Chase Me

12.

Letting out a groan, I closed the fridge. I couldn't fathom how my mom could be so cheerful in the morning.

"Mom, you scared me. Good morning," I mumbled, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.

She chuckled, taking a sip of her coffee. "I've already made breakfast. Scrambled eggs, toast, and scones," she said, nodding toward the kitchen table.

I realized I had walked right past the table without noticing it earlier. Sheepishly, I made my way over to the spread she had prepared.

"Do you want me to pour you a cup of coffee?" she offered, placing her mug on the counter.

"Yes, please. Thank you," I replied gratefully, picking up a scone from the basket.

"So, you and Zane, huh?" she inquired, a knowing glint in her eyes.

I turned to face her, raising an eyebrow. "Mom, it's not like that."

"Well, Angelica mentioned that you two are going out today," she revealed, pouring hot water into my favorite yellow mug.

I shrugged, taking a bite of the scone. "I didn't expect him to remember Snickers and the places we used to take him."

"Why wouldn't he remember Snickers? Snickers was his son," she reminded me gently.

"My son. He gave Snickers to me as a birthday present," I clarified.

"Yes, yes. But he cared for that dog just as much as you did. So, are you two finally on good terms?"

"I don't know. I guess so. There's not much I can do. It's better if we act civil toward each other until the wedding is over," I replied, my tone tinged with a hint of resignation. "I wonder what caused the distance between you two," my mom pondered, passing me the steaming coffee mug. "Be careful, it's hot."

I grabbed the mug, feeling its warmth in my hands. "It doesn't matter anymore," I replied dismissively. "I'll go upstairs and wake up Yasmin and Milan."

It was a feeble excuse, a means to escape that conversation. I wanted to shield my parents from becoming entangled in whatever complicated situation Zane and I found ourselves in. "Why the sour look on your face?" Zane inquired, stepping out of his sleek black Maserati—the epitome of his love for the brand, for which he had become an ambassador.

"I thought you wouldn't remember," I huffed, my annoyance evident as I closed my car door. "It's been years, and you can't even recall what you had for dinner yesterday!"

Zane chuckled, unbuttoning the top half of his gray shirt. "Come on, we're talking about my son, may his soul rest in peace. How could I forget my son and the places I... I mean, we took him?"

I cleared my throat, feeling the weight of his words. "Excuse me, but he was my son. Your nephew."

"Bullshit!" Zane laughed, shaking his head. "Snickers was my son too, even though I gave him to you as a gift."

"Which makes him officially my son," I asserted. "So, why am I here again?"

We stood in Washington Square Park, a place we had visited with Snickers just two days before he passed away.