Cosas Que Nunca Hable Con Mi Madre Novels & Stories

I said, stopping him. “Diablo...” “She is my mother and regardless of what you are going to tell me, you are not going to do this. Why? Because it does not happen in our family that we kill our mothers. No matter what happens, they do not be killed this way. They are sent away where they are locked up.” I said, stopping him before he could say another word. The last thing that I was going to allow him to do was harm my mother. Regardless of what she did, she was not going to be killed this way.

I froze, at the mention of my mother. No one ever talks about my mother, she was forbidden to be a topic, in our household, I wasn't even allowed to talk about her, I almost forgot that I too was supposed to have a mother. I haven't thought about her in such a long time, hearing my name being associated with a mother felt so foreign to me.

I tried to end the topic of my mother's sex life. "Why, come on, don't be boring!" said Jack almost immediately. "Because it's not pleasant to talk about my mother and her partner's sex life, or are we talking about yours?". "It's not like she doesn't fuck a black guy almost your age and the whole urbanization is talking about it. It's reasonable for us to ask you, is that a rough conversation for you?" said Javier with his gossipy, curious face. "Fuck off, I'm going swimming" I said, getting up and going in the direction of the pool.

“You have time for work, time for whatever you’re busy with, but not for your dear, aging mother.” I smirked. “You’re fifty-two, Mamá, not eighty-two.” “Still aging.” She quipped. “Now, tell me, what’s wrong?” I hesitated, leaning against the kitchen counter. No matter how composed I thought I was, my mother always saw through me. "Nothing’s wrong," I said, but even I wasn’t convinced. She made a low sound of disapproval. “Lucas Sinclair. I know that tone. You can lie to the world, but you cannot lie to your mother. So talk.”

my mother lightly tapped the tip of my nose with her index finger while smiling. "Then I want to stop doing it!" I pouted. My mother laughed again. "Why?" she asked after a few seconds. "Because I don't want to talk with my eyes anymore," I said, glancing at my mother sideways. She laughed once more and kissed my cheek. "Not everyone can know what you're really saying with your eyes, you know? When you meet someone who can read your thoughts through your eyes, don't let them go, okay?" She gave me another kiss and held me closer to her.

I ignore the emotions that come forward when he mentions my mother and simply just hum, bringing my attention back to his phone. “Then, how come you never asked me about her?” He questions me again. “No one is allowed to look at these pictures or change their roommates or even ask any officer to do anything for them yet you confidently ask me to do things for you, knowing all too well that it’s not allowed.” My back stiffens at his words, he is going down the path I have always avoided - talking about my mother. I don’t want to feel the guilt and shame, remembering that she lost her life while giving birth to me.

I exhale sharply, pushing away from the counter as I begin to feel a headache from how much I'm thinking about this whole thing. Without conscious thought, I pull out my phone and dial my mother’s number. She picks up on the third ring. “Mi hijo.” A small smile tugs at my lips. “Hey, Mamá.” Her voice is warm, familiar. “You never call this late. What’s wrong?” “Nothing’s wrong,” I lie easily. “Just wanted to check on you.” I close my eyes, remembering the nights when she sang me to sleep. Or mornings she encouraged me to go to school when I didn't want to because of being a loner with no friends.

I continued, suspicion clear in my voice. “I’m just thinking straight. I’m objective, I don’t let my emotions get the better of me,” Mother managed to throw a dig. “My mother shared with my cheating ex-girlfriend personal information about her marriage,” I stared at her in disbelief, “That is not something that is easy to dismiss.” I clenched my fists. Why does she always do this? Invalidating my feelings, dismissing my concerns like they’re silly little things she’d rather flick away than discuss. All I want is a proper conversation. Is that really so hard to accomplish? From a mother to her son? Why does everything have to be so goddamn difficult? Why can’t we just talk?

She's encouraged me over the past year to sit down and talk with Jackie dozens of times, and I've always shut down the conversations, refusing to do it. I shrug. "She stopped over." I'm sure my mother can read between the lines enough to realize this wasn't my idea. "It's good to see you two talking again." Mom gives her one last squeeze before releasing her. "It's just like old times, isn't it?" While Jackie grins in response, I remain silent. There's no way I'm going to touch that loaded question. I mean...what the hell am I supposed to say?

Mom said and sat down on the sofa. "So, you know something about this... You know why your friend was killed but you are keeping quiet..." I accused my mother. Something is missing in the puzzle but the pieces are showing up already. There's no secret that can't be discovered as the quotes stated. "I can't do anything because she chose that path. So, when you're in Casablanca if possible don't come back here too often. It's getting more uncontrolled." My mother uttered and already walked to the stairs.