Hear My Heart Beat

I

I was beat.

It had been a tiring day at work. Dealing with people was especially draining for me mainly because I was not essentially a social person. I would have been better off as a programmer or a technician or in any other job that did not require constant human interaction.

Instead, I became a nurse.

I'd rather not talk about work because I actually wanted to escape from it, but it was unavoidable because it was part of my life now. I was only ever glad I became a nurse when I received my paycheck, or sometimes when I came across genuinely kind people. Every other time I treated it just as my day job.

What did I really love to do? My wordiness might give you a clue. I wanted to write.

I wasn't one of those blessed with a lot of money to keep me going on the career path of my choice without worrying about tomorrow's meal. I was, unfortunately, currently stuck in the middle class and struggling to stay in that general category.

I entered my apartment and collapsed on the sofa. I closed my eyes and immediately felt ten times better.

Nothing gave me greater joy than going home to my own place, acquired using my very own hard-earned money. When you'd lived off the generosity of other people all your life you'd know what I was talking about.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I ignored it. I knew it was a message from Fiona, one of my best friends. She had been asking me to go to the christening of her son. I'd do anything for her, but seeing another one of my friends being tied down to family life depressed me.

It was either because I enjoyed singledom too much, or I was envious of my friends' happiness with their families. I was not quite ready to admit which one was true, though.

I allowed myself a few minutes of peace. And then I went back to the real world.

*#*

"He's beautiful, Fi," I murmured the requisite comment as I snuggled the newly-christened baby close. I meant it though. I had seen a lot of babies in my lifetime, and I admit that some of them could be quite terrible. But this chubby one in my arms was as good-natured as his Mommy.

"Angelo is just like his namesake," Sabrina commented. "Unlike my Priscilla." In response, the two-year-old girl in her lap bawled.

Qadira laughed. "Wait 'till they get to my girls' age. You'll be wishing you could pop them back into your belly."

I wiped Angelo's nose with his bib. "You ladies make having children sound so horrible. Are you trying to discourage me?" I joked.

They all fell silent.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Helena," a familiar female voice said.

I turned in disbelief. "Mother?"

Standing in front of me was a cultured woman in her sixties. She exuded wealth and confidence and disdain at the mediocrity of the people around her.

She gave me one of her stiff smiles. "It's good to see you here. You never call us anymore."

I arched my brow at Fiona. If I had known my mother was here, I wouldn't have come.

She looked at me with a guilty expression.

"Don't blame your friend, Darling. She didn't have a choice in the matter," Mother informed me.

It was always the way when it came to my parents. No one ever had a choice when they were involved. Which was why I left home at the first opportunity.