"Thank you." said Callum, to my mum, as he followed me into the house. My mum led us to the already perfectly lain table. Not a single item of cutlery was out of place, each glass had been polished to the point where it could be used as a mirror. It wasn't just family gatherings when my mother would lay a dinner table fit for a royal banquet, she would do it for every single meal. Breakfast, Brunch, Lunch or Dinner.
Growing up with Harriet Murphey-Anderson as a mother was...strange . Okay, strange is a huge understatement. My mother happened to be the biggest perfectionist ever. Everything had a place, and everything was to remain in it's place. There was no art and craft, because she hated the mess. We couldn't participate in any sports that involved us running on grass, in sand or going within 100 feet of mud - because she hated the mess. I was not allowed to put make-up on in any room other than the bathroom, because my mother hated the mess! She is and always has been an abnormal woman with an extremely potty mouth. It wasn't all bad though. My mother had also always been great at sorting the douche's from the dream boys, she wanted the best for me, which is why she was always so hostile towards men I was with (many of which turned out to be huge d*cks). She never managed to spot Cal though, she never managed to see through his act.
Callum instantly leapt towards my dad to greet him - and said, "Nice to meet you sir, I'm..."
"Callum! The pleasure is all mine son. Please have a seat." My father replied with an eager grin printed on his face. I could tell my father liked Callum, because he wouldn't normally have used such courteous language to greet a stranger. Callum had already met my sister and her husband, Joel, in fact we had been on a few group dates, so the whole introduction exchange wasn't necessary. He greeted the pair with a warm smile and finally sat down in the dining chair beside me. All of a sudden the nervousness that I had been overcome with for the days prior to the meeting was replaced by feeling of raw relief. I knew the evening ahead of me was going to go well.
After about 10 minutes of light hearted conversation between my father, Callum, Joel and I, my mother and sister finally brought the food to the table. My mother would never allow me in the kitchen, so at family gatherings I would often be forced to talk sports with the men, who happened to be useless cooks like me. My eyes lit up with excitement when my mother and sister delivered the food to the table. I love India's cooking, it's the type of food that is warm and comforting, but that you can eat without feeling like you are swallowing a heart attack. India had prepared a lamb dish, which I cannot remember very much about... except from the fact that it was delicious.
"This is delicious India. Well done." My mother mumbled before shoving another fork full into her mouth. I looked at my mother, sighed ( a sigh of relief) and giggled. Apart from a few appreciative comments, about the food, and the sounds of us eating, the dinner table was quiet while we ate. It was not awkward or tense. I was secretly hoping that the evening would continue in such a way, but I knew eventually my father would ask Callum a question like,
"Callum, what do you do? What line of work are you in?"
Callum replied eagerly, " I buy, sell and develop properties at the moment... But I'm looking to head into the linguistics industry."
"So Callum, I assume you're multilingual then?" My father continued.
" I've spoken French my whole life, because my dad is French... but I also speak Spanish, Flemish, Sweedish, Danish, Hindi and of course English." Callum said, not an ounce of boastfulness in his voice.
I could tell that my father was impressed, although it wasn't him that I was worried about. My mother used her napkin to pat her lips, and clean the food off her mouth - she was ready to speak, she was ready to grill Callum and suck out every single ounce of information from him that she possibly could.
"So Callum, there's a lot of money in what you do?" she asked, her eyes fixated upon him.
"Mum, you can't ask him that!" I interrupted her.
"I can ask him whatever the fuck I want," she yelled.
Callum smiled, "No worries, Mrs Anderson... I earn a healthy salary."
"Enough to take care of my princess?" She asked him patronisingly.
"I earn somewhere between 200 and 300 grand per property, but I'd do my best to look after your beautiful princess even if I wasn't earning Mrs Anderson," he sang the sentence, so perfectly - as if he had done it many times before - as if it were a routine.
My mother coughed, "Son, it's Mrs Murphey-Anderson... but you can call me Harriet."
India and I simultaneously looked at each other. My mother very seldom told anyone that they could call her by her first name. In fact, there were only a handful people who ever called her by her first name before Callum - which included my grandparents, my father, Joel and my aunts and uncles.
"I quite like you Callum," She continued, with a seemingly genuine smile upon her face.
"Thank you, that means a great deal to me," he sang, again as if it were an over rehearsed routine.
India winked at me, as if to say "I'm proud of you!". Honestly, I was proud of myself too. I was proud that I had given Callum a chance, because he was beginning to become my whole world. I was proud that out of all the men that I had been with, he was the one that managed to steal my heart.
The rest of the evening meal was pleasant, we enjoyed a small pallet cleanser before my sister served creme brulee for desert. The conversation was light hearted and hilarious. I couldn't help but plaster on the largest grin every time my mother had to remind Callum that it was okay for him to call her Harriet.
Midnight approached and I began to feel slightly nauseous. The last time I had thrown up was 15 years prior to that evening, so I ignored the slight spell of nausea because I was certain that there was no chance of me actually vomiting. I was, however, more than ready to go back to Callum's place. I yawned, quite obnoxiously and with great volume to alert Callum that I was tired and ready to leave. He most certainly understood the point that I was attempting to to convey because he thanked my parents and my sister and told them that we would have to "Make a move..."
After a round of goodbyes and thankyous from myself, Callum and I set off for his place. The car journey, was awful. I had refused to inform Callum that I wasn't feeling well, so he turned the car heater all the way up. He did ask if I was okay with it, I should've said no, but for some reason I convinced myself to lie and tell him that "I was cold anyway."... Why did I do that?
By the time we got home, my body was stricken with nausea. I had just about managed to open the car door, when I felt it. There was nothing I could do. My head dipped outside of the car as a mixture of lamb, what appeared to be sweetcorn and water spewed out of my mouth and onto the ground. "Shit!" I exclaimed, holding my head as Callum rushed over to me.
YOU ARE READING
"She's dead!"
Ficción General"She's deeaaaaaaad!"... I hear her screech. I'm not dead, not yet anyway, although, he has taken my life. He has burned out every last spark within me, devoured any remaining ounce of hope. I am nothing, so I suppose I am better off dead.
