36 Questions to Fall in Love...in 36 days!

Chapter 22: Hard Questions and Painful Answers

And it makes me want to break this silence, slamming my hand on the counter,asking her why she gives up so easily without actually having tried.

Am I hard to love??

I still have so many questions, swirling in my head. My heart pleads for answers because it can barely beat knowing that my mother struggles with loving me.

It can barely beat knowing that the cause of most of my pain sits right across from me with nothing to say.

But the silence is safer, I remind myself.

But the questions...

The questions...

The questions.

They consume my mind and heart and the knife that's pierced in my heart leaves a burning ache.

I can't just stay silent.

Dominique was right.

Not many kids get to ask their parents the questions that have been taunting them their whole lives and now…

Now, I finally have the chance.

I stare at the woman in front of me, who's blue gown is tightened around her. Her afro held back in a bun so that her whole face shows almost like she has nothing to hide.

It feels like all the emotions from the past week since she came build up in the innermost parts of me, drowning me in misery and the only way to set myself free is if I—

“Ma, who's my father?”

The whole table stills, my mother's spoon dropping to the floor in the echoed silence.

She meets my eyes, then her brown eyes flick to Mkhulu but he stays stoic.

My mother shrinks into herself, her eyes pleading so much more for the previous silence that was safer.

And I guess it was.

Or maybe it was just a silent killer. Maybe although the knife didn't go deeper in my heart, it didn't mean it wasn't going to finish its job of breaking me. It didn't mean that the hurt stopped.

It didn't mean that I could just pull it out and pretend I wasn't bleeding.

“Answer the question—please” the desperation in my voice, makes Mkhulu sigh deeply and tighten his hold on the black cane he grasps.

“...”

Mkhulu clanks it to the ground, jolting us for a moment. “Answer the question Linda!” he says in his gruff voice, aggravated.

My mother chokes on a sob,the tears trailing down her cheeks.

She does this all the time. Using her emotions against us. Just because I'm not crying now doesn't mean I'm not wounded.

She did it years ago, when Gogo died. Crying like she was the only one who lost something when all our hearts were ripped open but instead of wiping out our own tears we reached to wipe each other's tears.

Except  my mother.

Never my mother.

She was selfish in the most unique ways.

She was selfish with pain. She didn't want to see, acknowledge or accept anyone's pain but her own.

“This is no time for crocodile tears Linda. Answer the boys' questions. All of them.”

Mkhulu meets my eyes,understanding flashing in his expression.

It makes me happy that he knows.He knows that there is so much I need answers to.