Deception (Michael Clifford)

Thirty Eight

When it comes to doing what I'm told, I'm a bit of an insolent child. I hate it. Maybe its because I've always despised trends, fitting in with what's expected of you. Maybe its because I've always been quite independent, or maybe I just have a bad attitude.
Who knows. So when Kellin dropped me off back at the hotel today to make me face my mum, that little spark of intolerance flared in my chest.
I don't know what he expected of our reunion, maybe for me to fall gladly to my knees and crawl back into mums arms, obey her wishes about going to Brooklyn over the winter?
I push a few pieces of clothing around absentmindedly as I sit on the end of the bed. She's in the other room, cooking dinner I think, I can smell garlic. She's left me alone since I returned a few hours ago, only saying a few words as I walked through the door, and again when she asked what I wanted for dinner. I don't know what's on her mind, but I know what she's avoiding, and I'm sort of glad. The least I expected walking in here was a red faced lecture about how I can't just run off like that, that I should have called her. It's why I put it off so long, but after what happened last night I think Kellin decided it was time. Either that or he was just getting impatient with my mood swings.
Last night seems like years ago. And every time I think about it my stomach does a somersault. I shiver. I can't even begin to unravel what what was, every time I try I just get more and more confused, so I push it to the back of my mind.
I blink slowly, feeling fatigue dragging me down.
"Scarlet," my mum calls me from the other room, and I look up at the door expectantly, she hasn't opened it. I frown. I get up off the bed and pull it open to see her sat at the dining table, oh, dinner must be ready.
I walk over, deliberately dragging my feet, and slouch down into the seat opposite her, but there's no food on the table. I squint suspiciously.
She looks up.
"I need to talk to you." She says, here we go.
She shuffles some papers around on the table, flicking through to a few important ones and placing them on top, then pushes her hair back and looks at me. I sit still.
She stares at me for a few more seconds, making me uncomfortable, then quickly grabs the papers off the table and holds them up.
"These are my leave request forms for December." She says simply. I stare between her and the papers. Leave forms. Really... She's still pushing this... Was me leaving for 4 days not clear enough for you? I start to bristle, ready to remind her of my intentions.
But then she does something unexpected. She rips them up, straight down the middle. I stare in silence at the frayed pieces of paper now lying on the table, then look at her. Her expression hasn't changed.
"We're going to Australia." She says. I wanted to remind I was going anyway but it seemed inappropriate. "I thought about what you said, and you're right. I have been avoiding it." Well, that makes a change. "I was afraid to stay where we were, going to America for a while seemed like the best solution." She pauses, and I can see that this is hard for her to admit. "What I didn't realise was how selfish I was being. I can see now how its affected you, and that you are ready to go back, I guess I wasn't. But I am now. That's why I've decided not to go to Brooklyn over December." She looks up from the table and tells me again, "We're going home."
I sit in silence, processing this, I don't know whether to be happy or anxious. This came on rather quickly, could it really be something I said that made her change her mind?
She frowns and inches her head downwards. "Scarlet? Did you here me?"
I stare at the table and blink, "Home..." I say doubtfully.
She nods, "Well, almost." I look up, and she knits her hands together. "We won't be going to Melbourne."
Oh.
"Actually we'll be travelling with the clients to Sydney. They won't be doing any shows whilst we are there but they will have other business to attend to, and I will be needed to help fill out the paper work." She informs me. "We'll be staying with a relative just south of the city for the duration of our stay, including Christmas-"
"Wait, a relative?" I interrupt.
"Yes. I'd rather have you spend time with a family member than be alone in the hotel-"
"Which relative?" I didn't think we had any relatives left, none that stay in contact anyway.
She breathes a sigh, "we'll be staying with your grandad Earl. He's been more than generous by giving up his two spare bedrooms for the summer."
"Grandad Earl..." I echo, I don't remember a grandad Earl.
"Or grandpa Elmo, as you may remember him." She adds. I think about that for a few more moments, then it comes to me, an image of his warm, weathered face appearing in my mind.
"Grandpa Elmo! Of course! I remember him," He came to visit every autumn for Halloween, dressed up as a pirate, much to my amusement, he'd make the trip down from Sydney each time, and occasionally he'd make it for Christmas, depending on who's house it was at.
"I thought so," my mum hums, "of course I will be needing to head into the city for the majority of the time, but I have some time off closer to Christmas. He lives on the seaside so there will be plenty for you to do whilst I'm not there," she adds, "there's some nice little craft shops and cafes for you to explore, and Earl mentioned there was a bus route not too far a walk from his house, if you want to venture into the city." Wow, she's really got this planned out, I feel slightly like I'm being babysat, but I push that thought away.
I'm actually excited, I'll be back on familiar turf, closer to home than I've been in a long time, plus, it doesn't sound half bad. Staying by the seaside, the ocean, the sunlight, I'll be free to enjoy the outdoors. No more concrete jungle, that feeling of always looking over my shoulder. I feel a smile forming on my face.
"When do we leave?" I ask.
Relief crosses my mothers face, and she looks down at the papers. "We fly out in 11 days." My heart sinks, why so long? "The tickets have been booked already, but its a long flight back." She warns, but I'm still smiling, I don't care, we're going back. "Right now though," she pushes herself gracefully up from the table, "it's dinner time," She smiles, and I watch as she walks over to the kitchen and pulls out a steaming hot dish of lasagne. My doubts from before sink into the background, being taken over by images of the sea, the sun, the sky. I smile... we're going home.