don’t have a father. As for your family, they kicked me out when I was pregnant with you, so I’m the only family you have.”
“You’re just saying that to guilt-trip me.”
“I’m saying that so you’ll stop having naive dreams. We only have each other.”
“I also have a father somewhere. You just refuse to tell me where he is.”
She steps closer, stubbing her cigarette on the edge of the sink as her eyes glisten with moisture. “I’m the one who faced social discrimination and did my best to give you a comfortable life. I’m the one who works day in and day out so no one looks down on you. What did your father do in all of that?”
“I wouldn’t know, because you won’t tell me.”
“I’m protecting you.”
“Just like you protected me from your boyfriend when I was nine years old? If Dad were here, that would’ve never happened!”
She raises her palm and strikes me across the face so hard, I reel from the shock of it. Mom doesn’t hit me. Ever. And the surprise on her face matches my own as burning tears roll down my cheeks.
Her violet-painted lips shake. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“Forget it.”
“I…told you to never bring that up again. It’s all behind us now. I stopped dating and cut off my social life to take care of you.”
“I never asked you to! All I ever wanted was my father and you never gave me that.”
“And I never will.” She sniffles, her expression hardening. “Stop being a baby and grow up.”
I want to tell her that I’ve been a grownup since that night twelve years ago. That I figuratively lost my innocence and she wasn’t there for me.
I want to scream that I hate everything she’s done since then. That I hate her sometimes. But that will only make me an emotional mess and I don’t know how to deal with that.
My relationship with Mom has been on and off for twelve years now and I don’t think it’ll ever get better. I should’ve moved out when I graduated high school, but one drunken night, she begged me not to go, said she couldn’t imagine her life without me, so I caved in and stayed.
And for what?
Nothing changed. If anything, she’s gotten busier with each passing year.
I’m definitely moving out after college ends. I’ll go to Japan and put some distance between us. Maybe that’s what we needed all along. A break from each other.
The doorbell rings and Mom wipes her eyes and goes to answer it.
Using the sleeve of my hoodie, I rub at my eyes to make the evidence of my weakness disappear. We’re the same in that way, Mom and I. We hate showing our emotions to the outside world and actively close down whenever there’s a chance.
Grabbing my tray of goodies, I head to the living room but freeze when I hear a very familiar rumbling voice.
I must be imagining things.
Soon after, though, Mom walks back inside, accompanied by none other than the Black Devils’ captain and quarterback.
The tray nearly falls to the floor and my legs struggle to keep me upright.
Sebastian is here. In my house.
What the…?
I blink twice to make sure he’s actually here. Yup, there he is, dressed in designer jeans that hang low on his sinful hips. A gray T-shirt stretches across his hard abs that his denim jacket is unable to hide.
His hair is styled back and his star smile is on complete display. So what if I can sense the hollowness behind it? Everyone else only sees the accomplishments and the quarterback image.
Everyone else is only interested in what’s on the surface.
All this time, I thought I was, too, but something changed last night.
Or maybe it’s been there all along and is only now making itself known.
“Your friend came to see you, Nao,” Mom announces ever so casually, as if I actually have any friends aside from Lucy.
I finally find my voice, but it still comes out low, “He’s not my friend, Mom.”
“She’s right.” Sebastian offers her his million-dollar-all-American-boy smile. “I’m actually trying to court her.”
She raises a brow, her gaze flitting between the two of us before she mutters, “Good luck with that.”
And then she ascends the stairs, slowly disappearing from view.
Leaving me alone.
Or with Sebastian—which is way worse.
Ignoring him—and my general state of flustering panic—I try to walk at a steady pace. I miraculously place the tray on the coffee table and sit on the sofa without knocking anything over.