Mum stands in front of her board, scribbling what seems like ideas. They always look like another chaos to me. Words scattered all around with no apparent purpose or meaning. How she manages to put them into something coherent afterwards still escapes me.
However, Mum is an artist and no one is meant to understand them. She says even artists find trouble understanding themselves sometimes.
I place the cup on the table and plan to leave without disturbing her, but she turns around and smiles. “Darling, you’re home.”
“I brought you some tea.” I motion at the board. “When can I read it, Mum?”
“Not yet.”
“I thought I had the perks of being the son and getting to read early.” There’s a lot of buzz going on about Mum’s upcoming book, and like any of her other fans, I can’t wait to get my hands on the masterpiece. Mum has a way of titillating the human mind without romanticising it. I fell for her writing since the time I stole her first book and read it in Aiden’s house.
She laughs. “Fine. I’ll give you a copy the same time I send it to my agent. Happy?”
“Yes. Now, have you eaten?” Mum forgets her pills and her meals when she’s on a tight deadline, and I have to constantly remind her of them. Silver has been taking on that role, too.
Mum’s had insomnia lately, but that’s only because she’s been writing. She always seems to backpedal a little when she’s on a deadline. Her therapist told me it’s nothing to worry about, because she’s stressed and will eventually go back to normal once she makes sure she’s met her deadline.
“I have.” She comes close and pats my cheek. “Look at my little boy grown into a man. Have I
told you I’m proud of you today?”
“You just did.”
“Where’s Silver?” She stares behind me. “I was planning to make some lasagne for dinner.”
“She told Sebastian she’s staying with her mum.” I grin. “Let’s make it a date for two?”
Her expression falls since she’s all about family gatherings, but then she smiles again. “Absolutely.”
I’m about to leave her be, but I stop at the door and turn around. “Mum?”
“Yeah?” She glances at me over her shoulder.
“Are you happy? With Sebastian, I mean.” I would say yes. He’s attentive and gives her the space she needs, but the devil in me wants her answer to be ‘no’ so bad, it’s disgusting.
“Why, of course.” Her face breaks into another warm, gutting smile. “I finally have the family I’ve dreamt of.”
“I’m happy for you, Mum.” I’m not.
Yes, I want Mum to smile more, and she has since we moved in here, but now I’m starting to have regrets.
I’m starting to think, what if I hadn’t agreed when she first told me about Sebastian? What if I’d told her no instead of hoping they’d eventually get tired of each other and break up?
And the funny part is, I don’t do what-ifs. I’m the type who doesn’t look back on past events but chooses to face forward instead.
However, there has always been an exception to my rules.
Her.
My Butterfly.
My chaos.
I stand outside of her room for a second, but choose to go into mine.
While her Chanel scent helps me sleep at night, it’s also a form of torture to imagine her there when she’s not.
I change into a pair of home trousers and a T-shirt, then sit on my bed, lean on one hand, and open my book of choice again.