Lover| IT

Cleaning

E.K

I only visit my mom at the weekends because of these reasons. One, she's sick and I'm her only living relative who can look after her. Two, I need to do my laundry because the laundrette at college is a shithole. If my mom wasn't sick, I wouldn't visit as much. I'd find another way to do my laundry.

"Eddie bear." Mom greets as I walk in. I force a smile and go straight to the kitchen to get her medication. Then I go to the living room and give it to her. We live in a ground floor, two bedroom apartment. It's a mess right now, so I should probably clean. Actually, there's no probably about it. I will clean.

Once I make sure moms had her medication, I make her some lunch and then begin to clean the apartment whilst she eats. As I clean, I can't help but think about Richie. The way it felt as he hugged me whilst he slept. The fact like I liked his arms around me. The way his hair stuck up all over the place this morning and how cute it made him look. The tiredness and concern in his voice when I told him I was apologising to Myra. He really cares about me.

Myra blamed everything that happened last night on me once again. Even if I didn't technically do anything wrong. I want to get out of that relationship. I really need to. But I can't. I'm doing it for my mom. I don't like my mom all that much, but she may not be around for very much longer, so I have to make her happy. Myra seemed happy when I apologised. She kissed me and thanked me. Well, I say kiss me. She never actually properly kisses me. Only on the cheek. She's scared of germs mixing. So I've never actually had my first kiss. God that makes me feel lame. I'm twenty and I have never had my first kiss or been on a date. Myra doesn't do dates. She hates them. She only really leaves her dorm for class.

After I've cleaned the kitchen, I have a lunch break myself. Mom doesn't talk to me. She just watches TV. She's not very talkative these days. Once my lunch, a plain cucumber sandwich and some chips, is done, I do the washing up and then clean the living room. Mom doesn't mind except for when I start hoovering. Apparently my cleaning is disrupting her TV watching. I roll my eyes and continue anyway.

I wonder how Richie's doing. He said he was visiting his mom and dad. I don't know if his sister will be there. She's like five years older than us. She was really cool. That's where Richie got his cigarettes as Rachel was an avid smoker when we were kids. I guess he followed in his sister's footsteps considering I saw his packet of cigarettes on his desk yesterday and the full ash tray. Rachel and Richie are very similar people. They both have ADHD and they have the same sense of humour. Except, Rachel thinks before she talks. Most of the time.

"Howyadoin' there, Eds!"

"I'm okay, Rachel. How are you?"

"I'm fine and dandy, my friend. Fine and dandy."

"So she can call you Eds and I can't. What the fuck?"

"Shut the fuck up, Richie!"

Cleaning the house takes up most of my evening. Then mom complains she's hungry at seven so I make some dinner. I can cook certain things really well but mom wants something I can't cook too great. So, I do a safe option and cook some spaghetti. You can't go wrong with that.

I thought mom would complain about dinner not being what she asked. But she's too tired to say anything so she just eats it. I sit at the dinner table by myself and eat my dinner. Ever since the losers came back in my life, I've felt less alone. I'm grateful for that.

"Eddie bear." Mom calls out as I finish my dinner. I place my plate in the sink, so I can wash it up later, and I head to the living room." Have you been taking your medication?"

"Yes Mommy." I reply out of habit. I hate saying that. Richie used to tease me because of it.

"And how is Myra?" Mom asks and I go to bite my nails nervously. But she would yell at me for that so instead I squeeze my nails into my palm. Which hurts.

"She's okay." I reply. Then mom asks me to help her up and so I do. Then I help her to her room and pass her her pyjamas. She's tired and I can see that. Dad was tired a lot the last few months of his life. Especially after treatment.

"Daddy, are you okay?"

"I'm just a little tired, Edward. Nothing to worry about, son. I promise."

"When will you get better?"

"Real soon, honey. Really soon and we can go and play in the park together again."

I wipe a tear away out of view of my mom. That was one of the last conversations we had. I was six and I didn't know what was going on. I got sick a few months after he died. Pneumonia. I almost died. I'm sure that's why my mom is the way she is.

I sit with her and wait for her to fall asleep. She likes that. I hold her hand a little and of course I'm sad my mom is sick. We don't get on but she's my mom. Once she's asleep, I kiss her forehead and go back to the kitchen to wash up.

Seeing my mom like that reminds me of my dad. I don't remember much about him but I remember him being sick. I miss him. I wonder what he'd be like now if he hadn't died. I feel a tear roll down my cheek again and I swipe it away before continuing to wash up. But I doesn't work and I wipe my hands dry and just cry into my hands.