I don't realize the mistake that I've made until I start my first study session the next day.
My mom is probably still asleep, my brother is at his game, and so is my dad. There's no stress there–temporarily at least.
No. The biggest mistake was letting Ezra into my room last night.
I'm supposed to be working on my SAT Prep, but all I can think about is last night. Every single aspect keeps replaying in my head.
I've never seen Ezra so upset, or so gentle. The way he held my neck–just before the forehead kiss–the touch was somehow filled with so much affection.
Platonic affection, I'm assuming. But affection nonetheless.
And there I go, getting all distracted again.
This isn't what's supposed to happen. I'm supposed to be nonchalant, not easily distracted by a simple display of affection.
But I'm reminded of him every time I glance over at the lilies he gave me–that are now in a vase.
My phone begins ringing with a call from Linh. I answer almost instantly since my attention is so divided right now.
"Hello?"
"Indi, hi!" Her voice is coated with enthusiasm. "My parents let me have the day off since things are moving kind of slow. Do you wanna hang out with me and the group?"
I glance at the computer in front of me before letting out a sigh. "I'm sorry." There's already enough distraction, I don't need more. Not only that, but I'm approaching a point where–even around my friends–anxiety controls my demeanor. They know something is wrong, and I always end up bringing down the mood. No need to do so on a Saturday afternoon.
The line is silent for a few seconds before she starts speaking. "No big deal," she tries to make herself sound okay with it, but I know she's not. "But, um, maybe next time?"
"Yeah, sure. Is–"
My voice gets cut off when my bedroom door opens. There my mother stands in a white sundress and a full face of makeup. My heart beats fast with anxiety at the sight of her. I'm not sure why I feel so flighty when she's in the room.
Well, I do. But deep down, I know that's not normal.
"Hi, baby," she says. Baby. That means she wants something from me.
"Hold on, Linh." I mute the call.
"Make some breakfast for your mommy," Mom says, talking to me like I'm a toddler. "I have a call in about fifteen minutes and need some energy. Thank you."
And just like that, she's gone.
Tears threaten to spill out of my eyes, but I push them down as I unmute the call. "Sorry about that. Is there anything else you need?"
"Nope," Linh replies. "Just make sure to give yourself breaks, alright? I love you."
"Love you too. Bye." I'm the first to hang up.
After heaving out a deep sigh, I leave my room and make my way downstairs. Honey is in the living room, laying by the front door as he typically does when Dad leaves.
I enter the kitchen, already knowing what I'm going to make for her. It's a little frustrating that Mom only talks to me when she needs something, but I never argue.
Watching people fight stresses me out, nevermind being in one myself.
I make my mother a bowl of oatmeal with strawberries and bananas. I've also brewed some coffee with Dad's coffee machine. The coffee is just a little too light, but that may or may not be something I've done on purpose.
Bowl and mug in hand, I bring the breakfast upstairs, to the guest room that she typically sleeps in.
She's at the desk, in front of her work laptop, typing away on her phone.
"Hey, Mom." I plaster on a fake smile when she turns around. "Here's the breakfast."
She glances down at the bowl in my hand, a scowl forming on her face. "What's that?"
I swallow down a variety of emotions–anger, fear, sadness–before answering, "Oatmeal and coffee."
She plasters on a fake smile of her own and I can't help but feel like we're two mean girls in a highschool setting rather than a mom and her daughter. It is simply unfathomable to me that the woman on the chair in front of me is a mother.
"Bring it," she says, waving me over.
I set the oatmeal and coffee down, leaving before she gets the chance to judge it while I'm here.
My chest feels like a bottomless pit as I walk back to my room.
Honey is now in front of my bedroom door, and for some reason that brings me great relief. I push the door open and don't stop him from walking in or jumping onto my bed.
Once my door is once again closed, I sit beside the golden retriever instantly taking his face in my hands.
"I can't believe her," I whisper. "She's gone for months and thinks she can just–"
Tears well up in my eyes and I look up at the roof, willing them away. If I start crying now, I'm not going to be able to stop.
Honey's tongue swipes at my hand and I instantly pull it away, but instead of finding it annoying, I simply just laugh.
"Silly boy," I whisper before pressing a kiss to the space between his eyes.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Later that night, Mom is gone. Well, her stuff is still at the house so she's most likely in Seattle, but that's all we know.
I feel a pang of sadness hit me as I glance over at Lucas again. It's just me, him, and Dad, but Mom was supposed to be here as well.
That's why Lucas cooked Gazpacho, Mom's favorite.
He's spent all afternoon with our father getting the ingredients. It took so long because different stores were out of different ingredients so they were all around the city collecting the stuff. When they got back, she wasn't here, but my brother still went through with making the food. Only for her to still be gone.
The sympathy that runs through me overpowers any anger I previously harbored from last night. "This is really good, Lucas," I say.
He looks down at his bowl of soup. "Thank you."
The thing about siblings is that–most of the time–after an argument, an apology is not issued. Usually, it's a silent agreement that one has forgiven the other.
"Um–" I clear my throat. "How are you and Charlotte?"
That brightens his demeanor instantly. He grins as he brings his glass of water to his lips. After taking a sip, he starts talking. "She's really great."
"Yeah?"
He meets my eyes, nodding. "Yeah. I think you'd like her. She's into reading and stuff. Super smart." An almost dreamy smile plays out on his face. "I don't understand what she talks about half the time, but I could listen to her all day."
Optimism tugs at my heart. As annoying as he can be, I still want the best for him. "What kind of books is she into?"
His eyebrows pinch together. "She always talks about these guys with super weird last names. I think they're Russian or something. Tool...toy? Stool...something, I don't know."
I think he means Tolstoy, but I don't stop him from going on about Charlotte, because it's the first thing to brighten his mood all evening.
"Maybe she'll be the one to put you in your place," I say.
He glances at me, still smiling. "Maybe. I'm thinking of asking her to be my girlfriend soon."
"You guys aren't already together?" When he shakes his head, I continue, "You seem so enamored that I assumed otherwise."
"I am not enamored."
"Mhm," I hum. "Whatever you do, though, don't break her heart."
He lets out a deep breath. "I wouldn't even dream of it."
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
I'm cleaning the dishes when the front door unlocks and opens. I don't have to peer around the hall to see who it is.
She doesn't head right upstairs. She comes into the kitchen, but I don't look at her when I hear her approach.
"Oh!" Mom sounds surprised. "Indi."
"Mom."
For a moment, the only sound is the water running over the plate in my hand.
"No need for the attitude," she finally replies with a passive aggressive hint to her otherwise light tone.
I surprise myself when I let out a humorless laugh. "Okay, Mom. Whatever." My attitude is the least of what she deserves after I had to sit next to a weeping willow at dinner tonight. Out of all the things she deserves for the years she's practically abandoned us, my attitude does not even come close to the top.
Her heels tap along the hardwood floor as she takes a few steps towards me. "Excuse me?"
I shut the faucet off, letting the plate fall into the sink, before I turn around. She's only a few paces away from me.
My eyes move past her 5'2" frame, to the shopping bags that are on the kitchen table.
Enraged does not even begin to describe how I feel. "You went shopping," I say, more to myself than for a confirmation. "Lucas spent all afternoon prepping Gazpacho for you and ate it almost alone, just because you wanted to go shopping."
When I meet her eyes, not an ounce of pity flashes through them. "Yes?"
"That's it? Yes?" I repeat through another laugh that lacks humor. It's one thing when she hurts me, but when she hurts my little brother? It is completely different. "You don't deserve the title of Lucas Myles's mother and you never–ever–deserved the title of being my father's wife."
A laugh gets caught in her throat. "Well then you'd be dead right now."
"I'd rather be dead than know my dad had to put up with you."
Pure, hot fury flashes in her eyes and for a few seconds she just blinks. "Do you wanna repeat that?"
This time, I say it slower, just in case her narcissistic tendencies couldn't hear it the first time. "I would rather be dead–" I pause. "–than know my dad had to put up with you."
Her lips flatten into a straight line before she lifts her hand to slap me. And it works, although she doesn't put much power into it. I can hardly feel her palm make contact with my cheek. In fact, I have to hold back a laugh.
"Go apologize to Lucas, please," I say in the gentlest tone I can muster up, though I doubt I succeed.
Before she can reply, I push past her and walk towards the stairs. My vision goes blurry, but I push away any thoughts that could make me cry.
I have studying that I need to catch up on.