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“I make a cake every year,” she tells me. “And I don’t give that bastard a crumb.”
We glance toward the door, even though Dad isn’t there.
It’s a habit, I guess.
“That means more than you know, Mum.”
I stand to give her a kiss on the cheek, as Amos cuts the cake into pieces.
Between the three of us, it disappears within minutes.
We slice the watermelon into wedges on the messy counter, passing it around.
“Always tastes better on birthdays.”
She says it casually, as though she has the luxury of eating it all the time.
Then she nods toward my hand.
Oops.
I placed it on Amos's knee without thinking.
“So he’s your fella?”
I sit up straight, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly.
We give each other a coy look.
“He is.”
“Proud to be,” Amos smiles.
“More than just friends, I take it?”
“Yeah. We are.”
I kiss him gently.
And not for show.
But because I’ve never known what it’s like to be myself under this roof.
No more hiding.
She pats my arm affectionately.
“I’m your mother, sweetheart. I had an inkling you were gay. And I think it’s wonderful.”
Has she really suspected all this time?
“Knowing that you’re being loved and cared for is all I could ever want.”
My ears have turned pink.
“You mentioned in your letter a couple of months ago that you’d fallen in love. But you never said any more than that. So I wasn’t sure who.”
