Chapter 15

"I came to see you," she retorted, lifting him up in her arms. He sat on her right arm. "I missed you." She followed her mother into the house. 

"Where have you been?" Jeremy asked her. He scratched his head. It was his first time seeing her in person, but he did loved her; Vivian was surprised. 

Vivian looked at her mother then her gaze went back to Jeremy. The kid was asking all of the questions that her mother would've asked, saving her time and energy. 

"Jida and jid thought you were dead already because you never passed by or even call. You didn't even text, at least," he stated, frowning. "I was trying to tell grandma that you didn't run away, but how could I when I didn't even know much about you. She only showed me your pictures and told me many lovely things about you," Jeremy said as his aunt put him on the sink to sit down. "And bad ones, too," he added, laughing. 

Vivian laughed with him, though she wasn't happy that her mother was honest with him. She hoped that her mother hadn't told him everything yet. She couldn't be, too, honest with the kid— he was still young to face the truth.

"Jida, please give me my chocolate before continuing." Jeremy held his granny hand as she was about to pickup the knife. 

"I'll help him get it," Vivian offered to help, putting Jeremy down to go get the chocolate in the cupboard that her mother used to put their sweets in when she and her sister were little children. "Don't worry, I know it's where you used to hide ou—" she stopped, "—my sweets," she ended with a wry smile. 

They shared that uncomfortable moment of glancing before Vivian carried Jeremy to the cupboard. She gave him the chocolate and the present that she brought for him and told him to go play upstairs. 

She and her mother had an unfinished business. 

"Jeremy didn't believe what you said when he asked why you're here. You don't expect a grown woman like me to believe it, do you?" She asked her daughter, paused mincing the meat for a minute. "Heard you've converted, and changed your name." 

"I always had the strong feeling that you had your eyes on us. It was you and your husband who sent us out of your house, remember?" The sad moments broke her down from within. She tried to erase the memories but they kept returning like the tides on the beach. 

"We regretted our actions later."

"Do you mean 'you' instead of 'we'?" Vivian asked her mother as she opened the fridge. "He never regretted what he did. He still doesn't." She poured water in a glass when she took the bottle out of the fridge. 

How was she going to convince a woman who didn't want to be convinced? It was going to be impossible. 

"You father did. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have accepted Jeremy in this house," she said, putting the minced meat in a bowl.

Her statement stung Vivian. She, however, didn't mind if it did, as long as she was making a point. 

"It was you who preached sense into his head. I know you told him to accept the child because he is sent from God. You two never had a male child." The anger that she had in her for so many years was coming out. It felt so good to express herself. And she was glad that she wasn't the only one getting hurt. 

She didn't even feel like she had children. She had already lost one of her daughters,  her other daughter hated her, and she couldn't make her daughter understand that she regretted making such a decision.

"So we have our eyes on each other?" Vivian mother smirked. Vivian couldn't hide the fact that she had eyes on them; her mother was witty. 

"I speak with logic. Don't change the topic, mom," Vivian said, informing her mom that she knew what she was trying to do. "You've already done your worst."

"You just don't know how much I hated the whole idea. Get mad if you want, but what I'm saying is the truth. I regretted what I did to you and your sister. I even blame myself for her death!" Her eyes became watery. "I cry every night for the two of you. I pray that God forgives all of our sins."

Vivian felt guilty. She didn't even know if she was sinning or not. It didn't feel right to her in some ways. 

She wrapped her hands around her mother's shoulder and pulled her closer. Vivian sat her chin in the middle of her mother's head. 

Vivian wanted to be very angry, but she couldn't. She wasn't different from her mother, neither was she different  from her father. If they hadn't done what they did, their parents— especially her father— wouldn't  have sent them away in such a manner. 

"It's okay mama. Stop crying," she said,  kissing her mother's head.  

Charles, his mother and father sat in the large living room. Charles did expect his parents to go visit him, what he didn't expect was them going soon in the morning when they had other important places to be. He knew exactly what they had gone for. 

They sat in a brief silence before it was broken by Daniel. "Are you going to call Rachael or you'll just sit and look at us," he asked. "You already know exactly why we are here, don't you?"

Charles sighed, rolling his eyes with his hand spread on the head of the couch. "She has gone to work." The look in his parents eyes told him they didn't believe him. "She actually did. I, too, was shocked when I got up and saw her ready for work. She blocked my number also. I tried calling her when she left, but the call didn't go through."

"She's really a strong woman," Linda complimented. "Some women would have left the moment that woman showed up. I admire her a lot." 

Linda was aware that Rachael wouldn't want to be close to her son because she was mad at him. She was only using work as a medium to stay away from the trending events in her life. Rachael needed more than that. She needed a vacation. 

"I don't have much going on at the office today. I will go to her after here. For now, your mother and I need to talk to you, alone," Daniel sat up in the chair, showing that he was ready for business. Charles prepared himself for whatever that would come next. "You are our son. And this is the time when we need to help you— the time of thick."

Charles stared at the vase that stood at the bottom of the staircase. 

"Dad, I understand what you're saying. I already know what you want to say. To be honest dad, none of you can help me now. If you're contemplating  paying her off, I tried doing that, but she refused," he explained to them. 

"What if you didn't make a better deal with her?" His mother asked him. "I'm quite sure you didn't. The look on your face says it all." She pointed at him. 

"Charles," his father began in a very soft tone, "we want to help you. But, how can we do that when we don't know what you're into. We're your family for Christ sake." 

"Dad, thank you very much for your concern. I don't need your help." He didn't mean to sound a bit rude. There was already much going on in his life. He didn't need pressure from his parents to add up to the burden. "You have better things to deal with, don't you?"