hands off my heart || n.h au

t w e l v e

Growing up, Jena spent a lot of time in the kitchen with her mum. At first, it started out as a chore. Her mum would ask her to help her cut some vegetables or look after what's on the stove and make sure they don't burn their dinner, which she didn't enjoy because she'd rather watch the television or talk to her friends or do anything but be in the kitchen. Later on, it becomes something that she rather enjoys. It's where and when she and her mum would bond.

There's a sort of calmness that settles over the two women as they cook or bake together – unless they're having coffee then that's when they'd share some gossip or rather, her mum would catch her up on the town's gossip while she listens and makes a mental note to relay them to Rowan.

The kitchen is also where they'd talk. Where Jena would ask her mum for some guidance, some advice – oftentimes, under the guise of asking for a friend but she has a feeling that Francis Chen knows that it's for her anyway. Her mum is not a fool.

"So," her mum breaks the silence between them, "are you two okay now?"

Jena freezes, her hands that were working on cutting the potato halting mid-air. Her mum should know better than to ask that kind of question while she's holding a sharp object. What if she'd cut her fingers? Though, now that she's thought about it... Maybe that could get her out of having this conversation regardless how long overdue it is. As tempting as it is, Jena shakes her head, ridding her mind of that thought.

"Hm?"

Although she can't see her mum, Jena knows the older woman is rolling her eyes at her. "You and Niall. You two okay now?"

"I–uh, of course we are," Jena answers, the lie sliding off of her tongue as she continues cutting the potato. The chopping sound which made her feel calm a few minutes ago now only heightens her anxiety. Swallowing, she adds, "Why wouldn't we be?"

Instead of answering her straight away, Jena can hear her mum fussing with the pot on the stove before switching off the gas and making her way to stand next to her.

"You don't think I'm blind, do you?" Before Jena could answer no, she doesn't think she is blind, but she's hoping that she'd be oblivious at least, her mum continues, "Or stupid?"

"I would never dare think of you that way," Jena tells her mum, to which she receives an eye roll as a response.

"You'd hoped that I was," her mum corrects herself, hitting the nail on the head. When Jena looks up, she finds herself staring straight into her mum's imploring eyes. "You two went from talking and seeing each other every day to not doing that in, what, a year? You didn't even make plans to visit him and him, you. Of course I knew something was up."

Jena puts down the knife and lets out a breath.

Jena wonders how long her mum has been wanting to have this conversation with her. Because for her, despite the desperate need to keep what happened between her and Niall locked in a box, there's still a part of her that aches to talk to her mum. To ask her if she'd done something wrong. If there's anything she could do to fix things. Sometimes she'd even find herself in the kitchen, the questions at the tip of her tongue and each time, she'd swallow those words down, ignoring the pain they left behind. Had her mum noticed that too?

"So, what was it?" Her mum presses, this time her voice is gentler. And honestly, it's worse. So, so much worse when the words that leave her mouth next are these: "Did he tell you he loves you and you turned him down?"

"What?" Jena blurts out. Her heart skips a beat at the suggestion, her brows furrowing at the thought that her mum would think that was what happened between her and Niall. "No."