Carmela + Amos

Chapter 6 - Amos

           The journal made a hard slap onto the floor with the pages fanning open from Amos tossing it. He slumped into the pillows of the bed, his shoulders drooping as he scowled at the diary. Daylight filtered past the curtains of his childhood bedroom, casting a golden glow against the glossy surface of an old guitar. His mother's Bull Terrier, Daisy, napped on the floor where a warm sunbeam drenched her white fur.

"What the hell are you doing, Carmela?" he whispered. "This guy is a loser."

Daisy's egg-shaped head lifted, her almond-shaped eyes casting him a side-stare, followed by a grunt before returning to her nap.

"You know I'm right," Amos said as if she understood.

"Mijo..." Amos's mom tapped on the door before pushing through with a cup of coffee in hand, the steam rising. "I made cafesito. Want some?"

"Yes, please."

She handed him the mug and eased down onto the edge of the bed, her purple fuzzy robe wrapped around her. "So, are you going to tell me what happened?"

"No." Amos took a sip. "Lorena and I just need space."

"Space," she snorted, her light brown hand patting the pink curlers crowning her head. "You kids and your space."

"You don't even like, Lorena. I thought you'd be happy?"

"Happy that my son is sad? Never."

"I'm not sad. I'm just recalibrating."

"And what does that mean?" his mother snorted again. "You say you want to marry her, but in marriage, there is no space or this recalibrating. You just push through the struggles with each other and keep moving forward. That's why me and your father were married for so long."

"Yeah, but you come from a different time."

"No, these days, you kids throw away vows the way you change underwear. If you want to marry Lorena, this space isn't a good sign."

"You're saying you and dad never needed space?"

"Of course, we needed space!" she huffed, her hands gesturing about. "But we just went into the next room or for a long walk. We didn't leave the house for an entire weekend."

"We've been arguing too much."

"Ay, mijo..." She shook her head and placed her hand over his. "I worry for you."

"Why?"

"Because Lorena is not the one for you. If you're this miserable now, it'll only get worse."

"But it hasn't always been this way."

"Mi, amor." She squeezed his hand. "You think so, but I am a mother. I see. I hear," she sighed. "You need to pay more attention."

"What do you mean?" He retracted his hand and straightened.

"I heard what she said the other day about wanting you to get a proper job. It's not the first time she's talked to you that way. She's always been very disrespectful—always putting you down."