It's Bittersweet

I was still standing in front of Siri’s door, and for a second, I just froze as I stared at my mother's arched eyebrow. But then I quickly snapped out of it. 

“I came to check on her,” I said, keeping my voice low so I wouldn't wake Siri. “You know, after the evening she’s had with Marshall.”

“Ahh,” she said, nodding. “That’s nice of you, Jackson.” 

I nodded, but then I paused as I noticed something. She was coming out of the guest room, dressed in her nightwear. 

The guest room. Not the room she and Marshall shared. 

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. 

She gave me an uneasy smile. “Tea?”

It was nearly midnight, but we were British, so it’s never too late for tea. So I nodded, and we walked down to the kitchen together. I watched as she moved around the kitchen, humming quietly. 

There was an apology at the tip of my tongue. To say sorry for how we left things, but I said nothing and just kept watching her.

She placed the kettle and two cups between us, pouring out a cup for me. I thanked her, and we sipped in silence, my feet tapping slowly on the floor.

“So…” she said quietly.

“So,” I answered. 

We fell silent again. The tapping of my feet went on. Somewhere outside, a dog barked. The loud sound of a neighbor's television could be heard. The hum of the refrigerator went on, and we sipped our tea in silence. 

Finally, I asked, “Why are you doing this, Mother? You clearly despise the man.”

She looked down at the hands holding the cup. “I don't hate Marshall.”

I raised an eyebrow even though she wouldn't look at me. “No?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“And yet you sleep in different rooms.”

“It’s…” She sighed, her shoulders dropping. “It’s complicated.”

“Then make it not.”

“This is adults’ business, Jackson. Stay out of it.” 

I could feel that familiar anger creeping into my head. 

“You say you didn't force me to come here, and yet you know I would never leave you in a foreign land alone. Now you say I should stay out of it when you know I clearly won't, and I'm only just looking out for you. This is becoming tiring, Mother.” My voice dropped, softened. “I’m only trying to look out for you.”

She turned her head to me, her eyes soft and filled with love. “I know, my love.”

“Then please, talk to me. Why are you doing this? You could have moved anywhere without remarrying. So why? You have never made me understand.”

Slowly, her eyes filled with tears. “Because I wanted to prove him wrong.” 

I stilled when she said that, watching as the tears flowed. 

“I wanted him to know that I could move on without him. He thought when he divorced me that I would be broken, and he was right. He was bloody right! So I got married to prove a point when I'm still broken!”

I stared down at the kettle, unable to look at her tears. It seems I'm not the only one my father has left a print on. We never talked about it. Never talked about him, and we both liked to pretend like he never existed, when he was like a ghost that keeps haunting us.

“You still love him,” I muttered. 

“I don't think I will ever stop loving him,” she admitted, her voice breaking.

I didn't look away from the kettle. “After everything? Even after the way he treated you? Treated us?”

I wanted to say that I understood. That I felt her pain, but I didn't. Not in the slightest. I hated that man with every fiber of my being. I hated the mark he left on me, and even years later, I couldn't get rid of it. If I had the chance to wipe him out of my memory, I would.

“I know you won’t understand,” she said softly, sniffling. “Love… love is strange, my love. It is weird, and does weird things to you. It’s bittersweet.”

“I have never seen the sweet part of it,” I muttered, my voice harder than I wanted it to be.

“I’m sorry.” I raised my head to my mother. Her tears still fell directly into the tea on her lap. “I feel like it’s my fault you have seen only the ugly side of love. My marriage to your father made you see only the dark side, not how bright and beautiful it can be.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said, reaching out for her hand across the table. She held onto my hand.

“You’re right. It’s both our fault. Your father's and mine.” She raised her eyes to mine, smiling softly. “I know one day you’ll see the bright side of love. That you’ll meet a girl who will knock you off your feet so hard that you won't want to get off the floor.”

An unexpected laugh burst out of me. “I might have.”

My mother’s eyes widened in delight. “Was she the one you were flirting with at the arena?”

I looked away, my cheeks heating. “Maybe,” I muttered.

“Oh, Jackson, you have to introduce us.”

She was eating dinner with you two hours ago. 

“Yeah. Maybe one day.”

Maybe when this is all over, and we don't need to keep this a secret anymore. My mother will understand. I know she will. She was a helpless romantic.  

“What’s she like?” she asked softly as she squeezed my hand that was still on hers.

I scratched the back of my neck. “She’s… uhm…” This was really ridiculous. I’d just had my fingers deep in her an hour ago. I could still feel her tight walls around my fingers, and yet here I was, blushing like an idiot. “She’s perfect.”

My mother squealed, and I winced. 

“Oh, look at you with stars in your eyes! I can't wait to meet her!”

I can. Why? Well, you already know the first reason. The second was that I still had to win her heart, and I was just being delusional in my little bubble. But I was going to win it no matter what. 

“You should get some sleep,” I said as I stood up and walked to her. I leaned down and placed a soft kiss at the top of her head. “Good night, ma.”

She squeezed my arm softly before I pulled away. “Good night, my love.”

I went back upstairs, about to head to my room, but then I paused in front of Siri’s door. I stood there for a while, resting my forehead on the cool wood. 

I haven't let myself think about what I might do if her heart couldn't be won. I haven't let myself think about what will happen when all this is over…