Six Feet Under

17.

Its been a week since I found out about the pregnancy and since I had a breakdown in front of my mom. We didn't talk about it and just moved on like it never happened. I told her that I will be working as a cashier at a bookstore and she just nodded. I told Bri about everything and she told me to stay at her house for a few days so I could find some peace but I told her I will come for a stay over some other time.

"A penny for your thoughts." He brought me back from my daydreaming and I just smile, "Nothing important."

He arranges the books in their places and says, "Bri told me that you love reading books."

"Yeah, I love reading."

He makes his way towards me and asks, "How many books have you read?"

"Hmm, I guess 68. I started reading like almost a year ago." I told him.

"Wow! 68 books in almost a year. That's impressive. And hot." I laugh as he smirks.

"I want to read a hundred before I turn 18 but I don't know if I'll be able to do it. Due to school, I don't get enough time."

"You read 68 books after not getting enough time. I can only imagine what would happen if you actually get enough time." He chuckles. "Do you have a mini library or something at home?"

"Nope. I issue books from library. I don't buy books but maybe now I will since I have a job."

We both start doing our work as customers entered the bookstore. A little girl strolled inside the bookstore with her parents and bought a book of fairies and kings and queens. I give her an extra bookmark which had a fairy on it and she jumped with excitement. So, I gave her one more, three in total. Her parents thanked me and she jumped with the book in her hands smiling. I hope the world is as good to her as she imagines it to be.

When they leave the shop Cal smiles and says, "You made that little girl's day."

"I would love to make someone happy." I open my mobile phone to scroll through random things.

"You do make people happy." His eyes shines as he looks at me.

"Really? Like who?" I ask while sitting down on a chair. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and says, "Me. You make me happy."

I look down at my hands and try to come up with an answer. I try to think but suddenly my mind has gone blank. I don't know what to say to that.

"I...uh...Thank you." I reply awkwardly.

"You've never been complimented before, have you?" He chuckles.

"Apart from Bri. No. I guess you're the second person who has complimented me." I tell him the truth.

"I am sure the rest of the world has gone insane because you deserve every compliment. And above all, you deserve to believe those compliments."

I look at him for a brief moment before looking down at my hands again. All of this is so unfamiliar. I take the sleeves of t-shirt in between my fists and smile at him awkwardly.

He laughs and shakes his head, "You're so bad at this."

"At what?" I frown.

"Taking compliments. But it's okay, I'll get you used to the compliments." I flush and look away to the computer and pretend to be busy at work. I am not made for situations like these and I don't think I'll ever be. Maybe he hasn't seen other girls but I am not worth of all those compliments. He'll realize it soon enough. We both work through the day silently as I try my best to avoid his sometimes, lingering gaze. I also feel him looking at me sometimes but whenever I looked at him, he looked away. It even made me silently laugh to myself.

I came back home and felt myself getting exhausted. It's only me and mom today. And it feels good. I don't need an angry man in my house. I believe no one does. I see her in the kitchen cooking. Kitchen is the place where I will always find her. I have such conflicted feelings whenever I look at her. Sometimes, I look at her and my brain goes like, 'She is the living example of sacrifices and compromises and what not' and then I start thinking, 'I wish she wasn't and God I hope I don't turn out to be like her because I hate it so much.'

Right now, I don't have an angry man in the house but I have a repentant woman. A woman who regrets marrying her husband, who regrets having a child, who regrets getting married very young, who regrets sacrificing her career, who regrets falling in love, who regrets making choices out of naivety. I don't know which is worse.

I spend most of my time in my room until mom called me downstairs for dinner. I go downstairs and see the table is already set. I walk over to the dinner table and she joins shortly after. I don't know if we're going to talk or not. Should we? I have absolutely no idea. We both fill our plates with food and start eating in silence. Should I ask her where father is? Will she hide the truth?

"Where is he today?" I try not to sound suspicious.

"He had some work." She replied in a dry tone.

"What work?" I push for more answers.

"What do you think work means? Something related to his job." Is it bad that I want see how far she will go to hide the truth. Or should I just tell her that I know?

"It was fun at work today." I say and she looks at me with a tilted head, "At the bookstore. It was really fun." I take a bite of my food. I sniff a bit and continue, "A little girl walked in with her parents. She was really excited to be in a bookstore and umm...she bought a book of fairies and so I gave her three bookmarks. She got so happy she started jumping. Her parents thanked me and then they all left."

She looks at me as if waiting for to tell me what the point of telling the story was. But there was actually no point. I just wanted to tell her so the silence doesn't seem like the only thing we know.

"And?" She asks.

"I felt good. It feels good when someone shows a sweet little gesture. I used to jump just like her when I was little and grandad used to buy me something from a shop."

Suddenly her face goes a bit numb and her body goes rigid. I don't know why I am telling her this. Maybe because I want to. Maybe because I feel like she deserves to know what her daughter thinks. I don't really have a reason. Maybe I am used to hurting people with my confessions. Maybe I enjoy being sad.

"I used to be that little girl. Until one day I grew up. Growing up is not fun, is it Mom?"

She doesn't answer me. She looks down to her plate and tries to avoid me.

"I can't even wish to be a child again because it feels like I never was. Was I?" I bite my bottom lip and see her fuddling with her spoon.

She doesn't have any answer. Neither do I. I guess we are similar like that. God, I hope that is the only similarity we share.

"He is not at work, is he?" I ask.

She gets up with her plate and goes into the kitchen. I listen to her throwing away her food in the dustbin and the sound of the faucet. She comes outside of the kitchen a minute later and turns around to go to her room but I call out to her, "Hey mom," She stops but doesn't turn to look at me, "It's not your fault."

She stands still for a second and then walks to her room. I hear the sound of the door closing and I continue eating my dinner. Alone.