I never understood as a child why he left but as I grew up, I realized he was just a selfish coward. He wasn’t a particularly special piece of shit, just a regular deadbeat who left his family. I guess we weren’t enough anymore; once he had that idea of what hisperfectfamily should be, anything less wouldn’t be enough for him.
A few years after the diagnosis and countless rounds of chemo, Mom was informed that the cancer had returned, and this time she’d need another surgery to remove her remaining ovary and her uterus. I held her hand and rubbed her back as she lay in that hospital bed once again. The scene was familiar, lessfuzzy in my mind but still felt like Deja vu. The only difference was my dad wasn’t present to betray us all over again and my backpack had upgraded from sparkly princesses to plain pink.
I rub at my chest, reliving the hollowing feeling of watching my dad walk away from us at our most vulnerable, at Mom assuming both parental roles when she could barely keep down food. The way she would balance textbooks on her hospital bed and wear the hats I’d poorly knit her in home economics that I pulled out of my teenage black backpack from a very fitting emo phase. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for this woman. From the first princess backpack to my current brown vintage pack, I’d declared that cancer research was what I’d wanted to do. I hoped one day I could be a part of a team of brilliant scientists that granted little girls the life they deserved, mothers their second born, and fathers the emotional stability to stay. I’d give them their happily ever after back, one test tube at a time.
That is why I always worked as hard as I did, getting scholarships, tutoring, and working as a TA. I couldn’t leave the burden of finances to my mom. This is why I’ve never had time to think about a love life or romances…it seemed frivolous in comparison.
I hear the timer go off in the kitchen, pulling me back to the present. I gently pad down the steps to see Mom stirring a can of soup in a pot for our dinner. She hadn’t turned at my quiet steps, so I sneak up behind her and throw my arms around her middle, closing my eyes and holding her tight. I feel her middle shake with quiet amusement before she sets down the spoon and wraps her arms over top of mine. She begins swaying back and forth gently, rocking us to a silent lullaby. Neither of us move until the soup begins to boil over, making us both chuckle.
“What was that for, my sunshine?” She asks, eyes crinkling at the outer corners.
“Just because.” I reply, gathering bowls from the cupboard, then swivelling and grabbing spoons from the drawer.
“All right then, so tell me. What’s new?” Mom asks, settling herself into one of the kitchen chairs in the corner, a blanket thrown across her lap and a hot tea already in hand.
I mull over her question, chewing on my lip and wondering how much I want to divulge. “Not much, no summer classes this year so I have a break there, at least. I’m still tutoring though which is good.” I carry over the bowls, setting them down in front of us before pulling up my own seat.
“That’s great, sweetheart. It’s good to see you getting paid for something you do so well.” She waves a hand as if to move the conversation along, “But I want to know juicer things. Have you seen Dominic since getting ice cream?” She stares me down, a conspiratorial smile creeping across her lips. I roll my eyes at her hilarious attempt at getting gossip out of me. My love life has always been null and void because of my focus on academics, she knows this better than anyone. However, since meeting Dominic and setting up our little matchmaking agreement, my head has felt like a swarm of bees with thoughts that won’t stay still longer than a second.
“No.” I frown a little. “I tried to give him hell for a shitty date, but he just gave me a new favourite ice cream shoppe,” I snort. You can’t stay mad at someone who brings you to a wonderful new dessert place owned by one of the sweetest women you’ve ever met.
“Well, I’ll have to try it sometime then,” Mom says with a wink over her mug. I open my mouth to reply, but my phone chimes in my back pocket, distracting my train of thought. I wiggle a little to maneuver it out of my jeans and see a text from an unknown number.
I can’t school my features fast enough. Mom catches my frown and asks, “What’s that look for?”
“I just got…” I read over the text thread from Dominic realizing he’s sent me a new contact,Jude “The Hair”.I send him back a quick text, then a hello message to my new contact. Jude replies instantly.
Jude “The Hair”
Hey Celly, this is Jude. Where do you want to meet tomorrow for our date
I read aloud the text from Jude to Mom.
“Wow, how presumptuous of him to assume you are: A–going on a date, B–are free tomorrow, and C–gives you a nickname without even knowing you.” She squints at me, her jaw tightening. She’s protective of me in a way only a mother scorned could be. She had every right to be. “You just got back from a date this afternoon, what is Dominic thinking, booking you on all these dates? You’re not a robot!”
I smile at her. “Mom, I’m okay,” I say reassuringly, sending a text back to Jude with a time and place then put my phone back snuggly in my pocket.
“Honey, I know you’re okay. What I meant was at least spread this out a little. I know you’re starting your final year before hopefully,” she crosses her fingers in the air, “getting into medical school, but don’t hyperfixate on solely dating if you’re just looking to have some fun outside of your schoolwork. Hey! Why don’t you finally go get that tattoo you’ve wanted!” she remarks playfully, then takes a hearty mouthfuls of soup. I know she’s leaving me space to refute that I doin factparticipate in social activities even during the school semesters, to which she’ll parry thatDelaney doesn’t count and I need to go on a date andget laid,and before we even begin this habitual repartee she cuts in,
“Why don’t you just go on a date with Dominic?”
My gaze shoots up to her face, her eyebrows are high in question and her shoulders shrug innocently.
“You can’t be serious,” I scoff.
“Why not? You deem him worthy enough to pick your suitors so what’s wrong with him that he couldn’t beone?”
My mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. “Well, I…I…no, nothing’swrongwith him, per se,” I admit, collecting both our bowls and cutlery and getting started on the dishes in the small sink, filling it with warm water. My mother offers me no insight or opinion, just leaves the question dangling there, waiting for me to expand on it.
“He’s just…different,” I finally say. She cocks her head at my answer but refuses to reply. I sigh and begin washing the bowls in a sudsy frenzy, “He’s…” I glance upward as if the right words are hanging above my kitchen sink, “Aloof.”
“Oh, a mystery man, eh? What else?” She smiles this time and it’s entirely in amusement at watching me squirm a little. I direct my focus into the bubbles and continue scrubbing at the spotless bowls.
“He’s…Ugh, why is this so hard? He had a tough upbringing and he’s got a dry sense of humour. He’s overtly honest and the colour black seems to be his thing.” I turn to gauge Mom’s reaction over my shoulder.
She studies me. “His thing?”
I half turn from the sink and lean my hip against it. “Yeah, like almost everything he wears is black, he drinks his coffee black, his hair is black, his eyes are…well they’re actually a very brilliant shade of blue…” I turn back to the sink and swallow.
