Have You Ever Met A Girl Called September?

February 2.3

February 2.3

Kat's shoulders are hunched over as she scoots across the sofa. "I'm sorry," Her voice is softer than normal, a little tinny as she fights back tears. "I thought I could just sneak out and meet you, I didn't think you would ring the bell - I am so sorry Lysander."

"It's okay." But it isn't really. Mum is in the kitchen, making tea as an amend to 'set things straight'. I didn't think there is anything a mug of tea could to to bring back three years of my life, but you know, at least she's making an effort.

"No, seriously. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

I shake my head. There is nothing she can do. I am going to have to sit down and 'chat' whether I like it or not. I glance behind me at the window, trying to gage whether I'd be able to climb out of it or not.

Kat sees where I'm looking and shakes her had. "You won't be able to do it, Sander. Just grit your teeth for an hour or so, it won't be that bad."

So she thinks - she wasn't the one who ran away. She doesn't know what they did to me - and she doesn't know what it feels like to try and find your own way in the world without any qualifications.

I look up at the door just to see it creep open, the petite body of my mother sliding through the gap, a tray with steaming mugs of tea balanced on her hands. She sets the tray down in front of me and gives me a thin-lipped smile.

"Lysander."

"Mum."

If she wants to talk  she's got to start it. I'm not doing her any favours. 

"How are you?" She pulls a moth-ridden chair across the carpet and sits down opposite me, her legs barely touching the ground. I'd forgotten quite how short she was - I must've overtaken her aged eleven.

I hate generic questions. If she wants to know how I am, why doesn't she ask something more specific like, "Where are you living?" or "Are you happy? or "Are you pleased with your success?"

"Good, I 'spose. You?"

"Good." She takes of her tea, her eyes blinking at me through the steam. She hasn't changed a bit since I last saw her - but then again I didn't suppose she would. I don't take a mug but Kat reaches for one, smiling as she pulls it to her lips.

"I love awkward silences!" I can picture her eyes rolling as she says it. My mother frowns, always a hater of sarcasm.

"I'm sorry your father isn't here today, Lysander," she says, her voice sharper than I remember. "He's been busy with work lately."

I stay silent.

"I saw your book in the shop the other day," she continues and I can feel myself getting excited, wondering if she might actually praise me for the first time ever. But then she says, "but I didn't get it. Marie recommended a new romance that I just had to buy."

I feel a stab of anger in my heart. How dare she - she, my mother- not read a book her own son has written, and instead read some crappy romance novel? 

I can feel Kat shift uncomfortably in the seat next to me. I have to bite my bottom lip to keep myself from lashing out. It's just that she makes be so angry all the time, and there's no better way to put it.

I know there's a reason she so's cross all the time, but sometimes it just gets too much.

"Was it good?" I ask bitterly, tapping my knee up and down.

She's confused. "Was what good?"

"The book, mum. The romance. Was it good?"

"Oh. Yeah, I suppose."