he noticed her abrupt alter of mood. yes, she did cried a bucket of tears upon meeting him, bursting suddenly. but he realized it was better that way than her being mum.
he chose to start a conversation.
"so how was it?"
"how was what?"
"meeting my mom."
"it was nice but i was quite mortified because i don't know how to act uhm. . . around your mom."
"is that why you suddenly became silent?"
"yes. yes, it is."
he nodded even if he caught her lying already. he can very well read people who are lying, maybe it's in his nature. or maybe it is because of being observant of her actions and expressions.
"my mom died in an accident."
"..."
"we two are the only one left for each other, against the world. when she died, like your brother, i almost lost myself, blaming everything bad that happened to me.
i was a ruined man back then but i started fixing myself, little by little, pieces by pieces. i thought that if she saw me like this, i will just give her much sorrow. so i picked up my pieces and put it together. you were the light that helped me see my pieces illuminating, that they still have use, that even broken they could still be repaired.
even not like the original but a new refined one."
"why are you saying these to me?"
"don't think that i've said my story because you said yours. i said it because i wanted to find out if i can tell it without remorse, without hatred, without anger to the person who hit my mom."
"and you just did."
"you made me do it."
"no. you did it for yourself. good job. . .err."
"i still hoped to give her justice but i found out that it wasn't his fault and he was in a coma."
she sharply turned her head.
"your mother. . .did she got hit at Newton Avenue?"
"uh, yes. why?"
"nothing."
silence again and this time it wasn't comfortable at all. it was beyond questionable.