I'm On Your Side

15 | She thinks she's a problem

Mason's POV

I DON'T THINK my mom understands how much enthusiasm I feel. She keeps on shunning me and returning to her work. I get it, lady: you're busy, but at least have some affection for your son. The only time we really talk is during dinner and even then, I'm too hungry to talk.

Plus, there's nothing to talk about. But this―this is different and I'd really wish she'd understand that. She hangs up the phone finally and she gives me a stern look. "What?" she grunts.

I open my mouth, but suddenly my happiness fades. I'm afraid she'll judge me for my reason for being happy. Shit. Charlie is right: people are so judgemental. "N-nothing," I stutter and start for the stairs. But she takes advantage of our conversation, just like she always does.

"I heard you skipped therapy group this week. What happened?"

"Nothing," I say and stop short, realizing I fell for her trick: she's getting rid of any possible excuses. So I stop talking.

"Then what made you skip? Is it your partner?"

"Oh, god. Seriously?" She remains silent just giving me this snarky look, which I resent. "It's not Isha," I confirm to her and then I start thinking about Isha. Damn, it's been so long since we last talked. When did we last talk? "Oh," I recollect. Right.

"If you want, I'll talk to your teacher. What's her name?" My mom's washing dishes by the time I open my mouth, so I don't think she hears me―or maybe she does, but she doesn't show it.

"No. It's not her, I was just... thinking about something else." My mom raises an eyebrow. She thinks I'm lying, but I'm truly not. At least not this time. "God, mom, not everything's about one person."

"Then why'd you skip class?" my mom challenges. That's when I realize the trap she's got me in because I don't know. Okay, maybe I do. But...

"It's complicated," I tell her and I really start to think about it because it is complicated: I mean, I am avoiding therapy class because of Kyle―whatever―and, plus, I don't need it because I'm liked.

That's the reason why I joined therapy.

But my mom has other plans: she's giving me this stubborn look. "Complicated because... she did something to you?" she urges.

"God, mom, no! I―You know what, I'm done with this conversation," I shout to her, running up to the staircase before she says something that provokes my anger. My mom has this weird conception that the reason why I feel uncomfortable or, in this case, stop something is because someone is bullying me.

I guess, I mean, maybe it makes―actually, no, it doesn't make sense. I'm over that shit and she knows that. She should know that.

I catch a glimpse of Caro―she's back from college?―as I run to my room. "When'd you come back?" I figure at least she's willing to indulge in my happiness. Even if it's fake―whatever.

"A few hours ago," Caro says. "What? You're not happy?" I know she's joking, but I feel the need to take it personally.

"What? No, I just didn't know you were back."

"Relax, I'm joking. I'm leaving, anyways."

"Wait, what. Already?"

"Yeah, I came back for some clothes."

"So we can't talk?" I blurt.

"Oh." She sets her backpack on her bed. Suddenly, I get the feeling that she's uncomfortable. "Sure."

"Uh, well." Suddenly, it feels weird to talk about something like this. She's my sister for goodness sake! We're siblings―we're supposed to talk about stuff like this. Maybe, I don't know (some siblings don't). But still: it doesn't make sense. "I-I made a friend." It feels so weird saying someone likes me, so I opt for that instead, which still sounds weird.