Oli's POV:
"Mum, we need to tell you something." I said, causing my mum to turn around to face us from across the kitchen. Her eyes locked onto the interlocked fingers of Ash and I, to which I exploded into a fit of giggles. I composed myself before confessing to her. I knew she'd accept me as she always had, like the first time I told her Ash and I were dating. I reached onto the tips of my toes and kissed Ash on the cheek. He giggled; it was a sweet, innocent sound that made him sound ten years younger. I returned my eyes to my mum, seeing she was clutching tight to the kitchen counter.
"Ash and I are in love." I almost squealed, watching her for a reaction
I wrapped my arms round Ash's waist, proving my words to my mother. A light smile spread across her lips, almost amused. I beamed alongside Ashton, opening my mouth to thank her for not being angry - even though, really, she didn't know the true story of our previous break-up so had no reason to be angry - when she chuckled to herself. The sound was patronizing. Was she laughing at us?
"Not this again." She sighed, shaking her head, walking around the island to stand in front of us, "Sorry, Ashton, I need to speak to my son. Privately. Please can you leave us." It wasn't a question. Her voice was stern. Her eyes were hard and emotionless. I'd never seen her like this before. I stood next to Ashton, bewildered, squeezing tighter to him. My mum grabbed my top and pulled me away from Ash who came to his senses and walked backwards slowly out of the kitchen and into the living room. I watched him go. I was too dumbfounded to think of anything reassuring to tell Ash, so I, instead, shot him a helpless, confused look.
My mum shut the kitchen door behind him with more force than was necessary. She looked me up and down, weighing something up in her head. She breathed in a long, steady breath before speaking, her voice filled with rage and malice.
"Oli, I have always been supportive of you, but this needs to stop. Now. I've tried my best to get you through this phase but, Darling, you're not gay. The way you feel towards Ashton is platonic, nothing more. I mean, how could you be gay?" She spat out the word like poison, laughing like it was the craziest idea she'd ever hurt, her eyes clasping tightly to my shaking soul. I couldn't quite grasp what she was saying.
She continued to drill into my heart, leaving blood-filled holes in her wake, "I've researched the illness, and the internet says you should have come out of this phase by now. I've tried helping you through it but this is getting out of hand. What would the Church think? If my son was a faggot?"
I recoiled at the word like she had slapped me. I slowly absorbed what she was saying, locking my hardened eyes with hers. Anger, confusion and betrayal battled for dominance in my mind as I fumbled for a comeback.
I had always thought my mum was accepting of my sexuality; she had never acted otherwise before. Was this how she really felt? Was she ashamed to have me as a son, because I was gay?
"Are you ashamed of me?" I whispered. Clearly confusion had won. I was dreading whatever answer I got. I still couldn't believe it. My own mother - the one who'd been there for me when I came out to my friends back in Australia, who'd been there for me when my dad had killed himself, who'd supported me when Ashton had left me stranded and broken two years ago - was just now telling me that I wasn't allowed to be gay? Was this really happening? My mum remained silent.
When she didn't answer, anger flared up inside me, "Mother, I'm gay! You know this, I've told you so many times before, and you've never acted like this. Why do you think it's a sin be gay? It's not! You-you don't even go to church. You go once every two months before work, for the free coffee!" I was shouting by this point, not caring if Ashton could hear the argument. I struggled for something intelligent to say, but this argument was so ludicrous that I couldn't rationalize with her.
My mother burned white-hot with anger and harshly growled at me, "Before you tell me it isn't a sin to be gay, let this sink in; your homosexuality killed your father. He ended his life, Oli, because you are a faggot, and he couldn't live with that. You're a disgrace to this family, especially to your father. How can you live with yourself?" Her words were laced in venom. I felt sick.
So many thoughts were rushing around my head. It couldn't be true. Had I really been the reason my dad had killed himself? Had I made him that unhappy? Against my wishes, no words left my mouth to contradict her. Tears stung in my eyes, threatening to rain down like the storm that drowned Atlantis. The pain ripped me apart from the inside.
I had been the reason for my father's death. I had killed my father because I'd told him that I was gay. Was it true? He had died a few days after I'd come out, why hadn't I made the connection before? I remember standing in our kitchen, back in Australia, hugging tightly onto my first boyfriend, Nick, announcing to my parents that we were in love. Of course we weren't in love, we were thirteen. But we came as close to loving each other as any thirteen year olds could. Nick's parents had struggled with his confession, but I'd always thought my parents had accepted me straight away. Had I missed something?
"I really thought that I could trust you, Oliver. This is your last chance; quit this façade, break up with your faggot boyfriend, and we can move on from this. We can pretend this never happened." She smiled a small, encouraging smile. But there was no question about it, I couldn't hide who I was. I couldn't pretend for the rest of my life to be something I'm not.
"Kara's a nice girl, Oli. Ask her out, and we can all be happy. You don't need to throw away your life like this."
I didn't bother replying to that. Instead, I stuck up my middle finger defiantly, which provoked my mother further. In one fluid movement, she slapped me across the cheek. Hard. I winced, refusing to show any other reaction. The slap had hurt, but not as much as these next few rage-filled words:
"I wish I'd never fucking adopted you!"
My brain struggled to process this information. I shook my head slowly. What was she trying to tell me? Was she making it up? Was she pretending I wasn't her son because of my disease? I mean, sexuality.
"I- I'm adopted?" I asked, unsure of myself. This whole conversation was messing with my head. I became vaguely aware that Ash was still waiting in the next room. I hoped he hadn't heard all of this.
"Of course you are! Why else would I have moved all the way to Australia? I was perfectly happy in America, but your father made me move to Australia to adopt you!" I'd never seen my mother act this way towards anyone before, let alone her own son. Did she love me anymore? Had she ever loved me at all?
"Then who are my real parents? Why did you move to the other side of the world to adopt me?" I didn't quite believe her. There was no trace of emotion in my voice. I felt numb, lost, empty.
"His highschool girlfriend, Sarah, got pregnant and, for some reason, called your father when she was close to labour. Apparently, she had nowhere else to turn, no one to look after her baby. Fucking devil baby. God knows what happened to your real father; he hated you before you were even born. In an attempt to be her knight in shining armour, my husband rushed me to the airport. By the time we got there, she was already dead. Ha! She'd tried to birth you herself in her bathroom. You get your idiocy from her."
I clenched my fists, strangely defensive over the mother I'd never know. Why had Sarah called my dad, Frank? Surely she knew he was in America. More importantly, why had my dad rushed to her rescue when he was married to another woman?
"Your father insisted we took you in. I hated the idea; I never wanted children. I tried to love you, Oli, I really did. But you're not my son." She shrugged, brushing me off like she didn't care.
I'd known this woman to be my mother my entire life. How could she say she doesn't love me? Had she been lying for the last seventeen years? Had the signs been there all along?
"I suggest you leave, Oliver. Take your scummy boyfriend and leave. You can come back for your stuff tomorrow while I'm at work, but so help me if I ever see your face again."
I marched towards the living room door, tearing it open to reveal a pain-stricken Ashton. He reached for me and I took his hand, pulling him quickly towards my front door, desperate to escape the viscous beast I'd thought to be a caring mother.
I grabbed my house key from the key rack and we fled from the house, slamming the door behind us. I broke into a sprint, tears ripping at my eyes, with no particular location in mind. As long as it was as far away from my house as possible. Ashton ran close behind me, shouting for me to stop. The tears flooded with a greater force and I continued running, Ashton close on my tail.
I found myself heading towards the town centre, right towards the Starbucks where I'd first met Ashton. I collapsed on the bench outside, my heart breaking into a thousand tiny pieces. Ashton caught up with me and sat on the bench beside me. He pulled me onto his lap and craddled me, stroking my hair and wiping away my tears.
"I heard everything," He confessed, "I'm so sorry." This caused another bout of tears to be thrown from my convulsing body. Ashton planted a kiss on my forehead, rocking me back and forth like a baby. A baby that my mother had never wanted.
We stayed in that position for what felt like hours, getting a variety of confused and disapproving glances from people as they passed by. I truly couldn't care less. Once my tears had dried and the reality had set in, I finally spoke:
"What do we do now, Ashton? Where do we go?" I asked the question in plural, then realized that maybe there was no 'we.' Maybe Ashton would leave me too. I bit back tears, asking the question I was dreading to hear the answer to, "Do you still want to be with me? Ashton, are you going to leave me?"
"Of course I'm not going to leave you. You were very brave to come out again to your mother, and you handled what she said a lot better than I could have. Do you have your phone on you?" I patted my pockets then shook my head, "It's okay, I have their numbers. They'll help us figure this out." Ash nodded, putting faith into his statement.
"Who?" I whispered, confused.
"Emilio and Kara, sweetheart. No matter how angry Kara is at you right now, she wouldn't turn you away. You guys have been friends for years, she'll forgive you amd help us sort this out." He seemed to believe this wholeheartedly.
"What if she doesn't forgive me? What if I blew it, Ash?"
"It's okay, just let me text her. She loves you, dude, she'll be there for you. No doubt about it."
I wished I could believe him.
"Oli, look at me." I turned my head to face him, too emotionally exhausted to say anything, "You know it wasn't your fault. What happened to your father wasn't your fault. Tell me you know that." He sounded desperate. A single tear slid down my cheek. I shook my head no. I somehow knew my mother was right about it.
I didn't know what I believed anymore.