Babysitter Cougar [COMPLETE]

Chapter 9 page 3 - Bury The Hatchet

"What's wrong with him? Why hasn't he coming out of his room yet?" Sabina cranes her neck towards the hallway for Saint. "He was all hyped up for you before I went out."

"He's just upset about me leaving for college," I lie, foraging through my bihun goreng (stir fried rice vermicelli) for some shrimps.

"Come on," she groans. "It's not like you're leaving him forever."

Maybe I am, I thought.

Sabina pushes herself away from the dining table before she gets up and pads towards the hallway. Then, I heard muffled sounds of a distressed conversation between Sabina and Saint coming from his room, giving me flashbacks of my first visit to this apartment with her getting him to cooperate while forcefully extracting him out from the attic.

We eat our breakfast quietly, not even the slightest noise to emanate the dining area. Saint evades his eyes away from mine with much effort while tearing out his roti canai (Indian style flatbread/paratha) into small pieces before forcing it into his mouth. Sensing the bite in the air, Sabina breaks the silence with a series of questions about my preparation for the enrollment and my future plans.

To be honest, I'm not sure the route of my future beholds as it becomes so vague by parents' interventions that it no longer becomes mine. I'm clueless of business fundamentals let alone managing one.

"And I don't think I can master finance like I love it," I grumble as Sabina listens to my grievances attentively.

"I suck at it too," Sabina confesses. "I mean I'm not born with a dream of becoming a banker, it just lands on my platter. And trust me, I suffered the same. But unlike you, I wasn't born with a privilege of supportive parents who put education first rather than marrying their daughters off to some strangers. So what I am right now is the result of my perseverance over many struggles in life. I've had another dream before but it always went askew. I always wanted to be in the entertainment industry but have no talent for it. I joined advertising but it just flopped.

"When Ewan's dad advised me to join the bank, I've been sustaining ever since. After marrying Ewan, Saint came into my life and became my priority that my dreams no longer became relevant. I'm not saying this to dampen your spirit so that you can forgo your dreams, no. You must hold on to your dreams because that's the reason why you have a purpose in life other than God. But it's okay if you change them later on. That's normal and you're not betraying your dreams. It means you're mature enough to prioritise what's important."

I remain silent, processing her deep, meaningful words into my soul. She eloquently moves me with her valuable wisdom, something that Dad failed to enlighten me. If Dad had explained to me the same, I would understand the reason behind his decision and cooperate.

"And that goes for you too," Sabina pokes her son by the shoulder but Saint doesn't respond, only to nod unenthusiastically. "Saint, you can't keep her forever like this. Why don't you two switch contacts and stay in touch. Although she's not your babysitter anymore, you kids can still be friends." 

Saint sniggers at the phrases 'stay in touch' and 'friends' like they're something offensive.

"Saint, can I make you happy?" I coax him.

"What's the point of happiness when wishes aren't fulfilled?" his melancholy makes my stomach hurl. I'm impressed by how he can actually turn courteous from vulgar in just minutes.

"Alright, I'm gonna have a smoke by the balcony while you two find ways to bury the hatchet," Sabina announces and leaves us alone.

"Let's make a deal. 25 is my limit. If I'm not married by the time I pass 25, you'll be my consideration. Okay?" I negotiate, in hope that he'd move on by then. And our adult selves would banter at today's event like old friends.

"How am I to know if you just stall time to run away from me?" he asks, deadpan.

Damn, this kid is shrewd.

I retrieve my small notebook from my backpack before ripping off one of its blank pages to jot my email address down and give him. He returns the same gesture by gingerly scribbling his email address on one of my notebook pages and passes it to me.

"vaderfreak93@yahoo.com?" I grimace.

"I've got another email, skywalker93@angelfire.com but I lost the password," he shrugs.

I hold my laughter. "We'll keep in touch okay?

"I'll write to you every month and do follow up by 2007," he pledges. "What's the year when you turn 25?"

"Three-year from 2007, do the math," I grunt.

He rolls his eyes up and begins his mental calculation. "2010. Okay, if you don't find anyone by 2010, I'll marry you and we'll have 11 kids."

"What do you want 11 kids for?!" I ask in surprise.

"To form my own football team. So I want 11 sons from you."

"It's me who will bear the pain of nine months before giving birth. Not you," I object.

"Then what's your ballpark number?"

Ballpark number? What the hell does he think he is? A valuator?

"I won't go for more than two," I counter offer.

"Two is not enough for a football team," he protests. "Okay, fine! Seven boys."

"You wanted to act like a man but you're still thinking like a boy," I mock his immaturity. "Three. Don't be so ambitious."

"Five kids! Take it or leave it," he stretches out his hand to shake mine as a close deal.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," I say finally.

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