The Bright Side

Chapter 7 - Part 2

SKY

Mum sits down next to me on the bench in our garden and stretches her feet out under the table. Strands of hair have lost the connection to the ponytail she is always wearing and that takes many years off her face. She pushes one of the two mugs she is holding towards me and takes a sip, sighing as if there was ambrosia instead of tea inside.

"Nap time?" I ask and relief floods her face.

"Thank God!" She admits and then blushes, as if she weren't allowed to want some time to herself.

"What are you working on?"

I can feel her eyes linger on my notebook lying on the table in front of me. My first instinct is to rescue it from her, to make it safe in my arms. There's already hurt creeping onto her features in expectation of rejection when I decide to let her in. Just this once. I stretch out my hand and nudge the book towards her and my heart is beating in my throat. That this day would come eventually has always been clear to me, that it's today feels too soon though.

Mum's face is glowing as she carefully takes the booklet into her hands and opens it. The pages crackle when she bends them from right to left. In the beginning there are mostly pictures of my family and she pauses on one of Rosie shrieking from joy as I sung Rock-a-bye Baby for her a few weeks ago.

"It's beautiful," she breathes and traces the line of Rosie's cheek with the tip of her finger. "Can I...?" she asks with her finger already slid underneath the next side.

I force myself to swallow with a nod. There's no need for me to look over to know what she's seeing now. The turning of pages alternates with side glances at me and I keep my eyes focused on the gnome that has forever been standing in the corner of the patio, totally unaware of the huge crack on his hat. Josh had sent him flying down the edge in frustration last summer, when I told him that I would be leaving in a few days again.

"It's all Tristan." Mum's voice is soft.

"Yes," I say.

I know. There's Tristan's face when he's smiling. Tristan with his tongue poking out between his lips when he's focusing on a video game. Tristan dancing to One Direction in my kitchen. Tristan practising flatground tricks, stretching out his arms like wings. Tristan staring out of the window lost in thought. Tristan lying on the box with his snapback pushed into his face. Tristan on my bed watching videos on my laptop. Tristan's face from every angle.

Mum closes the book, pushes it back towards me and takes my hand.

"Are you in love with him?"

A simple answer doesn't even closely reflect what I feel for Tristan. My eyes hurt from wanting to see him. A box in my head that contains my collection of things I know about him is my biggest treasure. My mind holds a million cute things I want to whisper into his ear. Every minute without his presence is a lost minute. A simple answer is still all I can give.

"Yes."

And with those three letters I'm out. It took me eight years to get here. From when I first noticed that all the other boys seemed to like girls and I didn't, my first kiss, the first time I gave my heart away and the first time I got it back crushed.

The gnome doesn't seem shocked at all; he's still excited about the pushcart in his hands. Mum's thumb brushes over my knuckles, up and down, back and forth. I softly squeeze her hand and finally dare to look at her. Her smile is small and loving.

"Thank you, Sky. For sharing your secret with me. Secrets, really. It means a lot."

"You don't seem terribly surprised, Mum."

"I can't honestly claim that I'm not. I am surprised," she admits. "But it doesn't matter to me. Not a bit."

I've never loved my mother more than I do right now. The feeling is so intense that I want to crawl up onto her lap and snuggle up to her like a baby. I let my head sink against her shoulder and she strokes my face, like she used to when I was little and still let her. She rests her head against mine.

"Does he like you back?"

"No."

Although the word has left my lips, I can still feel its weight, pressuring me down. The pull I feel towards him is so strong that I'd think it natural for him to feel it too, that feeling of not being able to stand solidly because there's only one direction you need to go. Like a rubber band between his chest and mine. If I feel the force, he must feel it too, dragging him towards me. I constantly have to remind myself that it doesn't work that way. That physics don't apply to matters of the heart.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too."

Mum and I simultaneously grab our mugs and take a sip. The tea is ice cold.

"Hi, Sharon!"

Tristan's sudden appearance on the brick way that leads all the way around our house makes me jump.

"Hi, Tristan." Her smile is friendly and she desperately tries to not look at me. "You boys going skating?"

"Maybe."

Tristan hops around on his board. He might be smiling, but I can see that he's tense, maybe insecure. It's been three days since. I had no idea that he would be showing up this afternoon. I'm so glad that he did.

I get up to my feet and hold my hand out to him; instead of leaving it at slapping it he hesitates for a split second before he playfully pats my shoulder and pulls me into a short but assuring hug, firmly slapping my back before he retreats with a grin on his face. My breath tries to break free as a sigh of relief, but I force myself to let it out slow. Everything is alright. It was only a bruise.

"Hey, look." Tristan says and pulls a really smooth primo stand.

"You've been practising without me," I pout.

"What else am I supposed to do when you sit in the garden all day having tea parties?" he grins, waving his arms a bit to hold his balance.

"I'll leave you to yourselves then." Mum claps her hands on the table and gets up.

"Wait, Mum." I circuit the table, pull her into my arms and hug her tightly. "Thanks," I whisper into her ear and kiss her cheek.

"Goodness, Sky." She pulls away and looks at me with teary eyes, there go the waterworks again. She pats my cheek and quickly retreats inside; I'm sure she'll be crying again; I always manage to make that woman cry.

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