I don't remember him, but I do have photos. Sadly, she never really recovered from losing Ken. Sure, she'd dated a couple of times, but it never went anywhere. She was happy on her own, and with me, and with her poodle, Jackson, and three cats.
Shuffling along the tattered wooden park bench we were seated on underneath the big gum tree, I rested my head on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."
"I know, dear." She patted my leg and stood up. "Lover's quarrels bring the worst out of us. They're necessary. Inevitable. But don't let them last for long."
Mum took a few steps then knelt on the ground beside a nearby garden bed to continue her weeding, and that's when it hit me. Although she was happy, she was also lonely, and I knew what that felt like, to be grateful and content with all you had while knowing there was more you could have and not wanting it - not seeking it.
To be content not to love was safe … and lonely.
Swallowing the last of the Milo Chris had poured into a thermos for me early that morning, I was about to return to my patch of weeding when Elliot unfolded a chair for Helen to sit on not even a metre away. They were laughing and smiling, as if one of them had just told a ridiculous joke. It was sweet and made me smile - they didn't look lonely.
"There you go, Mum. Now, don't break this one as well, okay?" Elliot's eyes were gleaming at her, their brilliance even more brilliant due to him wearing all black. He looked delicious, and, annoyingly so, I desperately wanted another taste.
"I didn't break the last one, young man. It broke itself."
"Chairs can't break themselves. That's impossible."
I laughed at his typical matter of factness and finished my last bite of sandwich, which was when Elliot's eyes bounced off of mine like a pinball, their disappointment and anger stamping me all over. It hurt, the way they gleamed at Helen but disdainfully seared me. I didn't like it. I wanted their glow. I liked their glow.
My chest tightened and my throat constricted. Why am I feeling so horrible and guilty, and sorry for myself?
It was pissing me off. Frustrating me to hell. I wasn't weak and helpless, yet helplessness was what I always felt when I'd upset those closest to me, because I felt what they felt one hundred times over. And although Elliot and I hadn't been close for quite some time, we'd been as close as two young people ever could be, and that tattooed your soul. His pain was my pain. His sadness was my sadness.
It always had been.
Searching his face, I noticed the moment it changed from joyous to acquiesced, from cheerful to accepting - his smile fell, his eyes dulled.
"Mum, Jeanette," he announced, nodding toward me before standing behind Helen and placing his hands on her shoulders. "Danielle and I have something to tell you."
I squinted my eyes at him but then opened them wide with recognition. Oh, yes, we do! The truth. My stomach dropped, and I wasn't sure in that moment that I wanted them to know the truth. If we did confess, I would lose Elliot again, and I wasn't ready for that.
A feeling of pending loss crashed into me like a wave into the shore, and I did the first thing I could think that would draw it away. I shot up from my seat like a jack in the box, moved closer, and touched his arm. "Yes, we do."
He narrowed his gaze on my tightly pressed fingers, but I continued, staring at our mums. "We … we just want you to understand that we wish to take things slow."
From out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Elliot's head jerk toward mine, kinda comical-like, and the fear of losing him started to lift, so I continued. "Nothing ever good comes from rushing, does it, Elliot?" I asked, batting my eyelids and snuggling into his side. "Unless you're in a race, of course, and we're not."
The 'what the fuck?' expression on his face and his statue-like posture was priceless. It near had me bursting into laughter and high-fiving myself over my very convincing performance. But, at the same time, I'd just inadvertently dug us a deeper hole, which was really fucking frustrating. Damn it! What am I doing?
Pulling away just slightly to rethink the monumental fuck-up I'd just instigated, I was instantly reeled back in with a thud to his rock hard, toasty warm chest.
"No, we're not," he announced, proudly. "A race must be won, and we've already won ours, haven't we, honey?" Honey? No! I don't want to be a 'honey'. It's sticky and sweet, and practically bee vomit.
I faked laughed. "Oh, schnookums, yes, we have. The best race of our life."