Strings Attached (On-going)

22. ABANDONED

OSCAR'S POV

Since my mom left, I made it a point to make myself believe she wasn't coming back, those had been her words actually. "You'll never see me again Lee", she had said to my dad, her voice so firm, the day before she left.

"We can still make this work, Rebecca", my dad had pleaded, "just a few more days?", His eyes were puppy, as usual----what kind of man is as soft as my dad?---sigh!!

"We agreed on ten years and that ended eight months ago...so I'm done, my whole life in this miserable marriage is one that I regret!
You can decide not to sign the documents, but whether you do it or not, time's up and I'm done" My mom had announced.
I had stood at the head of the staircase, staring silently at them, a tear had rolled down my cheek. Hearing her say those words shredded me into tiny pieces, knowing she regretted even having me. Had she said that to infuriate my dad or did she actually mean it?

But reality is, usually, what people say in your absence is something they really mean.

How come ten years of marriage couldn't change her heart, her mind, even her emotions. My dad learned to love her, but she never did. I saw the way he looked at her and even spoke with her, so tender and loving. But nothing he did had changed her emotions for him.

As I had come to know, they had gotten married unwillingly. They married to secure a ten year contract between their families ; The Hunters, my mom's family and The Finers, my dad's side. It was agreed that the marriage would be automatically dissolved after the ten years, that if they had any child, the child would get a share of the portfolio, which was actually owned by the Hunters.

It was the reason my dad had wanted me to pursue viticulture, to manage the vast vineyard when I got of age. "Hopefully your mom will still be here to see how you do it, you'll do well", he had said heartily, his smile revealing his diastema. But I changed my mind the moment my mom left us. With almost half of the money they had saved together. As I said, my dad was so soft, he decided not to press any charges against her.
I lost interest in my wonderfully planned future. I now wanted to rule my world my way.

My parents always fought, my dad was mostly the weaker one, my mom was the most choleric, impatient and strong willed woman I had known. She was so tough, I wondered how she did it. I would forever be proud of my dad for coping with her the way he did.

I always cowered in a corner whenever my mom got angry over nothing in particular, her outbursts wrenched my heart and gave me goose pimples every single time. My dad was forever reticent when she began her rage fair. He would sip on his wine and tap the brim of the glass while she talked, as though nothing was at stake.

My mom would pounce like a lioness on him in attempt to coerce him to fight back, but he never did. She would tug on the collar of his shirt and shake him vehemently, poke his chest, but he wouldn't budge, and when I attempted to stop them, she would scream, "Go to bed, Oscar, you've got school tomorrow! ", even before I opened my mouth.

But one thing always struck me about her, she never laid a hand on me, she would scream and howl her eyes at me, but she never hit me. She loved me, I knew that, but she never said those exact words to me, ever. But why would she leave and not look back at me, her only son, I was a child for heaven's sake.

Before she took a last turn to leave, dragging her last bag behind her, she looked up and noticed me. I began to sob, but she just gave me the hangdog look. I sobbed louder and bolted down the stairs, hoping my wails would touch her heart somehow. But she was bent on leaving and so she did, and I had no clue where she was headed, maybe my dad did.

Occasionally, she would call and speak to me, just me and then extend her greetings to my dad. "Where are you mom, I could come see you sometime, some vacation or som'n" I asked in my ten year old tender voice.

"I'm in Georgia, but don't worry, I'm just here with Auntie Julie". My grandparents had died four years earlier, but she had the rest of her family in Georgia. I had been there once.

Apparently, that was a lie, she had remarried and was living with another man. I got that revelation while as I was eavesdropping--as usual-- on her conversation with my dad ( one of the few times she agreed to speak with him). "I sincerely hope he makes you happy, Becca", my dad had said, he stayed silent for a while, listening to her on the other side, and then, "if its really what you want, so be it, I hope he isn't a bad husband like me".

No, dad, you're the best--- I had said to myself.

Apparently, while I was praying and hoping she would eventually come to love my dad, she was anticipating the end of their marriage contract, so she could leave and get married to her secret lover---- and so she did.

My dad started drinking excessively a while after he learnt she had remarried. He was broken and hurt, and I could see all that in his dark green eyes, which had gradually lost its sparkle. He was practically apparelled in pain.

She called home once every week but stopped a few months later and I never heard from her again even after my dad died.
So I was all alone in my small world.

I had lost traces of her, I tried contacted Auntie Julie but her phone was always off.
She never bothered to call or even send a mail. Which mother would do that?

Mine, obviously...

If nothing at all, I always missed her good foods, every time my eyelids flickered open, I inclined my ear to the silent air, looking forward to hearing the clanging of teacups and plates from downstairs, anticipating the aroma of fried sausages and brewing coffee.

She was happy sometimes, just sometimes. When she was in high spirits, she would brighten up the whole day, days actually, especially for me. She would play with me and tell me bedtime stories and the put me to sleep with lullabies.

She was always good to me, but my dad, she wouldn't look at twice.
Their awkward relationship always bothered me. I had once asked my dad why they always fought, "it'll get better", he had said.
When I asked my mom, she had just sighed and said, "it is just what it is baby, don't worry about your dad and I, it'll all end one day".

I thought she meant the fights and bickering, when she said "it'll all end one day", until I saw her leave the house, like actually leave, after ten long whirring years, like it all meant nothing.