Babysitter Cougar [COMPLETE]

Epilogue page 1

I watch the beautiful guy scrupulously packs my used clothes into a burgundy Samsonite weekender bag that he brought before asking him where he will take my belongings to. He responds to my question by telling me that he is taking me home.

"Home? Mom Dad come?" I ask him politely for my parents' arrival in short sentences.

My brain and oral system is still adjusting to my unstable condition from an injury I can't recall. Therefore, I'm unable to make lengthy words to convey my message to people. Yet, the guy understands my request accurately that I don't have to repeat. He holds my gaze with his sad, bleary dark grey eyes and nods slowly to my question.

"Dad and Mommy are at home," he answers in simple words that I can decipher. As much as I'm happy with his reply, my brain finds it odd to accept 'Dad' and 'Mommy' terms being put together as though they are just representations of guardians who are responsible for my wellbeing.

I give myself a thoughtful pause to study his face because it strikes me that he had been my close association at some point in my life. I dare not to ask who he is because somewhere within my crashed memory storage indicates that he had paid me numerous visits before, and had tirelessly repeated his answers to my inquiries.

I wonder, what exactly is wrong with me? It's like I'm having a series of amnesia that spasms randomly. As though I have patched up memories with some details come and go while some remain permanent. There were instances where I was able to recognise him fully without any help but there were moments where his face became foreign to me.

My contemplation somehow worries him that he intervenes my cerebration. "Are you okay?"

"We go home?" I ask again, overlooked his inquiry.

"Yeah, home to meet the baby?"

"Your baby," I seek clarification.

"Yeah, my baby and..." he gestures at me, hoping that I'm able to make a guess and complete his sentence.

It seems that my sluggish memory is fond of guessing games. It links me up to my association with kids so I can fill out the clues he places before me. Then, I remember what I usually do on weekends or term break. I'm a babysitter! But am I a babysitter to his infant?

I point at myself in response. "Babysitter?"

He chuckles to my answer and shakes his head. "No, I'm the daddy you're the mommy."

"Ha?" my jaw drops in surprise.

Series of questions immediately pops in my head, trying to address this perplexing truth. How am I to have his baby when I just finish SPM? Is Mom and Dad okay with this marriage? Is the baby biologically mine, coming out of my womb? Or is he or she adopted? Is this guy trying to pull my leg? Who is him anyway?

I can't help but to carry on examining his facial features until it finally hits me that he reminds me of the kid I used to babysit. What's his name again? Hassan? Mohsein? Hussein? Huss–

Saint! That's it! The image of the boy's delectable face vividly flashes in my mind. And this guy looks very much like him, adult size. He's definitely Saint's dad or perhaps his uncle, from the epicanthic fold of his upper eyelids and the stubby and turned-up nose which Saint picks up from.

Then, another batch of questions filling in, substituting with the previous unanswered ones. If he's Saint's dad and I have his baby, does it mean that I'm Saint's step mom? Is Sabina okay with this whole affair aside from Mom and Dad? I rather hope that he's the uncle, at least I don't have to feel guilty about it.

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Photo source: Anna Blazhnova on Unsplash