The Bright Side

Chapter 15 - Part 6

SKY

I can't resist to lean my ear against our front door before I turn the key, like the thick oak wood wouldn't for once swallow every sound from inside and give me a clue about what to expect instead.

"Go on,"" Tristan nudges me and when I still don't move, covers my hand with his and makes the lock click as loud and as final as the timer on a bomb.

"Hello?" I call out into the eerie quiet and I strain my ears to catch even the faintest hint of who's home and who's not. Silence. There's only silence and for a moment or two my chest expands from ease. She might have left; I might not have to face her again. It only lasts until a kitchen stool screeches against the tiles and Mum appears in the doorframe, her eyes red and her hair such a mess as if she tried to rip it out. She tries to hide behind her slight pout and the arms that cross her chest like a chain lock. Her eyes drill into my face but she still doesn't say anything.

"Can we talk, Mum?" I ask softly. I don't want to scare the quiet away. I'm afraid of the noises that will take its place when it's gone.

Mum still doesn't say anything, she doesn't have to. The shaking she so badly tries to suppress makes her emotions rattle so loudly like she was actually screaming them at me. She nevertheless retreats silently into the kitchen and a staccato of squealing fills the room as she sits back down at the table and that damn chair scrapes over those damn tiles again. It makes my hair stand up. Tristan takes my shawl from my hands and also my jacket and hangs them up along with his own before his helpless nod directs me towards the kitchen. I take a seat across from her while Tristan hovers indecisively by the door, all the while Mum just looks at me with haunted eyes that have so much to say. Her trembling hands are wrapped around a steaming mug and I'm suddenly so sorry to see her like this, so sorry to put her through this and for the shortest moment I think about how much easier life had been inside my cocoon. I slide my hands over the battered surface of our kitchen table; I want to take her agitated hands and calm her agitated mind, but she pulls them back as soon as she's captured the movement.

"Why, Sky?" What started as an insecure whisper merges into trembling words. "I don't understand it. Why? All of a sudden?"

"It's not..." I start, but she cuts me off as if I hadn't said anything at all.

"What happened to you?" She shakes her head bewilderedly.

"What do you mean?"

I throw a glance back at Tristan, who still hovers by the kitchen door, like he's trying to bring some safe space between himself and the lingering explosive impact of this conversation.

"This summer... Ever since you came home this summer, I feel like I don't know you at all anymore," she takes a deep breath. "Suddenly you drink, you get into fights. Your clothes smell of pot. You break rules. And now you want to quit Oxford." She rubs her palms over her cheeks. "Ever since you met Tristan."

"Oh, geez, Mum!" I cry out. It's just outrageous how she makes it seem like he's corrupting me. It ignites something inside of me. "I drank once! I got into a fight once! I smoked pot once!"

"You admit it!"

"Yes, I do admit it. Do you want to know why I got rat-arsed that night?" I pull up my eyebrows but don't wait for any kind of reply. "Because I was sitting here at home, minding my own business and suddenly a guy turns up on my doorstep and tells me he's my father and before I can even process it, he fucks off again! Twenty fucking years of absolutely no fucking clue who he is and he just fucks off again before I even have a chance to open the fucking door properly!"

A hand comes down on my shoulder, a subtle soothing gesture, but I'm not done yet; I can't help it, the burning anger inside of me needs out.

"So, I got pissed. Once! So, fucking what? And as for that fight you're making such a big fucking deal about? That one fight? You know what that was about! Why do you have to bring it up now, like I'm some kind of fucking bully! So, I slapped my brother. So, fucking what? You ever slapped your brother?" I turn to Tristan who has by now taken the seat next to me and looks utterly uncomfortable at the prospect of being dragged into this conversation.