When Bluebirds Fly | ✔

Part Three : Chapter Six

I tore away from Isaac, scrambling up and his mother gawked at us in the way mothers of teenage boys do when they first catch them masturbating. I cleared my throat awkwardly which made the atmosphere more awkward, standing guiltily next to Isaac. He smiled easily and said, "You have come back from shopping?"

His mother mutely nodded, admiring with me the ease with which his son could pretend to be innocent. She once looked me up and down, her pale-grey eyes wide like an owl's. Then tightening the clutch on her grocery bags, she wordlessly left.

After a few seconds, we could hear her distant exclaim, "What was he thinking? Out in the open like that!"

Isaac and I burst out laughing irrepressibly and I had to wipe tears from eyes. "T-That was super weird."

"Yeah . . . " Isaac grabbed my hand, gently tugging me forward.

"What?"

"Let's go in to eat something."

"Are you kidding me? After what happened- no, I can't face your mother," I protested, but he was dragging me. "Isaac, no---"

"It's all cool," he said amusingly, his tone not consoling me at all. His two-storey house was identical in terms of the structure with what I had memories of, but the walls were freshly painted in pastel tones and the entire furniture was switched to suit modern tastes. The marble floors were immaculately polished with plush sofa-set, a curved television which my calculating eyes estimated to be of sixty-five inches and shelves containing souvenirs and antique artefacts from around the world. The living-room was airy and clean with minimal, but expensive furniture pieces.

I nervously entered the kitchen area which was fairly large for a kitchen and it had a dining space in it. The kitchen cabinets were of shades of grey and black and all appliances of latest models were kept on some open shelves. I let go of Isaac's hand the moment I had entered the kitchen since his mother was present there, putting away the groceries in the refrigerator.

Isaac hovered her, his eyes scanning for some snacks when she asked in a mildly snappy tone, "What do you want?"

"Just something to eat for us."

His mother turned around and looked at my timid frame, her face softening. She didn't smile, but said kindly, "You both sit down. I'll make something."

"Oh no, there's no need," I said politely and glanced pleadingly at Isaac, but he didn't back me up. Did his mother remember that I was the little girl who used to eat her delicious pies and finger sandwiches with her son? The little girl who used to drink her lemonade with extra, extra sugar?

I had transformed a great deal and with the blue hair, unrecognizable from my pre-pubescent self. On the contrary, she hadn't changed much. Ageing had dulled her skin tone, but otherwise, she looked as beautiful as before.

She clicked her tongue dismissively, already searching for ingredients and Isaac and I sat at the dining table. My body was rigid from being thrown in this uncomfortable situation and the more that I stared at the faint reflecting of myself on the glass table, the more uncomfortable I grew. I didn't belong here. I was that piece of souvenir which stood out because of how cheap it was compared to the others.

Isaac was trying his best to engage his mother and me in a conversation, but whenever his mother spoke, I fell painfully silent and vice versa. I took my phone out and anxiously typed in, 'does she know who I am' and sent it to Isaac. His eyes met mine fleetingly and he replied on text, 'of course! i have talked a lot to her about you.'

I had a sudden urge to put my head on the cool table and drift to sleep because his words tensed me more. I was filled with this immense pressure of proving to her that I was the sweet, little girl who she had adored once, I was the girl who could be worthy of her angelic son. I got up stiffly and asked in the way students ask their teachers, "Can I use the washroom?"

Isaac smiled confusingly. "Yeah, come. I'll show you where it is." We left his mother to prepare the snacks and Isaac led me to a bathroom that was located in a spare room behind the kitchen. "What's up, Ana?"

"My blood pressure," I muttered and he let out a short chuckle. "This is weird Isaac . . . This is so weird."

He shut the door of the spare room so his mother wouldn't be able to hear us. "This is the first time. I'm sure if I came to your place, I would feel weird too."

I was never going to invite him to that shithole. 

"But you don't get it!" I immediately lowered my voice, having heard myself. "The history. Her being best friends with my mother. You with your fancy place. It's a lot to take in. A lot."

"I know and I didn't mean to put you in that spot." He ran a hand through his bouncy curls, a conflicting look in his eyes. "Trust me, I get how weird you're feeling. But I wanted you to meet her- she isn't terrible. She's nice and chill---"

"I know! God, Isaac, I know how nice your mother is," I interrupted him, feeling my cheeks flush in embarrassment. "I didn't mean that your mum is terrible. It's a bit overwhelming. That's all. Anyway, doesn't matter. It's no big deal, I'm making it a big deal for no reason."

"Hey, no," he said softly, taking my hand and absently swinging it sideways. "We'll take the snacks and go upstairs. You'll feel better there."

I readily took that offer but appeared solemn to falsely express that I was sad at not being able to converse with his mother. In reality, I was relieved. The heavy weight on my chest was lifted like someone had removed a big stone and was applying ointment. I followed Isaac a bit freely to the kitchen and discovered that his mother was no longer there. I stood searchingly, half expecting for her to emerge out from a huge cabinet.

"She must have gone to her room," Isaac said and his eyes suddenly twinkled mischievously at me. I was perplexed and then I noticed where he was looking. On the dining table, beside the faint reflection of my unfortunate self were some finger sandwiches and lemonade with extra, extra sugar. An involuntary smile crept up my lips as we took them, headed out to the lawn and fought for a seat on the old swing. Only this time, I didn't push Isaac and give him a nasty scar on the forehead, but sat on his lap and we fed each other sandwiches while sipping the cold, refreshing drink.