OVERLOOKED ㅤkotlc

074

With the triplets at school and Dad managing Slurps and Burps, it's only Mom present when I finally drag myself out of bed to sit at the dining table.

Together, in a pensive and experimental silence, we fold and stretch bread dough. My arms ache from the unexpected exertion of the task. She breaks the silence with a question so innocently maternal that it pauses my reply: "Were they nice to you?"

From my own mom, I can't bring myself to lie, so it's a question I can only meet with silence. But that's answer enough.

Mom lets out a breath. "I'm sorry," she says softly.

I focus on the dough. "For what? They treated me well."

"And then you had to leave them. And now you'll have to betray them."

Her words cut deep, unraveling weeks of denial in mere seconds. I'm caught off-guard.

"They're the enemy," I say—to convince her, or to convince myself?

"They made you happy," she returns.

For the first time in a while, my eyes mist. Mom sees. Her eyes are soft.

The love of a mother is unconditional.

She gathers me in her arms, and I finally cry.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As the bread rises, we sit in the living room over a deck of cards. We play absent-mindedly, strategy lost to conversation.

Without my consent, my lips have spilled every detail of the past months. I try to filter my words, but the contents of them evade my conscious, too drawn to my mother's love.

Mom mulls over my story. Its conclusion lies between us: unfinished in technicality, but, as far as I'm concerned, my loss is final.

But then she says, "I don't think Rosaleen hates you."

I laugh a little. It's a bitter laugh. "Mhm."

"I'm being serious."

"I see." I look through my cards and place an ace. "Pass or no?"

Mom puts down a two of diamonds and ignores my attempt at deflection. "Both of you are teenagers under a lot of pressure. You're going to react emotionally."

A part of me is defensive. I place down a two of hearts. "I know, but she has the right to hate me. I separated her from her sister. And I didn't tell her."

"You had the right to hate her. Didn't you say she disappeared? For, like, two weeks?" Mom's protectiveness over me is secretly reassuring. "And, from what you said, it sounds like you weren't mad at her."

"That's different."

"It's not."

"She found out her dead sister was alive and, like, didn't remember her. It's different. She had a reason."

"Maybe. It still hurt, though, didn't it? It's not like—"

"She's mad now because she's grieving, because she lost her sister again, and this time, it's my fault." Silence hangs. I smile to fill it, but I don't meet her eyes. "Isn't that, like, the ultimate offense? I could make it onto the top 10 anime betrayals!"

Mom regards me sadly, and it only makes me more defensive.

"I'm not saying she shouldn't be mad," Mom says, slowly. "But even if she is mad, it doesn't mean she hates you, okay? She'll forgive you, just like how you forgave her last time. Give her time, Dex."

I look down at my cards, shuffling them in my hands. A part of me knows Mom's right, but a deep self-loathing holds me back from acceptance.

"I don't think I can forgive myself."

"That just means you love her."

Mom says it simply: a contrast to the connotations love holds, but more honest than anything else I've heard. I look at my cards as if I'm strategizing, even though we both know Mom will win.

"What if she doesn't love me the same way?" I ask finally.

"How could she not?"

And she places her last card, a two of spades, and wins the game.

˚ ༘ 🌷 ── author's note!

omg i can't dialogue anymore. WHY IS WRITING SO HARD :,) !!!

at this point i'm just posting to write (and finish this thing!), so it's all gonna be very experimental! apologies in advance!! 🫡