The Bright Side

Chapter 8 - Part 1

SKY

The crack in the bathroom door is an escape for moist air that is saturated with the flowery scent of Mum's shower gel. It pours out into the hallway and fogs the cold glass of the nursery where Josh and Adam play. I leave them to screaming hell and fire everytime Rosie accidentally – or on purpose – tears their neatly built matchbox garages down again and walk over to the bathroom. I push the door open just a bit until my eyes find Mum standing in front of the mirror brushing mascara onto her long dark lashes. When she's done and still looks the same, she pins her dyed black hair up and applies some perfume to her wrist and to the hairless spot behind her ears. She grabs her necklace from the sink and tries to fasten it around her neck. Her fingers fumble around with the lock, desperately trying to make the ends meet, but slip every time she's close to putting them together. She lets out a nervous sigh just the moment her eyes find my reflection in the mirror.

"Could you, sweetie?"

I step into the bathroom that smells like an intensified version of a green house and close the clasp of the slender silver band that prevents the little heart-shaped pendant with the tiniest gem from dropping into her cleavage.

"When will you be back, Mum?"

"I don't know." She flattens her eyebrows with her ring finger and I notice that she painted her nails in a deep shade of red that matches not only her dress but also her lipstick. "How do I look?"

She makes a little pirouette in front of me and her shy smile is only pretend; she knows very well about the effect she has.

"You look beautiful, Mum." That's part of the whole problem. That she's so pretty that any guy would go out with her even though she has a bad reputation and a house full of kids. And she doesn't even look like it. Sure, she might be a bit wrinkled up and not as petite as she used to be, but she's still slender and doesn't look a day older than she is.

"Thanks."

"So, when do Adam and Josh have to go to bed?" I follow her down the stairs.

"Let Adam stay up with Josh until eight." She wedges her feet into a pair of black high heels. "Put Rosie to bed whenever she is tired. Should be around that time, too."

The doorbell chimes and Mum hurries to grab her handbag and coat from the wardrobe.

"Who are you going out with anyways?"

"Simon."

"Simon, who?"

"Simon Grant. Rosie's Dad."

"Is it a formal meeting?" I ask, barely able to keep my voice clear from hope.

"I've really got to get going."

A short peck on the cheek is what I get instead of a real answer and she disappears into the chilly late summer night before I can inquire any further.

Simon Grant. Mum met him when Adam's Dad refused to pay his alimonies and went to his office in need for a lawyer to fight for her rights. Apparently, there's nothing like a knight in shining armour.

Their story follows the script Mum has written for her love life with one of a few variations that naturally come up every time a play is put on stage. The plot is basically the same though. Mum, madly in love, craving closeness, moving much too fast and the poor guy is head over heels for her, playing out some sick helper syndrome, and absolutely clueless that she'll kick him out once she's pregnant and it's all too much for her again. The only one who ever got an additional scene, living with us even after birth, was Simon. It lasted three weeks and six days. And apparently, the last curtain still hasn't dropped for him.