The Void Between Hearts ~~ongoing~~

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"You're unbelievable." she says. "Like sometimes I wonder how it's possible that you're my daughter." 

   "Best believe it," I shrug. 

   "What wrong did cinnamon ever do to you?" she asks.

    Trying to conjure up an answer, I look around the small kitchen. In the open cupboard, standing next to my box of unsweetened bran cereal, I sight the tall can of almost finished Big Dee's Butter Chin-Chin, I take mental notes to finish it later.

   "It's actually innocent, I just hate it," I say.

   She laughs. "That reminds me. So if I didn't wake you up, you would have kept on sleeping?" 

   "I was up, Mom."

   "It's not even like you've been out of school for three years, just one week and you've already lost sense of time."

   "If only you knew." I whisper, low enough so she doesn't hear.

   She walks back to the tiled counter and grabs a bottle of honey. "I just hope you don't sleep into your prom."

   If I knew how, I'd probably do it.

   "You know it's in three days, right?" she asks. 

   "I know Mom, it's supposed to be my prom." I wear a shabby grin.

   "After taking your time to get down, I should be the one giving you cold shoulders, not the other way around. " 

  "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about." I say.

   She squints. "Is this a new vibe or do you have something to say?"

   Firstly, I'm getting worse, secondly, I have a stupid graduation event to attend, thirdly, these kaftans.

   "You're thirty-three. That's not old and you're sexy."

   Her forehead wrinkles as she lifts the pot. "I don't get you. I feel like I should, but I don't." 

   "Really? Like seriously, you don't get it?" 

   "I wish I could tell you I do, but I don't." She walks to the dining area, which like her office, is just another extension of the sitting room, not more than six steps from the kitchen. 

   I follow behind her with two deep-blue ceramic dishes and two wide mouthed stainless steel spoons, observing how she already micro-dusted the picture frames and micro-mopped the tiles.

   "OCD." I think aloud.

   She snickers. "Oh really. Just this week and you're back on the chores. WAEC is over isn't it?"

   "Mom!" 

   "Sweetie?" she smirks, pulling out her seat. I fold my lips into a pout with pleading puppy eyes. "I'd be a bad mother if I let you have your way all the time."

   "I never even have it," I protest.

   She laughs. "Aren't you going to tell me why thirty-three is not old?"

   "It's these kaftans and turbans. They're driving me crazy." I pull out my seat, directly opposite from hers.

   A sharp screech follows the spoon that falls from my hand, it earns me a warning glance. "Sorry," I mouth.

   "It's oats today. No cinnamon. Let's pray." She ignores me, announcing the sad news that unfortunately brother cinnamon didn't make it to breakfast.