as I loved her, my mother was too nice to see how terrible of a person my father was. Sure, she was the one who filed for divorce but I always could remember the gleam in her eyes the last time we saw him. She forgave the asshole. Yet she was heartbroken after it. I was there to witness how bad she broke.