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The one who makes me feel fake whenever he looks in my direction at school.
Helen stands in front of the refrigerator with her back facing me. She’s wearing chic trousers and a pressed shirt. Her light chestnut hair is tied in a neat bun that shows off her soft cheekbones and enhances the size of her hazel eyes.
Helen is a bestselling crime thriller novelist, so she doesn’t usually dress up at home. She only does that when she has to meet her agent or something.
I sneak up behind her and hide her vision with my hands. “Guess who?”
She hums. “A beautiful girl with baby blue eyes and the shiniest blonde hair who’s wearing pink?”
I laugh, removing my hand. “Uniform, Helen. Colours aren’t allowed, but hey, my watch is pink.”
She turns around and hugs me. She smells of strawberries and spring. If I had to pick a part that I love about Helen the most, it would be, without a doubt, the way she hugs. It’s like she engulfs you and saturates you with her warmth.
Papa rarely hugs me ever since Mum told him he’s the reason I’ll stay a little girl. Mum seldom does it, so Helen is basically my only source.
She pulls away. “Are you ready for baking?”
“Weren’t you on a deadline?”
“I finished early. So we get to bake all the cakes.”
“All?”
She nods.
“Can we make a Snickers cake?”
“You and that chocolate.” She smothers a soft laugh. “Yes, we can make that.”
“Yes! You’re the best.” I kiss her cheek and she laughs again.
Helen and I get to work, and as always, I’m her sous-chef. She has a way of mixing ingredients that makes her fit to be a chef if she ever considers changing careers.
“You look beautiful, Helen,” I tell her as we mix up eggs with butter.
Her warm smile makes an appearance. “I do?”
“Of course you do. If you go out there, you’ll come back with ten men.”
“Silver! Where have you heard things like that, honey?”
“The girls at school.”
“Wow. Kids these days are unpredictable.”
“I mean it, Helen. You’re still young and beautiful. Oh, and rich. Mum says that’s what matters the most.”
Helen’s eyes cast downwards. “Not in all cases, honey.”
Ever since her husband’s death six years ago, Helen has dedicated her life to her wanker son and her work. She became a bestselling novelist and built a name for herself, but I can sense how lonely she is.
Like Papa.
Oh. Like Papa.
A wicked idea comes to mind. I can tell Papa to come pick me up early and then pretend to be asleep so he can spend some time with Helen.
I gave up trying to patch things between him and Mum some time ago. All they do is fight, so maybe it’s better for both their sakes to see other people.
