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Fake it till you make it…
Kellan
I didn’t plan on coming here, but recently, nothing was going the way I planned. I didn’t even know what I was doing with my life anymore. I even let down my work the last three days, but going to work meant seeing Melody in that cold, professional way of her, and I wasn’t strong enough to face that. I hated that side of her. And I hated more that I was the one who caused that change in her. I created that cold shell of that beautiful creature.
“Fuck it!” I muttered to myself as I got out of the car. Knocking on the door I considered leaving, but I needed to talk to someone. I needed to leave the little damaged child behind so I could be the twenty nine year old man I was.
“Kellan?”
My mom looked surprised to see me, as she should have been. It was past midnight yet I was knocking on her door. Her scrutinizing eyes studied me for a few moments and I let her. Finally, she took a deep breath and waved me in, “Come on, my boy. I was wondering when you’d show up.”
Isabella Trent was a sharp woman, you could never hide anything from her and she didn’t show her age, didn’t even have a silver hair. Many times people had mistaken her as my girlfriend even though she was forty seven. My mom dedicated herself to this farm, the horses she loved so much. They were the condolences after her marriage ended with Brad.
I sat in front of the fireplace in her living room, waiting as she prepared tea for us. I remembered how my mom used to be, before the divorce, how she had a spring in her step. She always laughed, her eyes used to shine when I was a child. But that woman had left after the divorce. She became an Ice Queen, building her walls high as a tower. It didn’t look bad on her, though. It made her elegant with unmistakable wisdom. Everyone envied her, but I knew better. I knew the lively young woman she used to be when I was a kid. Sometimes she managed to fool me, though. She looked content, but she didn’t have any other man in her life that was a proof of my thesis.
“Would you like some snacks with your tea?” Mom asked, pouring tea into our cups.
“No, thanks Mom,” I murmured.
Taking a sip from her cup in her elegant way, she murmured, “Have you fucked up with Melody?”
Of course she knew. She knew before even I knew it myself.
“Yes,” I sighed.
“Why are you doing this to yourself, son? Why are you running away from loving someone, being happy?” Mom asked, for the first time in years she looked sad, not that cold, collected, aristocratic look on her face.
“Because I saw you, Mom. I learned early that loving someone doesn’t make people happy, it only makes things worse.”
I hated that my voice was weak, like I was still a kid, watching everything, listening to every fight, every cry from afar, helpless, scared.
“Oh, my baby boy. Was this what you’ve been thinking for all these years? You were so young when we divorced, but I thought, with time, you figured this out. I never loved Brad, neither did he love me,” she told me. Her face was pained and shocked, all together.
“Oh, please don’t give me that bullshit, now,” I huffed in annoyance at her attempt to soothe my worries.
“I mean it, Kellan. I know I didn’t tell you the entire story before, I didn’t want to trigger your… umm, feelings.”
“Mom, you know HSP isn’t something you need to worry about. It’s been more than ten years since I had a problem with that so stop sugarcoating things,” I rolled my eyes at her.
There were times my hypersensitivity disorder made my life hell, but at the same time I knew I was luckier than most of the people who had the same syndrome. My situation wasn’t as intense as many of theirs were. It was only bad when my parents got divorced, but my psychologist helped me get over it. Since I was twelve I had never faced a problem because of it I even forgot that I had it.
“Okay… listen carefully then,” Mom said, squaring her shoulders, showing me the strength of her features.
“Your dad was the golden boy at school, he was the quarterback, the most attractive guy in my school… and I was the cheerleader. I was a girl who loved parties, booze, and flirting. I had a crush on your father, and in our senior year of high school… well, we hung out a lot. But just so you know, that wasn’t love between us. We were both young and stupid,” she shook her head before continuing, “I was just seventeen when I learned that I was pregnant with you and your father just turned eighteen. We were terrified. We weren’t even ready to adult let alone be parents.”
I frowned. This was a totally different story than what my mother used to tell me when I was a kid.
“But you said… you said you were so in love during high school, you could hardly wait to graduate and get married,” I trailed off.
“I lied, baby. I didn’t want you to think that we didn’t love you. I wanted you to think that you were wanted, you were loved, you were the fruit of true love… not some mistake made by two hormonal teenagers who didn’t love each other. Because we loved you, Kellan. We were so scared, but when we went to see the doctor…” she stopped, taking another deep breath. I watched as a smile formed on her face, like she was reminiscing a memory.
“The doctor showed us your picture. God, you were just a little blip. I wouldn’t even see you if she didn’t point where you were. At that moment your father and I knew that we couldn’t let you go… that we should get our shit together and be what you needed us to be.”
I leaned back on the couch, trying to separate this story from the one I knew for years.
“Your father is a good man, Kellan. He tried every day to be the best, but it was hard. Two teenagers who don’t know what to do with a baby. Two teenagers who don’t love each other enough. We played house for years, but after four years everything started to crack. Your father and I weren’t happy, but we wanted to fight for you. We wanted to try to find a way to be a family for you. We couldn’t,” she said, shaking her head.
I didn’t say anything, everything was finally making sense in my mind. The small details were fitting together, finally, after all these years.
