Chapter Seven: I'm Five all over again.

I don't know how long I gape at him, all I know is I hear him mutter violet, then he walks away from me Like he owns the earth, in such casual yet powerful strides to the sofa.

I have so many questions to ask, but all I can do is stare at his retreating figure with my heart sinking by the minute.

In taking him in, I notice he has a cast on his left arm, and I feel so guilty. "Are you hurt?"

He looks up from his phone, glances at me with a slightly irritated look and then continues typing furiously as if I do not exist, and I make myself busy by counting the white ceiling.

In a few minutes, his phone rings, and he picks up the call. He paces the large hospital room speaking in hushed tones, and just when I think, it can't be more weird. The blonde hair of Taylor enters the room, and soon I am grinning from ear to ear.

********

The next day arrives without delay. I receive a call from my mom, who surprisingly says Melissa called her to inform her I'd be sleeping over at her house, she asks if I'm with my tubes and oxygen tank, and I lie through my teeth, but, she doesn't catch it, she ends by saying I should be home in time for dinner and by the time the line goes dead I am left in between wonder and amazement. Because when did we start having dinner together? The whole conversation just amazes me but I throw it somewhere at the back of my mind.

By noon Melissa pulls in to take me home, and I want to ask how she knows, but it seems too obvious. She keeps gushing about how I have unhealthy habits and how I am hurting myself and blah blah, giving me a real earful, and I have to say, she is damn right.

I get home to another shock. True to her words, my mother is dressed in casual pants and a big shirt with an apron around her torso, her red wild hair is bundled up on her head, and she is making lasagna.

Melissa and I exchange shocked glances at each other as we run up to my room. She asks Melissa to stay over for dinner, and for one night, I pretend it's a good life, for once I pretend that this is my happy little family, and maybe from now on, I can live a little more happier.

And then morning comes, shattering all my illusions.

"Shirley, honey get down here."

It is a Sunday morning, The frantic voice of my mother brings my head out of wuthering heights, the novel I was engrossed in. I groan before I drop the book and make my way to where she is.

When I get downstairs, she is scattering the dining table and the stash of receipts, picking all the unpaid bills, and running her hands through her hair so much that it begins to shoot up in weird angles and directions.

She sights me and then asks frantically, "we owe this much?"

I nod, "Yep."

My accountant of a mother forgot to do the math. I blink back tears as guilt seizes my entire throat.

"What have you been doing with all the money I left you?" she looks like someone lost in a fog, too dazed, as though she expected the bills to pay themselves

I cannot control the emotion that laces my voice as I respond, "Mum, the last time you gave me any money was in months."

She gasps and thinks about it for a few seconds, then she must realize it's true because her hand flies to her mouth in a mock gasp. "how have you been surviving all along?"

This is weird.

Before I can reply, she waves her hands dismissively, picks up her cell phone, and rushes out the front door.

By the time she comes in, it's like we won a lottery, she is carrying bags and bags of groceries and supplies and while I think it's a lot, she motions me to get more from the car.

As I take trips to the car and back, dropping the groceries, she goes into the kitchen and begins to cook something up. It is so unreal that by the third and last trip, I stand in Akimbo and stare at the heavy-filled store bewildered.

She feels my eyes on her, turns and smiles sweetly at me, and I swear I'm five again.

This feels like a dream, but I welcome it. In fact, I run with my two arms open and with my face full of an abundance of smiles toward this impossible dream.

The day ends or at least attempts to end on a happy note; it ends with us eating and talking just like old times and even seeing a movie after.

We are snuggled up on the couch rewatching Titanic for the hundredth time while I attempt and fail to ward off the sleep in my eye, but just before I close my eyes on her lap, I hear a knock on the door, Mum stands up, In a bid to keep me still asleep but it is too late anyway, I am wide awake.

The last time we had a visitor was ages ago, so my curiosity sends me on my feet and peeking as she makes her way and opens the door.

I don't see or hear anything else for a while, but she closes the door by half a fraction almost immediately, she's whispering, and whoever is behind her is also whispering because not a sound comes from there.

I crane my neck further to have a good look, I still can't see anything or anyone, but I am certain she is speaking to someone.

I catch her small, shy wave and tilt my hand at the opposite angle of her hands when I catch the silhouette of a man.

Holy bananas

Mum is seeing someone.