Thomas O'Sullivan & Edith Montgomery

Mum

At home, Sunday evening, I put my bags down, for I had just been to the shops and I wandered over to the stairs. Edith had not asked me for notes, nor had she asked for any help, and the exam was tomorrow. What was I doing wrong? Why did she hate me? I needed to find out more. I got out my phone and called Bill.

"Yeah? Sup." He answered.

"Hello. I need more info on Edith Montgomery." I blurted out. He laughed.

"Just talk to her, mate."

"I have, but she hates me." I protested.

"She hasn't revised with you?" He asked.

"Nope."

"Hasn't asked for notes?" He queried.

"No."

"Anything?"

"Nothing. Nill. Nine. Niet." I responded.

"Ah." There was a pause. "I can do my best. But I can't promise much." He added slowly. I nodded.

"Thanks."

"Hey, are you coming to my party on Friday?" He questioned.

"Of course, I wouldn't miss it." I replied.

"Cool, I'll invite Edith, then you can talk." He suggested.

"Er... alright." Then I heard my mother scream my name. "Sorry, got to go. But don't forget the info." I added hastily.

"Yeah, sure, don't worry. I'm a professional stalker." He replied sarcastically. I smirked.

"Bye." And I hung up. I ran downstairs to my mother, who happened to be 30 weeks pregnant and very stroppy. 

My mother married young and had me when she was twenty. Now, she was thirty-six, and wanted another baby. So one night, she and dad were bored - and half drunk, and two weeks later, two little lines appeared on the test. She screamed, cryed, laughed, kissed everyone and told the whole neighbourhood that she was going to have a baby. Now that she was 30 weeks, she was starting to regret it, always moaning that she was not as young as she used to be. My mum was a spritely woman, short brown straight hair that had a bit of volume to it. Her eyes were brown, like mine, and she was short but slim, so you couldn't tell she was pregnant from the back.

"Thomas, get me a drink, will you?" She asked as I came into the living room.

"What do you want?" I enquired, going to the fridge in the kitchen which was just behind the living room, no doors to separate it.

"Coke or Pepsi." She replied.

"Ever tried water?" I muttered under my breath.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing." I replied and went to hand her the coke. "Here." I mumbled and sat down next to her. She opened the can with a couple of clicks and necked it down. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and belched.

"Ugh, sorry." She sighed, shifting in her seat. "You're father's not coming home tonight, business called him to Ireland." She explained shortly.

I just sat there, staring at the TV. Pointless was on, and I watched the little tokens fall down the slots and push each other over the edge.

"Thomas, you seem sort of... I don't know... off." She remarked. I shrugged.

"So?"

"What's that matter? School alright?" She asked, stroking my brown, messy fringe out of my eyes.

"Ma, stop." I jerked my head away and hugged my knees, pulling my hood further over my face.

She finished the rest of her can of coke. "Here, put this in the bin." She ordered. I could help but stare.

"Why can't you do it?" I questioned. She scowled at me.

"Thomas O'Sullivan, go and put this in the bin." She demanded firmly. I knew not to mess with my mother when she sounded like that.

So, I took it from her, stood up and went over to the bin.

When I sat back down again, she gazed at me with pleading eyes.

"Thomas? Can you be a darling boy and make dinner? I'll break my back otherwise." She implored. I tugged my black hood further over my head, got up, and started making dinner.

What a way to excuse herself from productivity. It was always: I'll hurt the baby if I do it, will you do it Thomas? Oh Thomas, give me this, bring me that. Oh I can't do it, I'll break my back. Or: You'll make me have an early labor and I'll have preeclampsia, then you'll be sorry.

Excuses.

Excuses.

Excuses.

I got dinner ready and put it on the table in the kitchen.

"Ma? Dinner." I called

No answer.

"Ma." I called a little louder.

Still nothing. I went over to the settee and found her sleeping.

"Ma!"

She jumped.

"Huh? Oh, Thomas. Is it ready?" She asked. I nodded. She groaned. "Get the lap trays and bring it here." She instructed. I did as I was told, to make life easier. I put her tray on her lap, which was a bit difficult to do when her belly stuck out so much with that baby inside her. "Thank you, honey." She murmured and began attacking the burger ravenously. I picked at the chips, not really eating anything. "What's the matter? Don't you like your own cooking?" She teased.

"I'm not a lunch person." I mumbled.

"What? You crazy boy. You make no sense." She giggled. Then, she winced and groaned. "Oh my... Jesus Christ... ow..." She gasped.

"What?" I asked, panicking a little. She shook her head.

"Nothing." She sounded choked. "Ooh, wow! Whoa, lighting crotch. I'm okay. Jeez." She muttered. Then she giggled. "Hey, look at that. It's moving around in there. Do you see that?" She asked.

I nodded. I could see the unborn thing kicking and poking its joints out to the side, making my mum's belly have odd nobly bits.

"Okay, wow. Stop that, you're going to break my uterus." She chuckled as it stretched even more. I felt hot and uncomfortable when she started talking to it.

"I've got homework." I mumbled and put my burger in the bin.