Your Last Everything

Chapter Two - Ava

"Ava, darling, I've been talking to you for the past hour. What on Earth are you thinking about?" My mother snapped, pulling me out of my thoughts of a certain police officer with sapphire gems for eyes.

I blinked my eyes away from the cupboard and back to her. My mother stood there, with her red and white checkered apron cinched around her waist. With a towel in one hand while the other one wielded the wooden spoon like a weapon.

Her hair was up and twisted around, held up by a black hairclip, with her bangs falling down her sides, caressing her face. I was the spitting image of my mother to the point where people would mistake us for sisters when I was younger.

I had her long wavy mocha-colored hair, honey eyes, curvaceous hips, and the fact that my breasts peeked when I was a sophomore in high school.

She'd told me that it was a gift, something that was passed down like some family heirloom. It wasn't your usual necklace or stopwatch, no, just big tits that gave you back pain.

"What?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "I asked if you changed Aiden's diaper after you got home from the grocery store."

"I-I don't remember. I think I changed him before I left." I offered, and she gave me a disapproving look. "Mom, if he's still sleeping, please don't wake him up to change him."

"I wasn't going to. I know not to wake a sleeping baby." She said, wiping down the kitchen counters almost aggressively, as if angry that I would assume she didn't know such a thing.

My mother was an angel, well, sometimes. Honestly, it depended on her mood for the day. From the first moment I got pregnant, she had been by my side, my rock, my everything, since the sperm donor wasn't in my life anymore.

My mother and I had always been close when I was young. She spent more time taking me out of school to hang out with her than I did attending classes.

My father would always try to reprimand her but would fail miserably when she'd do her famous pouty faces and cry about how I was her only child.

My father and mother were high school sweethearts that got married once they graduated. They've been together for almost thirty years.

They had some fertility issues, and it took them more than eight years to have me. My father calls me his little piece of heaven since I was a miracle that they had me naturally, without the emotional struggles of finding a surrogate or adopting.

My mother turned her attention to her red pot cooking the Bolognese sauce, and the smell of spiced ground beef, basil, and tomatoes hit me as I realized I hadn't eaten since I woke up this morning.

My stomach growled, and I could hear my mother chuckling as she stirred the pot before spinning around with the wooden spoon that now had some sauce scooped up in it.

"Come taste it and tell me if it needs anything." She said, and I almost jumped over the counter to get to where she was.

I practically ate the spoon as I devoured the delicious sauce. I closed my eyes as I licked my lips.

"So good. It doesn't need anything."

She gave me a look that told me she knew it didn't need anything then pointed to the house phone.

"Call your father, and ask him when he's coming home."

My father's been an architect his whole life and loves his job very much. Even when the hours were long and days were tiring, he refused to retire.

Then he opened his architectural firm to spend more time with us but still got the chance to be out there supervising his workers and getting to do what he loves.